Weather Permits

Gustav is here. We've seen some strong wind gusts sending all the trees in the neighborhood bending and swaying. Just a few branches have snapped in my own yard, but the gusts are getting stronger. Standing on the front porch and smoking a cigarette I heard a pop above me and a limb came tumbling down just fee from my father-in-laws truck. Immediately after it hit the ground, the smell of freshly cut wood filled my nose. We're just getting started and there will surely be more to come. Power is still flowing for the meantime ....

A limb just struck the roof right above my head. Not a big one, but enough to make me jump. 

$8 an hour for what?

"If I wanted to be treated like shit, I'd have gone to Wal-mart!"
--- Brett in a crowd.

Customer service in Baton Rouge is like prison rape. No matter which door you walk through, there's a good possibility someone there is angry about their position in life and will try to screw you out of time, money and dignity. I've grown accustomed to the cashier not telling me what my total is. I'm used to the lady at the drive through who doesn't make eye contact or return my greeting. There are even days when I let it slide that a gas station attendant doesn't have to stop talking on her cell phone to ring up my six-pack. Nor does she greet me. Nor does she tell me my total. Nor does she tell me thank you for shopping there so she doesn't have to get a real job that would not allow her to wear six-inch gold earrings spelling out her name in bubble letters. How do you even find earrings that properly spell "Latrishika?" When I was a kid, I couldn't even find a license plate for my bike that spelled my first name with two "t"s. And how do you have enough expendable money to purchase a platinum grill with your child's name across them, much less pay for the countless number of minutes (pre-paid I'm sure) wasted on your cell talking about, "Girl, you know dat's right."

Here's a thought. They make a place you can work and not have to worry about being polite, or presentable, or speak English or even take a bath. It's called Wal-mart. Anyone who walks through those automatic doors know not to expect much. They understand for cheap prices, you forgo things like customer service or a pleasant shopping experience. This is where you should work. Not in places like gas stations, fast food restaurants or any other place where decent human beings are sometimes forced to frequent because their car needs fuel or there is no other option for lunch that day. Thank God for pay-at-the-pump. Now if I could only get a beer-at-the-pump, then there would be no need for me to ever find out how shitty a human being lurks behind the counter.

A Great Shave

I love a close shave, but I used to hate shaving. I hated nicking myself with whatever 5-bladed contraption I was using at the time. I hated paying $15 for replacement blades that seem to get dull after a few uses and I hated the red bumps I was just learning to live with on my neck. Then I read an article at one of my new favorite websites and I will never go back to the pitiful shave I used to bare.

Wet shaving is what men used to do before Gillette told us we needed more than one blade and charged us double. It’s what our grandfathers did instead of spreading goop from a can all over their puss and hacked away with more sharp edges than it would take to skin a deer. And lord knows they never bought anything that vibrated across their face like something you get at a seedy store to keep in the bottom drawer of a nightstand. Now after I’ve tried it, I know there’s a better way. It’s cheaper, smoother and not near as gay as a battery operated vibrating razor with adjustable speeds and $20 refills.

Check out the article here and be prepared for a new morning routine.

Fuck Budweiser

I sit here drinking the last two Budweiser's I will ever pay for. I thought about pouring them down the toilet, but unlike some, I have a few scruples left. I'm an American and I don't waste beer. I am a patriot and no more will I drink the "King of Beers." In case you haven't heard ...

That's right, "The Great American Lager" sold us out. For $52 billion, a piece of American history, culture and pride is no longer ours. I hope Warren Buffett and Cindy McCain choke on their filet mignon tonight. I hope InBev is revoked the right to print the colors red, white or blue on their cans and bottles. I hope they are not even allowed to print the label in English.

I'll drink Abita Beer from now on. Made by Americans for Americans. And if I have a taste for something imported, I'll have a Guiness - a good Catholic beer. Because if I'm paying for imported brew, it better have to cross an ocean, not the Mississippi.

Crabs

Things get so busy I forget where I am and the things that interest me. Things like house "chores" and going to work tend to kill outside ideas for fun. But I've got one. Boy, do I have one I'm committing to. I'm going crabbing!
Here I am in South Lousiana and all I see is city. I'm getting out, even if for a day. I'm heading further south to the coast, which has spent a lot of time on my mind as of late. I'm taking a few cheap drop nets, some chicken necks, two ice chests (one for beer, one for crabs) and maybe a little company to Grand Isle. I'll find me a little place to drop off and try to fill one cooler while I empty the other. This is a great idea. Best idea ever!
I've thought myself into a tizzy lately because of Lousiana. I've grown to love this state and what it offers. But there are some things we've just done wrong. Why is it that all the coastal states from Texas to Florida have beaches to promote. "Come to our sandy beaches and enjoy the waves," and people come from all over. Florida gets beat to hell every hurricane season, but rebuilds. Texas has South Padre Island that can't hold enough people on spring break. Even Mississippi gets in on the action with Biloxi and Bay St. Louis. Lousiana beaches get tossed to the side as polluted and dirty. Well, let's clean them up. Let's give the folks from this state a place to go instead of taking their flip flops and swim trunks elsewhere. What a waste of resources not to develop your beaches because not everyone has them. Build a boardwalk. Build a few nice resorts. If you can get Oliver Stone to shoot a movie in the bayou state, you can convince a few yanks to come for a weekend.
So for right now, it's about catching crabs. I don't like to eat the critters, but I know a bunch of coon-asses who do. I even know one who will probably know how to boil them up. This is gonna happen, I promise.

Say Something

There's a band I've been listening to a lot the last year. Lucero. I could describe their style, but that's not what keeps me playing track 5. It's the simple lyrics. At least, they're simple to me. Drinking with friends or worrying about what a grandfather thinks of you 15 years after he died.

"Said I just wanted to make my grandfather proud, Yeah I know he's not around. Been gone since I was 13, I'm still worried what he'd think about me."

Ever wonder what that person who ain't around anymore would say if they met you today? I'm afraid mine would just whoop my ass because I deserve it. We're a different generation and I'm feeling it these days. I don't remember him worried about things which weren't in his control. I don't remember him being so busy he didn't have time for a kind word or asking someone how they're doing and giving a shit about the reply. I guess that comes with a world full of distractions. Let's worry about which politician has his hand in your pocket and which mega corporation has their hand in his. Let's watch the icebergs melt and change a light bulb or two. Or for God's sake, take those poor kids from Britney. Once in a while, I have to sit back with a beer in the back yard clad in boxer shorts and a t-shirt and remind myself I'll never get out of this world alive anyway.

I say that because I've been reminiscent lately. About those times in college when I worked, went to class and let it all go after a few beers. For a few hours a night, I could bullshit with friends, tell some jokes and wake up well enough to do it again. I've never missed anything before and managed to move on through this life looking ahead. But I miss those friends. Sometimes I miss those who I can't even call by that name anymore. And I damn sure miss that bar. Good ol' days indeed. But it's still around and so are some of the acquaintances I made then. Might be time again for a solo trip back home.

This One's for My Homies

You may be wondering to yourself, "What the hell has Brett been up to?" I know you must have. It's been a while since I have updated the progress (or even regress) of my life in Baton Rouge. Certainly, now married, now, in case you didn't know, a home owner, I would have something worthwhile putting down in this here blog. Alas, it has arrived.

As the previous owner of this house was moving out his load truck load of stuff, I noticed he hadn't loaded the keg sitting in the garage yet. "You gonna take that with you?" I asked. "Why? You want it?"

"I've always wanted my own keg."

"Good, I don't have any room for it anyway. It's yours."

For the past two weeks, I've eyed this keg. Dusted it's cobwebs. Named it Priscilla. But what to do. Finally, necessity struck me like an ax to the skull ... kegerator. But how? I searched for my answer on the internet and found easy-to-follow-make-your-own-kegerator-and-be-the-coolest-kid-on the-block-instructions. I would only need a kit and a refrigerator. After pricing new mini-fridges, I realized there has to be a cheaper way. Then I searched Craigslist. I would like to include the correspondence that brought this beauty in my life.
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Hello,

I'm interested in knowing more about the fridge. I don't care about the color, I just want to make a kegerator out of it for my garage. I will be glad to pick up if all works out. So, it still works? Any problems I need to know about? Have a picture?

Thanks!
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It sounds to me like you are the perfect new owner.
It's working very well. This is big, at least 25 cf. Would be great for keg. Shelves can be removed.
I am remodeling and this is in the way, eager to get it out of the house.
It has been running since I bought the house three years ago. Never a problem. Keeps very cold in both compartments. Door seals are good.
Never broke down, never had any problem.
Does not have the ice maker but one could be hooked up.
Didn't bother to clean it. Has no dents.
This would be very good for garage.
The color, even if you don't care, is kind of cool, chocolate brown.
Please call me 225 336 1210 any time. I am home tomorrow, Friday, all weekend. Downtown, Spanish Town.
If you can take it away soon, I will take any reasonable offer.
Bring truck, I think you will want it.
Sending two pictures in next email.
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Sounds great and a perfect fit for my workroom. Will $50 take it off your hands? If so, I will be glad to come by and pick it up. I've got a truck with plenty of room, but I might need a hand loading if that would be all right.

I will give you a call around 10 this morning if that all right as well.
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That's great. sold.
I will help load it, no problem.
Happy you can get it asap.
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What I Just Smoked

You have a blog to write about the things you do. But mostly, I spend a lot of time wishing I had something to write about. Recently, or at least since my last post, I have had so much going on, there hasn't been enough time to write about it.

A run down would be, trip to Memphis, cigar smoking, wedding planning, autumn, Halloween, work, turning 26, upcoming wedding, following honeymoon ...

I could probably keep going. But I won't.

What I will say is that I just came inside from spending an hour sitting in the cool November air smoking a Romeo Y Julieta and drinking Jameson's neat. I must say, had a good time, might even do it again. OF course there is a lot going on which is all I'm trying to say here, but when things get settled, I'll try and say something interesting about it.