beerfooddude

Jesus Eisenhower Christ -- the Saints won the Super Bowl. The team has its first Hall-of-Famer in Rickey Jackson. Two-thirds of the voters in the city have given the finger to decades of racial rhetoric and supported one guy for mayor. Oh yeah -- and we're just yet beginning the final week of Carnival. Is there a better place to be (and especially live) these days? I think not.

It's been an educational week at the shop. We loaded up on lots of classic bar food for parade time, anticipating a crush of Fizzy Yellow Beer drinkers wanting to wolf down jalapeno poppers, hot dogs, mini-tacos and any other fried junk we could shovel at them. Hasn't happened. Well, there have been a few. But it became pretty clear right quick most folks want the normal menu -- the duck, the redfish and other more creative stuff. They're willing to pay for it and they're willing to wait for it. The big parade weekend is yet to come, so all this might change and I'm glad we've loaded up on all this extra stuff. But we don't have to default to it nearly as fast as I thought we would. It's a compliment to us as chefs but, more important, to our customers and to the pub itself. It's yet another of the week's nice surprises. We're getting plenty of first-timers who have heard about or seen on the Internet about the more unusual things the place is doing and that's what they want and expect. Finally!

We're working with some new stuff for a new menu to bring out after Carnival is over. We've already dropped a couple of items and will be adding at least one new sandwich and one new burger. Some of the apps will also be changing. It crosses my mind to follow the higher-end places and change things seasonally. It's something we do anyway on an informal basis, but we might want to make it more of An Event. The pub is doing it with their beers and we've had nearly a year to experiment with various ideas and presentations in the kitchen. I guess I feel a little like Orville Wright -- "Good God, Wilbur! Not only does it fly -- but we can make it fly higher and longer and faster!" That's not a real quote, by the way. But it's kinda how I feel these days.

All that said, success is 90% Being There. That's going to be a tough roll for the coming week or two. Not only is there the parade schedule, but we've got a private party to cater on Lundi Gras. Then there's a breakfast for first responders on Ash Wednesday, meaning Kimmie and I have to get up very early the morning AFTER Mardi Gras and get to it. I'm really looking forward to this in a lot of ways -- but it'll be at the end of a week's worth of pushing it pretty hard and then we'll have to push into the next week without a break.

...so it's gonna be a challenge. But to borrow a line from B.B. King, I'm paying the cost to be the boss. I can't imagine living any other way. It's glorious.

Been a busy week or so with lots of things swirling around -- some professional and some personal. I've been trying to put it all in perspective, but it's been difficult as the final ten days of Carnival approaches. I've learned to not listen to anyone else's hype about stuff, since things usually turn out much less traumatic or fascinating than they're made out to be. Getting thrown from the bull never hurts as bad as you think. I know this in both the literal and figurative senses -- and I've been thrown quite a bit both ways.

Professionally, I think we're about as ready as we can be for what's coming. We still have work to do and supplies to lay in, but it's all coming along. It'll be odd serving so many things that aren't "our" menu. But the fact of the matter is we have to gear up for the Bud-Light-and-Chicken-Finger parade crowd instead of the beer geeks who want higher-echelon food to pair with their Triple Nightcap or Brother Thelonius. This isn't a value judgment -- it's just a case of being used to appealing to one crowd and having to appeal to another for these ten days. It's okay -- just an adjustment. I'm good at that too, but forgive me when I roll my eyes sometimes.

On a personal level, I'm extremely glad we got to take an extra half-day off last week for our anniversary. We didn't really do anything (except Kimmie made an awesome lamb dinner -- but hey -- we're chefs!). But even that extra half-day was greatly appreciated. We still need to go to the boat, but we'll get around to that once Carnival wraps up and things stabilize. We got a little road time on the daytrip over to Breaux Bridge (we went their new Wal-Mart!). Bayou Teche, like Bayou Lafourche, speaks to me on so many levels. Every trip over there is always highly personal in a Just Being There kinda way.

I finally heard from my sister yesterday for the first time in a month. It was a muffled message (her mouth was too close to the mouthpiece) that I didn't really understand. But suffice to say things are seriously wrong in Dallas and there's nothing I can do (nor will do anymore) about it. I haven't been up there in three years for reasons much too detailed to outline in this small space and no one would want to hear it anyway. The bottom line is that the one solid wall I left standing when I ran off to join the circus five years ago has to do with protecting myself from those incapable of or unwilling to engage in self-help. I have made my own substantial investment in the situation and will not do anymore.

I love starting a new year. It's not that any slate has been wiped clean (the IRS helps complicate that). It's more a case of getting another opportunity to do it all again, and maybe a little better this time around. Some chances we waste (another thing I'm good at) and some things work out just fine (a little experience there too). I'm glad Carnival comes early in the year, since it gives all of us here a chance to go out and be reminded of that. We're here for another year, goddammit, so let's roll the parades and make some music and celebrate getting another turn.

...and, oh yeah, Who Dat? Goddammit -- Who-Fucking-Dat? Finallyfinallyfinally. Folks elsewhere just don't and can't understand. But that's the entire issue with this whole city, ain't it?

...so Our President is giving his first State of the Union address this evening, after a year of finding out his dream job kinda sucks. Man -- lots of us have been in THAT situation, right? You work all those years building your resume and getting to know the right movers and shakers and finally you actually GET there and it's great but then at some point you're thinking, "whoa, shit." Then you want to (as mentioned here before) lock yourself in a room with a carton of smokes and a bigass bottle of whiskey to blow it out and then sort it out. The friends you thought you had ain't there anymore. Even those who are sticking by you are full of, "well, yeah, but..."

It doesn't help that those who are on "your side" are ragging you about not going far enough. I mean, they're wanting a trip to freaking Disney World right NOW while you're still trying to figure out how to start the rickety car you inherited from Uncle George (you'da thunk the "good luck, motherfucker" he whispered under his breath when he threw you the keys should have tipped you off). Then there's the folks you knew from the outset were going to be against you. You tried working with them and then you tried ignoring them and then you tried to go around them -- but nothing's working. Even if you get this Edsel started, they're still blocking the only road outta town.

I'd take the "Animal House" approach, for now. Borrow a car, declare "road trip" and get away for a bit. Take it on the road, like Nixon did in his toughest times, and create some new friends overseas. Don't mind if dey daince wif' yo' date. Play to your strength -- improve relations with those who don't have a vote in this country. Bring back some influence and some contracts and some newly created jobs you can point to. Show you're still a player. Then you can resume work on the nastiness here. I mean, can the Senate minority leader do this? Um, no. You're the fucking PRESIDENT, fergodsakes. Act like it.

Oh, and, speaking of such, tell Harry "Weenie Boy" Reid and Nancy "My Neighbor's Yappyass Little Dog That Needs To Be Kicked" Pelosi to kindly sit down and shut the hell up. You'll do the talking. I'm all for being political and working within the system -- but you don't need these Whine-O-Matics trying to push your programs. You'd be better off hiring Arnold Stang or Gilbert Freaking Gottfried as a lobbyist. For now, at least, virtually every major poll taken by independent agencies shows most Americans still in support of most of what you're trying to do. You're wasting it. Like an also-ran playoff team, it's a case of good plan, but bad execution.

I voted for you because I believe in Something Better. So far, I'm seeing Something Bizarre. I'd be more disappointed, but I live in New Orleans and I therefore know miracles indeed happen. It's Carnival season here and we all go over the edge even more often than normal. We can tell you the fall don't hurt nearly as bad as you'd think. You should try it sometime.

...so it's late this afternoon, but not quite quittin' time for most folks, so things at the bar are kinda slow. One of the few there is a guy I call a semi-regular. Seems like an educated 40-ish type, comes in maybe twice a week. We all recognize him and he keeps mostly to himself. I've talked to him a few times when he's ordered food -- seems like an okay guy.

I have to go to the can, so I head to the head and I'm standing there doing the guy thing. I hear some shuffling around in one of the stalls, so I know someone else is in there.

Me: (standing there pissing)

Voice From Stall: "War is a bad thing. There's killing and stuff!"

Me: (standing there pissing, now looking around)

Voice From Stall: "I'm working on my dissertation!"

Me: (getting a bit more wide-eyed, but thinking these ubereducated folks can be under a lot of pressure and might have to do odd things for their doctorates. Still pissing.)

Voice From Stall: "We should all be careful!"

Me: (done pissing, washing hands and thinking, "whoa, just how drunk IS this guy?"

Voice From Stall: "You reading my mind, you fucking Jew?"

Me: (exiting bathroom, drying hands and stifling laughter.)

...so I get back to the kitchen and I hear this voice behind me saying, "Dude! Dude!" I turn around and here's this semi-regular. He tells me, "Man, I want you to know that what I said in there wasn't aimed at you. Seriously. I swear. I just feel like I'm under house arrest, okay?"

I'm nodding and saying it's okay and smiling at him and he seems satisfied and genuinely sorry, then goes back to his barstool and his Fizzy Yellow Beer.

Ain't no dull days where I work. Never.

...and Mardi Gras is still over a month away. It's only gonna get better.

I love my job. I think I've mentioned that.

If you live in New Orleans, you will understand this. If you do not, you will not. By "New Orleans," I mean Orleans Parish. Not the 'burbs. And certainly not elsewhere.

I informed everyone last week about the break-in in TBK's car. Whomever it was took nothing, but left the door open and the car's battery died. It was a hassle to re-charge the battery and all, but it worked out fine. Every house needs a battery charger anyway. We do not lock the car's door, since letting someone rummage through a hoopdie is better than having to pay for a broken window.

I know there are all kinds of folks who would get just indignant and feel all violated at having their car broken into in the first place. Rightfully so. I don't like it any more than the next guy. But listen up....

We get back out to TBK's car behind the shop tonight (no, it's not locked -- see above). Sure enough, the car has been rifled again. What did they take? Well, I'll tell ya....

Two packs of TBK's cigarettes.
Two containers of deodorant, which TBK had bought for me this morning because I was getting low.
Some hair product.
A couple items of clothing that belonged to someone else who moved out of the country. Other items of clothing were left behind.

...so what you'll have tomorrow is some decent(er)-smelling derelict with smokes, better hair and a couple items of clothing as an extra layer against the coldest weather in a decade.

This is okay with me. Really. Not that I want us to give up our property and/or (hair) products to thieves. But, say, if I had walked out there at the right time and caught them. Would I call the cops? Would I beat them with a stick? Would I chase them, cell phone in hand, relaying their movement to authorities in hopes they'd be caught and jailed and punished?

No. I would not. Pointless exercise.

Those of us who live in New Orleans know how checkerboarded we are. This is probably the biggest difference between this city and most others. Choose a street and drive on it for five blocks and you will see everything from mansions to demolitions. So it is with our daily personal relationships -- your average grocery line (except at unctuous freaking Whole Foods on Magazine) includes everyone from Old Creole Money to those who aren't sure where they're going to be sleeping tonight. Some are alcoholics/drug addicts, some have a mental illness and some are, more now than a decade ago, homeless because it's simply how things turned out. The difference between living warm in that 3/2 in the 'burbs and living in the minivan can often be a matter of two weeks.

This isn't a rant about how things are "better" here. Not at all. Just a description of how things are different. There is, for most of the city, a closer relationship between up and down, rich and poor, have- and have-not. It's part of the Being Here. In most of this city, the Very Rich only have to look out the window to see the Very Needy because, in so many neighborhoods, they live literally in the same block.

....so back to our car thieves. We're not being victimized by those trying to drain our bank accounts, sell our goods for crack or otherwise rip us off for some kinda big score. These ain't the thugs, who are killing each other over drug territory and thousands of dollars in weekly income. They're taking deodorant, smokes and some clothing, fergodsakes.

There was a time I was on the very cusp of that. I pray God I never forget it.

Actually, I haven't been too many places in the past year. Our one big adventure was a trip to the beach at Bay St. Louis -- a scant 40 minutes east of here. We went to Thibodaux and one of the plantations nearby. Kinda sad for a guy who used to travel a fair amount to various parts of the country. We hope to get out a bit more this month -- maybe all the way to BEAUTIFUL AND EXOTIC FLORIDAAAAAAH! to visit the boat. We'll see.....

...but there have damn sure been lots of faces in the past year. Every day, with customers and co-workers and salesfolks and neighbors and friends and the like. TBK has a great knack for remembering all these faces and names and associated relevences and facts. I used to, but anymore they all kinda merge so often. It's not that I don't care (I really, really do), it's just that there are so many that they kinda run together. If I know a face, I can't remember the name. If I know a name, I confuse faces. I go into a Zen mode -- trying to be friendly to everyone and hoping I'm saying the right thing to the right person. I still have pretty decent eye for separating the diamonds from the douchebags, so it usually works out pretty well. If I miss a name, blame it on my being an Old Fart. And, as mentioned in an earlier post, I don't hear very well. I'm doing my best.

There was a German TV producer in the shop today, doing a piece about the bar and showing me making a gumbo. Not sure why he was showing ME making a gumbo, since there are many better ones in the region. But it was all tied into the craft beers at the pub and New Orleans cooking and several other things. He says this piece is gonna show up on his German TV show, on Lufthansa flights and in all sorts of places -- just not (likely) in the US. I'd never been in a "Next Food Network Star" kinda environment before, though I've done plenty of TV. Turn this way. Stop. Let's re-shoot that. Do the same thing, but turn the other way. Sure makes it tough to just do your basic roux (which can't be stopped once it starts -- thank you TBK and Nate for keeping it going while I was being monkeyed about). And doing intros and all this other stuff -- it was all kinda weird for a little while.

...but I realized that doing this kinda thing is basically what all of us at the shop do every day -- trying to make folks who are unfamiliar with what's going on feel a bit more comfortable with what's going on. We have a different menu and we're in a place that has a more exotic beer list than most are used to. So it's all about being (or at least seeming) comfortable with what we're doing and trying to entice others to be a part of it.

Ultimately, I guess that's the key to a good life. We might not always know what we're doing. But if we act like we've been there before, everyone else is more comfortable and everyone gets along a lot better and we find what we're nervous about isn't as tough as we thought. Or even if it is, we at least feel like we've got company. As a result, we all learn something and pretty soon we really DO know what we're doing.

I remember talking to my dad on my 40th birthday. I said something to the effect that I'd never been 40 -- and he says, "Hell, son, I've never been the father of a 40-year-old." That kinda brought a lot of things into perspective -- mainly that we get comfortable and knowledgeable by just pushing ahead and taking things as they come. Before long, you're amazed at how things turned out.

I think Being There can, at least in a lot of cases, make us Belong There. We're all just trying to be as comfortable as we can while doing what we can. We wind up finding We Can.

I love that.

Some of our first lunch customers today were old hippies. I don't mean folks who "used to be" hippies. There's lots of those -- and plenty are living in the 'burbs and getting weed from their kids and watching Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity. I'm talking about folks who never left 1968. One of the guys had what was kinda a beard, but it was about as long as his hair and what was growing out had kinda mixed in with his long hair and it was all white and, really, looked like someone had set a loosely-knitted mockingbird nest on his head like a helmet. I am sure some of the hair I saw started growing with my kids were born -- and they're all in their mid-20s now. I'd guess this guy was about 65 or 70 or so. I didn't get a chance to talk to him, but I'd have loved to hear what he had to say -- at least for a while. I never fit in with the old-line lefties. Then again, I don't fit in with the new-wave righties either.

So many people get more and more rigid as they age. They see more things as either black or white (sometimes literally). But as I watched my parents age, I saw both of them seeing more and more gray. What used to be so certain when they were in their 40s became less and less definite by the time they reached their 60s and 70s. It was a case of experience and long-term observation overcoming ideaology. I know my mom, who had been very active in Republican politics as I was growing up (including collection of an amazing series of John Birch literature) ultimately wound up voting for Ralph Nader in her last turn at the election booth. She couldn't bring herself to vote for a Democrat, but she just couldn't pull the lever for Dubya either. She had a degree in government and understood The Process from the Inside. She actively took part in what I only observed and reported on in my many years as a reporter. But, in the end, her heart just refused to buy the bullshit and the posing.

I'd have been a damn poor hippie, so I never tried. I mean, look at what I did when I was away from school -- I went to the farm and helped Dad move cattle or build fences or plant and cut Sudangrass hay. Hell, I even rode bulls for part of a summer. Not exactly conducive to hanging out with the local Alternative Society. But it was okay -- I could kinda fit into both worlds without actually embracing either of them. It was a good background for a later career as a professional observer. I could see both sides without having to choose one.

I'm sure TBK is wondering why I'm spending so much time on this entry, but she's seen quite enough to know not to get in the way when It's Time To Write. It is, thankfully, part of the space we give each other.

I wish I could have talked to The Old Hippie, at least until he went off on a tangent about how he's disappointed in Obama or something. He looked like the type to give me a Leftie Lecture. That's only slightly less overbearing to me than a litany of the Rightie Rules. I've got my own ideas, thankyewsomuch, and they pull a little from both extremes.

Gray is a pretty color. It gets prettier all the time, particularly when you let daily life burnish it with a little silver from time to time.

It's been fun the last couple of days, making some good food and business is picking up a bit as the weather gets colder. We were featured on TV yesterday and I did a radio thing today and it has resulted in a little business and I think overall it's going to be good for all involved. Today was the first day in, oh, about 20 years that I've actually been inside a radio station to put on the headphones and adjust a mike to do some actual talking. Good thing it was a fairly old-school kinda place (except for the computer screens). I felt At Home, since it's something I did as my actual job for about 13 years. Even after I left the full-time radio thing, I still did radio consistently for almost another 20 years. It was good to be back. Thank you Lorin -- and I'd like to be part of anything else that might come along. Just to keep my hand in. Y'know.

I heard a PSA today on adoption. One of these "adopt-a-child" things the fundies use to get women to avoid abortion and cashier their unexpected baby out to Someone Else Who Really Loves Them. Got me to thinking, since I AM (or was) one of those babies. Born at the Edna Gladney Home in Fort Worth TX and sent out 11 days later to a loving couple who really wanted me. And they did. I mean really. I grew up so loved and cherished that I honestly feel guilty about it sometimes (and I didn't get The Guilt Gene). I never asked (nor did I care) why my folks couldn't have kids of their own (biologically) and I felt it was none of my damn business (not that they'd have been specific about it anyway -- they weren't that way). All I knew growing up is that my folks loved me and wanted the best for me and did all they could for me emotionally, physically, financially and whateverly. Just like I do for my own (biological) kids. I even had a book when I was growing up about how my folks "chose" me instead of just "having" me. I was One Special Motherfucker -- not only because my folks "chose" me but because I was also born in TEXAS, goddammit, and that makes anyone special. I mean, don't it? Like I said (again) a few days ago -- I'm a lucky sumbitch. And I mean that.

I talked to one of my cousins yesterday about a family matter. She's a lovely, classy and educated woman and I tried to be as helpful, honest and informative as I could be about the issue at hand. But, afterward, I was hit with the same old feeling I've had most of my life -- in that I felt separated from what was going on. I mean -- it's Family and I'm part of it. But at the same time, I'm not family. Let me explain....

In (nearly all) families I know (including my own), you go to a gathering and there is the commonality of things. That person has this person's ears or nose or smile or temperment or overall bearing or voice or something. Even if the genes get all weirded out and one particular person seems to have none of the physical characteristics of the parents, they are at least identifiable to SOMEbody in the extended tree. I think this is great about my own kids -- that they can look into the eyes of each other, their cousins and other relatives and SEE the shared genes (though it might not always seem wonderful at the time). What is this like? I have on freaking clue.

This has nothing to do with inclusion. I have always been included and missed if I'm not there. I truly love my family in the same way anyone does. But there is something about that lack of commonality that has bugged me over the years -- and I wonder how much it bugs other adoptees. I don't know if it has ever been studied (and, just for right now, I'm too lazy to research it). Now, this doesn't mean I'm about to go on some search for my biological roots. I mean, I REALLY don't want to know. My attitude is that my biological folks gave me up because they felt it was in my best interest and I thank God for that. It was their business and I fell into a truly wonderful situation and things are overall just great for all. This is why outstanding places such as the Edna Gladney Home exist -- to take what could be a tragic situation and convert it into an excellent outcome.

I have turned into a big believer in genetic memory. There is so much we don't know about our own DNA and how it works. But, from what I've seen, so much of where we came from biologically is still imprinted on us and we find it (at least) uncomfortable to exist in places that are not familiar to us in a biologically remembered environment. Example -- from the time I was 13 or so and began coming to South Louisiana, I have always felt at home here. It was difficult to explain -- but things just always felt "right" here. But I was in my late 30s before I discovered paperwork that said my biological father listed himself as "Acadian" (virtually all I know about him, other than he had dark hair and dark eyes like mine). Why is my bone structure similar to so many Cajuns and why do I often feel like I've gone to a house of mirrors in so many Cajun communities down here (except that I am usually a bit taller)? What about my biological mother (a redhead, from all I can gather -- likely that's why my hair tends to turn reddish in the sunlight and why I might be a little taller)? And the roads and the landscape -- why do I just always seem to know what's there? But I know I need to be. God help me, I just do.

As I say -- none of this is anything I want to explore in any depth or with any finality. I just wonder. So much is open to conjecture. I prefer it that way, actually. But it would damn sure explain why I've always felt kinda out of place. It's a good way to be, I think. There's such a thing as being too comfortable.

Found this hardwritten note when I arrived at the shop this morning....

"Dear Gumbomaker,

I am from New Orleans and this is the best gumbo I have had in months and months. I had one cup and HAD to get a second even though I was not hungry because it was so delicious! Thank you! I love you!

K(something I couldn't read)"

God, I love my job.

It's been a good week. Business has been a bit slow, but that's been the case everywhere but the retail sales world. Food and drink places have been kinda paying the price for the current economy, far as I can tell from several people scattered around the country. But things should start picking up this week and, in this city, on through the holidays and well into the spring. It's okay.

Wonder of wonders, if seems we're getting some media attention. Our work will be featured on WDSU tomorrow, on the radio Friday and we'll be cooking on ABC26 on the 14th. There's also supposed to be some German TV thing later this month, with us doing a gumbo. This is all great fun, of course, and means we'll have to remain focused very tightly on what we do day-to-day. We also got a very nice review of TBK's Thanksgiving meal on the NOLA Eats blog. The only thing I contributed to that meal was adding some flour to the turkey drippings to thicken them a bit. That was entirely Kimmie's deal and the great review was very well-deserved. It was indeed inspired work.

All of this simply points up the very excellent symbiotic relationship between our food and the tremendous work the bar is doing. We're seeing customers we'd never see, thanks to the world-class beer selection at the bar. On the other hand, I think our food is bringing in some customers the bar might not otherwise see. At least I hope so. But, business aside, I think the bottom line is that we're all winding up with some great stories and we're having a tremendous amount of fun, despite the occasional workaday frustrations. I try to keep a long-term view of things -- and I really can't think of any "problems" that are more than momentary. Anyway, most of such "problems" are The Good Kind. I try to be The Realistic Pollyanna.

Late last week, I had planned to post a list of all the things and people I'm thankful for and why. But after spending awhile trying to organize it my mind, I gave up. I'd wind up leaving out some very important things and people and constantly having to go back and edit and re-edit. Suffice to say it's a very, very long list. I've said it before -- I am One Lucky Sumbitch.

..so TBK and I head into December somewhat like children wandering into one of those Holiday Wonderland displays they used to have at big department stores years ago. We're wide-eyed and holding hands and kinda gasping in a hopeful way, yet focused and taking in all we can so we can remember all the details and try to make them better.

Wonderlands are best when you know how everything works, but are still amazed at how nicely it all comes out.

Got word this evening about layoffs in the AP. where I proudly spent almost half my 32 years of journalistic life. Far as I can tell from various e-mails, about 80-90 folks are gone -- including at least one Pulitzer winner. I am sure the total years of experience being shown the door is well into the hundreds. I don't know all the reasons for this, since I (voluntarily) left the company five years ago. But I can say working for the AP was the highlight of that professional career and I was honored and nearly giddy to say I worked there.

Some 25 years ago, I was at some kind of journalistic convention. One of the speakers was predicting a day when the public would be able to choose its own news without a filter or an editor or someone to otherwise interpret or give some kind of balance or perspective to what was being seen, heard or read. We thought this was pretty funny stuff, given the great advances in technology we had seen by the mid-1980s. We presumed (always a dangerous thing in journalism) the coming years would bring better and more precise ways of showing everyone the truth even more succinctly than we had at the time.

I don't remember who the speaker was. But I'd like to find him today and apologize for us being naive, blind, arrogant and stupid. Naive because we just didn't know how fast technology would advance. Blind because we didn't imagine how completely government deregulation in the Reagan years would gut and virtually eliminate journalistic competition in this country. Arrogant because we assumed the public wouldn't stand for it and stupid because we just didn't think of other possible paradigms.

Just casting about here, but I'd venture a guess that one of the main reasons the AP is having to let people go is that, well, it has lost a little relevance. More media outlets are saying they can do without it. Why pay for information when I can get it (and nearly as good) a lot cheaper or (better) for free?

....so here we are in today's media world, in which news "consumers" choose what they want to see, hear or read. Opinions vary on why "old media" have fallen away, but virtually every major newspaper in the country continues to pare itself back through staff buyouts or outright layoffs (as has, apparently, the AP). And, frankly, it's often funny to see the older-line establishments try to make themselves more attractive. Kinda like watching your mom woefully fail at using current slang -- her heart's in the right place but it just doesn't work. So it is with so many newspaper/radio/TV websites -- we appreciate the effort but it's just a bit too blocky and cumbersome to really fit with what we're doing. Did you get this tweet?

I was amused when Walter Cronkite died several months ago (not at his dying, but at the reaction to it). There was a tremendous outpouring of professional sorrow from various types who mourned the passing of a great, unbiased, "that's-the-way-it-is" icon. But virtually none of them have even pretended to practice what they professed to honor. I don't get it.

I have severe problems with "new media" or "citizen journalists." While I think it's a good thing that anyone can immediately distribute facts, impressions, pictures and video of what's going on around them, I also think it's been shown repeatedly it's like giving car keys and a bottle of whiskey to a 15-year-old boy. They're going to do with it what they will, and responsibility and accountability might not always be tantamount. Some will put the keys down. Some will put the whiskey down. Some will put both down. But too many are going to take them all, fire the engine, uncork the bottle and let 'er rip -- and too many someones are going to buy into whatever they choose to do. In other words, they'll buy into irresponsibility.

Now, that said, there are a number of entirely good operations that provide viable alternatives with the same rigid journalistic standards as the AP (some run by former AP staffers). But they are, sadly, few. I also spent nearly five years working for UPI, when it was a true competitor to the AP. But that has also fallen away.

So much is going through my mind right now and I suppose I'm not making much sense. The bottom line for me is that any reduction of staff in one of this nation's last and most unbiased news organizations is a threat to us all. The AP is a member-owned cooperative -- owned by the newspapers, broadcasters and other organizations that use its widely varied services. It has been relied on for well over 150 years to give a balanced view of whatever stories it covers. I think any reduction in its ability to do so hurts this nation. I think the main problem is that too few people want to hear anything that's contrary to their particular point of view. I blame those who rant about the "liberal" media (what a joke THAT term is anymore, since everyone has their own damn media -- making the AP and other balanced operations irrelevant). As a nation, we hear what we want to hear these days.

...and I think that makes us naive, blind, arrogant and stupid.

Getting to the end of two days off and they've been nice. We've gotten some Real Things accomplished, such as (long overdue) cleaning up a little in the courtyard. Did a few things at the shop and TBK is doing some baking this evening. I've nailed down what I think will be a killer sauce for some asparagus at a beer dinner next month and we've finalized that menu. The weather the last couple of days has been gorgeous, so we're ready to roll into a new work week tomorrow.

Last night we took a walk around the neighborhood. We haven't done that for awhile and it gave me a new perspective on where we live. Used to be that we'd take similar walks and we'd see a few pioneers like us who were taking a chance on a redeveloping neighborhood. Now it seems like we're the old hands and it's OUR house that needs the work. What with so many of the houses (and sometimes entire blocks) being upgraded and gentrified, it has turned into a really nice neighborhood. I feel about as safe living here as I have anywhere, and that hasn't always been the case.

The older I get, the more I'm puzzled by fear. Over the past several weeks, I've been hearing loud reaction to various issues from those who seem to be so afraid of things. They're afraid of their government, afraid of the weather, afraid of career changes, afraid of the unknown or untried -- and I've tried hard to understand where their fears come from. I've come to the conclusion that in most cases, the fears stem mainly from a lack of self-confidence. I don't mean self-esteem, which is something we seem to have entirely too much of. We're taught that we have value simply because We Are -- and I don't know if that's always the case. Not that we're not valuable as individuals and we shouldn't have a voice -- these are bedrocks upon which our society is founded. But what I mean is that too many tend to overvalue themselves simply because of circumstances out of their control -- they were born in a particular place or they have a particular value system or a particular religion or some other peculiarity that makes them worthy of special consideration for some reason. I get an up-close view of those with too much self-esteem and not enough self-confidence every time I go to Wal-Mart.

I am a native Texan and was therefore raised with the idea that makes me special. I moved away and found quickly that's not the case. I am a native-born American -- to which everyone else in the world (rightly) says "so what?" I am a white guy, which makes me special only in the eyes of other white guys who can't seem to find any other reason to think they have value.

There's an argument going on now over whether some of the top-level Guantanamo detainees should be tried in a civilian court in New York City. I can think of no better place to try them -- in view of the place they're accused of bombing and by the very system they've sworn to bring down. To me, at least, I can think of no better way to say, "Our nation, though it is composed of individuals, is bigger than the individual. We are run by the rule of law and not by emotion or the mob or our religion. You will have a chance to be heard instead of simply having your head lopped off long ago. Our nation is bigger than you and is bigger than us."

But here we have Sen. David Vitter of Louisiana introducing a bill to bar such a trial -- an idea about as Old Testament and Neanderthal as I've heard in years. To me, all this bill does is put us the same camp as those we want to put on trial -- isolating the accused and trying them in a limited military tribunal surrounded by barbed wire. We have tried and convicted our own domestic terrorists in civilian courts, convicted and then executed or imprisoned them.

Every day, non-Americans are put on trial in this country for crimes ranging from shoplifting to murder. This is how our system works. We think it is the best in the world and daily we hold it up as an example of how How We Do Things. We have an immigration "problem" -- mainly because so many people from elsewhere want to be a part of How We Do Things. I think we have a great opportunity to make an example of these accused detainees (on several levels) by putting them through the very system they condemn. The very system our brave young people these days volunteer to die for -- sometimes through two and three tours or more.

We have a lot of American esteem in our system, but I'm seeing far too many with a lack of confidence in it. Agreed, sometimes it lets us down because it's not and will never be perfect. But I think that of all times to let it run, this might be the best.

Anyone who knows me even a little knows I can't hear shit. I spent about 15 years in radio with headphones on all the time and it completely removed all my perception of higher frequencies and some midrange tones. I can't hear whistles at football games at all. In normal conversation, I sometimes come out with what sound like mindless non-sequiturs that are actually attempts to contribute to what I think the conversation might be. My loved ones are well used to repeating things several times and often change the complete course of conversation just to see if I'll catch on. My revenge is that sometimes I actually DO hear stuff, but act like I don't. Then, to paraphrase Mammy in "Gone With Then Wind," I'll be there waitin' for 'em, like a spider. The problem is increased when I'm very focused on something. No one, except maybe my youngest son, can focus so intently on things when I get serious. I can block out anything. Really.

Yes, I HAVE talked to my doctor about this. About a year ago, I went through a whole hearing test and the audiologist agreed I can't hear shit. But the upshot of it was that about the only thing that can help my kind of hearing loss would be an instrument that amplifies EVERYTHING. Yeah, I'd like to be able to hear crickets again -- but I'm content with my periodic cluelessness. I try to have a sense of humor about it.

Anyway, we had a customer tonight who made my audio difficulties looks entirely bush league. He's a guy probably ten years older than I am, putting him somewhere in his mid-60s (I'm careful about this, but I think I'm about right. But there have been times I'll guesstimate someone being my age and they're like ten years younger). He's a fairly regular customer, though he seems to have a penchant for showing up when we're extremely busy as we were tonight. I warned him when I took his order that it might be 30 minutes or so. He agreed and took a seat about six feet from our food "window."

We do not offer table service because we're in a bar. If things are slow, we are glad to bring your food to the table. But when things get busy, we shout out your name and you come get it. Things can get loud, what with the jukebox going and folks playing pool and conversations happening and all that whatnot. We tell customers to listen up -- and things usually go pretty well.

This guy's order was the last one I took before I clocked out. Argo and Brandon were handling things well and we were into our usual Friday night flow. I go upstairs for a beer, then head to the house after checking to make sure things were rolling as they should. I get back to the house and realize I've forgotten a couple of things, so I go back to the shop. All in all, it has been about an hour since I've taken this guy's order. I get back to the shop and ask this guy how his food was and he says he hasn't gotten it yet. And he's a little pissed off, as I certainly would be.

Not being one to piss off a customer, I ask the guys in the kitchen what's going on. I'm told they yelled out his name over and over and no one ever responded (they don't know what this guy looks like or where he was. He's just a name on a ticket). They say they even got Beth to yell out the name a couple of times.

Beth is one of the bartenders. She's a skinny thing -- but when Beth yells, chrome falls off trailer hitches two blocks away. It's not irritating -- it's just very, very clear -- even to auditory has-beens like me. This particular customer never heard it, even though he was sitting a scant six feet away.

His food's still sitting there, as it has been for as long as it took me to go upstairs, have a beer, drive home, realize I had to go back and then get back there. I'd say from order to actual delivery, it was close to an hour. The old dude wasn't happy, but I told him, well, sorry, but three different people had been yelling his name over and over. I know how this works, even when we're busy. We make an effort to find folks when they don't respond. So, well, bon appetit.

My feeling is that the customer is always right until it's clear he's not (or until he's an asshole, but that's another matter. Ain't no pleasing some folks, but I'm sure I'll deal with that in another post some other time. We're blessed with an abundance of nice folks as customers). The crew more than did their jobs, but the guy still didn't get it.

....so this shouldn't bother me. But it does.This guy's sitting there wondering where his food is and he doesn't realize it was ready long ago, just as he ordered it, and he just doesn't realize it. I imagine (or, sometimes, find) myself in that situation so often -- missing things that are (nearly) right in front of me. The simple gets very complicated and aggravating. I'm not dumb, fergodsakes. But sometimes I feel like I'm just sitting there while the obvious goes on around me

As discomforting as it can be, I hope I never lose the feeling that I might be wrong.

TBK and I have spent the last couple of days mostly lolling around the house. Normally on our days off we try to at least do SOMEthing a little exotic like go for a drive or go eat someplace we've haven't been. But this time we've basically been at the house or (briefly) at the shop of (briefly) at the grocery store. She's been working on a new soup and I went out today to get stuff for a new gratin -- but the farthest we've gone has been to the Rouse's on Tchoupitoulas. Lots of reading and playing on the InterWeb.

One soujourn I DID take was this morning, down to Canal Place on the edge of the French Quarter., It was nice to get on a half-full streetcar and rumble down there for 30 minutes or so and then rumble back. I met a nice couple from the DC area and we talked awhile. My reasons for going were several: 1) to price out a baking dish at Williams-Sonoma (knowing it would be grossly overpriced and the help would be unctious and condescending), 2) to see if they had the same style of herbes du Provence my daughter brought me from Paris a decade ago, and 3) just because I like riding the streetcar on cool mornings when all the windows are open.

I get off the streetcar and walk down Canal and get to W/S just as it opens. I go back to the cookware in the back and find the perfect baking dish -- very similar to the one I left behind in a Former Life and have longed for ever since. I figure I can get ONE of these to go with one I got from my mom (also very good) and I turn it over to check the price and the thing is SIXTY-SEVEN FREAKING DOLLARS. My eyes bugged out like a Tex Avery cartoon character going aah-ooo-gah. Sure enough, it was time for Ms. Unctious Condescension to approach and ask if she could help. I asked if they had herbes du Provence and she leads me to these ceramic jars full of it. One was a big one ("the chef at Cafe Degas was in just the other day and bought one of these because he couldn't find it anywhere else and this is all he uses. He's French, you know, and he just LOVES it and he's a PROFESSIONAL. Have you ever used it before or are you just following a recipe?"). The thing was like $50, but she pointed me to a smaller version of the same jar that was $18 ("and when this gets empty, we have the refills right here for $12."). So I picked up the refill box and told her that'd be it.

I'm paying for this thing and she jams some brochures into the bag that tell me all about how to mash potatoes and dice vegetables and all sorts of things for that big Thanksgiving.meal she's sure I'm going to cook. I'm not about to bust her nattering and tell her that on the average day, I've got food ready to go for at least 100 people. She's doddering on about their cooking demonstrations and other what-not and I'm nodding and getting out of there, headed back to St. Charles. I mean, hell -- she's just doing her job.

I get to the stop and starting leafing through these brochures and they're a scream. I mean, to buy all this stuff they say you "need" to do things right (if you bought them at W/S) would cost like $1,000. Potato-scrubbing gloves? A mushroom brush? Brining bags? Hell -- I had no idea how underequipped I really am. But I guess everyone's got to make a living and Lord knows Chuck Williams has been doing great at it for all these years, so good for him. But a word to the serious cook -- you can get better stuff for half the cost at any decent restaurant supply joint like Ace or the locally owned ones like Caire here in New Orleans. Next time I go in to Caire, I'll ask to see what they've got in the way of brining bags or potato-scrubbing gloves, just so I can see their faces. "We got bigass plastic bags and we got paper towels, dude." I love dealing with pros.

I've always been leery of anything advertised as being "professional" quality (what the hell is a "professional grade" pickup truck?). I see everything from bug killers to floor cleaners to whatever advertised as "professional strength" but I have yet to see a "professional" actually use them. Let me watch a guy who does something for a day-to-day living and, if he likes it and keeps using it, that's what I want if I'm going to tackle the same task. But then there'd be all these marketing and advertising folks out of work, and we're seeing enough of that already these days.

When I went to the grocery store later, I got to thinking about how things would be if EVERYTHING was advertised as "professional quality." A pack of plastic Bic pens ("used by the pros at THE ASSOCIATED PRESS!"), "professional quality" condoms ("endorsed by crack whores in Central City!"), cheap beer ("endlessly swilled by full-time grubby gutterpunks!"). All kinds of stuff.

I need to get back to work tomorrow. My mind wanders too much on days off sometimes.

LATE ADDENDUM: The herbes du Provence is overlavendered. Tastes kinda like potpourri from a woman's underwear drawer (not that I've actually eaten that stuff. Not directly. But y'know.). Gonna switch to the McCormick or whatever it is they have at Rouse's.

Lots to ponder over the past 48 hours. I mean, we had the Fort Hood thing yesterday and another multiple-shooting-guy-goes-apeshit thing today in Orlando. US unemployment tops10 percent for the first time in a generation and, on a more down-home note, our cat box needs changing.  I swear, the world is going to hell. Or, at least, it stinks a little.

Sorry to pool all that in one paragraph. Not like I'm trying to say all those things are equal. But in a way they are -- in that all of us have our own things to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes it's catshit and sometimes it's a death in the family and sometimes it's a national tragedy and sometimes it's just daily bullshit. We get up and we Deal.

The radio is playing The Grateful Dead. Know what the Deadhead said when he sobered up? "Whoa, dude, this band really sucks." Badda boom.

Anyway, I got to thinking earlier today about the current Worldwide Weirdness. I mean, there's the previously mentioned shooting events, the negative economic news (and, worse, the economic reality for so many), the cluelessness of so much of our electorate, the hopelessness in Afghanistan's political future, etc., etc., ad nauseum, amen. Oh -- and our cat box. But at least I can DO something about that. And I will. Gimme a minute.

Y'know what? As much as we're overinformed and overanxiousized about crap going on around us, we ain't being shocked nearly as much as folks back in 1968 -- between RFK and MLK Jr. BOTH being assassinated in the same year while the Vietnam War raged and there was a draft AND we also had a major presidential election AND slash-and-burn rioting in the streets of major cities. Or in 1940, with tne Nazis running buttfuck crazy in Europe and setting up concentration camps AND the Japanese violently expanding in Asia (AND another presidential election here as the Depression dragged on AND resumption of the draft was discussed). I could go on about 1929 and 1861 and some other points in our history. But I think the point has been made.

...so I take a lot of the honking and beeping around me these days with a crate of salt. I have my own opinions about what's going on in our country these days (too tired to deal with that issue now -- though I will later on). For now, despite all that's going on around us, I think there's entirely too much wailiing and gnashing of teeth. Things are pretty damn good these days, at least overall and compared to plenty of times before. So it's okay.

More later. For now, I've got a cat box to empty.

Man. This nation is going down the tubes faster than a bad pinball on a drunk night at a ripoff bar. Bloop! All gone....

I came home this evening thinking about what little I knew of whatever the hell happened at Fort Hood today. Look it up. The story is still evolving and I'm not going to stratify it by posting a "so far" update. Things will evolve as they evolve, and even facts are changeable things. Already, the AP has resurrected one of the dead because of mistaken information from a source (gee -- like I've never had to do THAT before).

Anyway -- I figure I'll just watch this thing as it moves along. But I go on Facebook and here's some folks talking about how maybe it's time to INTERN ALL MUSLIMS or maybe just declare our own damn jihad and kill everyone whose name has a Mohammad or an al-Something or whatever.

Listen, um, dudes...

Hasn't this been tried before? I mean, um, we've tried using a LOT of lipstick on this kinda pig. The large, slow-moving target is the Nazis using religion as the very basis for their concentration camps. But beyond that blatant example, we had our own internment camps with the Nisei in WWII and we've done plenty of our own segregaton for a series of reasons over our two-plus centuries (mostly in the name of National Security -- or at least The Public Good) to have hopefully learned this kinda approach is Just. Plain. Stupid.

What really scares me for the first time in my 35+ years as a voter (and makes me doubly glad I have a paid-for sailboat) is that what used to be the lunatic fringe now has some actual traction. I mean, I've usually been the kind of person who sees the political pendulum go back and forth and has been content to let it swing. But anymore, I see too many who just want to reach out and stop it from moving at all.

I really hope I'm wrong (gee -- that's never happened either). But I'm tellin' ya -- we're about at the point that we need to pack up the Statue of Liberty in a big ol' FedEx box and ship it back to France with a note saying "it was great, Pierre, but we don't need this anymore."  Maybe we need  to admit we're ready to close the gate and post armed guards outside and just tell anyone who's not PLU (People Like Us) that we're just not open anymore. Just keep movin'.

There's too much hair-trigger out there right now. I used to think we're better than that as a nation. But anymore I just don't know.

I am entering the age When People Die.

Not the Old Folks. I mean MY Folks. Contemporaries. Classmates. Folks whom I clearly remember buying baseball cards with and playing football with and discussing girls with. Not that any of them haven't died before. I can tick off a list of those who died from various causes when we were in our 20s or 30s, just as anyone can. Hell -- I can come up pretty quickly with a short list of MY KIDS' friends who have died. So it's not like death is a stranger or I have been unaffected by it. My feeling is that death is a part of life. We all die at some point, some just earlier than others for whatever reasons.

It's weird how virtually no one dies "on time." They either die "before their time" or they live far too long (I'm talking here about dementia and/or other factors). I mean, we can say "it was their time to go" or "at least now they're at peace," But that's only a way of making us feel better about what has transpired. I think if you asked the person who died, they'd have another opinion. Or at least they'd come up with some other scenario. "Yeah, well, maybe it was 'time' for me to die. But can't I get some kindsa options here?"

I was informed a couple days ago (by our friend James Tucker)  that Sid Davis had died in Dallas. He died from SWINE FLU fergodsakes. Sid and I shared a lot in childhood -- from playing the piano to playing football to hanging out at each other's houses and knowing each other's parents to kinda being disgusted with each other's sisters -- the usual things elementary school classmates share.We both wore Buddy Holly glasses and neither of us were particularly popular -- but we kinda saw a commonality in each other that was comforting and encouraging. We got along well and respected each other -- a situation that remained through bigh school until we each went our separate directions.

I have a bit of trouble with high school classmates. When I came through, high school was only a three-year stint. If I met someone in high school, I (usually) felt things were only very temporary. I mean, I remain close to a (very) few people from the high school days. But I've never viewed them as some kind of halcyon days When Things Were Best . I've always felt much closer to those in elementary school and junior high. We met each other as children and together came to the cusp of adulthood. We spent a decade (or most of one) getting to know each other in a variety of situations -- and that tells you a lot about someone's depth of character and why and how they became who they became. Though we didn't realize it at the time, the year after year after year of dealing with each other's parents, brothers, sisters and others in our lives provided a pretty good gauge of the individual. So it was with Sid -- and I am sure (though I don't think we ever saw each other after high school) that the good guy I knew as a kid was the same good guy he became as an adult. Apparently so, from the obit I read today.

...so I am feeling lucky this evening. Lucky to have known good people from a very young age. We are now doctors, writers, musicians, interior designers, professors, engineers, lawyers, businesspeople, parents and (for some) grandparents. I never see (virtually) any of them anymore -- due mostly to my own decisions to go to parts afar. But I'm glad to be able to touch those important bases from time to time. We were a tight group and, far as I'm concerned, remain one. Despite our various differences, attitudes and results, we were all There. I'm glad and proud to say I was part of it.

Got up early this morning to bust up some meat and, while it cooled, flipped through the "100 Great Places To Eat" restaurant guide in the T-P. I was perusing the various types of places to eat, all neatly ordered as to type of food or establishment, andgot to thinking about how we fit into none of them.

Though I'm not wild about the term "gastropub," that's pretty much what we are. There is no such classification in this part of the world, though they've been popular on the East Coast and in a few other spot around the country. They are BIG shit in the UK, where a simple search for "gastropub" turns up page after page after page of recipes, locations, photos, reviews and other stuff. Basically, a gastropub is a place that serves top-quality craft beer with a menu of top-quality food. Equal attention is paid to both solid and liquid, (hopefully) resulting in a sublime experience for the customer.

As great a food town as New Orleans is, this is a battle we're still waging and will wage for sometime to come. In our part of the world (and, largely, in most of the South), mention "food" after the word "beer" and most get an image of burgers or a collection of deep-fried whatnots of suspect origin. It pretty much has to be cheap and artificially enhanced and, honestly, in pretty much the same class as the macrobrews that are the standard for US-produced malt beverages. Beer=cheap=bad food. This is slowly changing but, like any decent educational experience, it takes time. It is good to be at a place on the leading edge, but sometimes it's like trying to push or pull recalcitrant cattle through a gate -- while some go willingly, others won't move at all. Fortunately, we've been able to come up with culinary cattle prods (like the Buddha's Temptation) to influence folks to keep moving and try something new.

Our place has started as a neighborhood breakfast/BBQ/burger joint, but that morphed after about 90 days when reviewers starting writing about the fish sandwich and the gumbo and the guacamole -- all of which went against the presuppositions of what the place was supposed to be. Now here we are, some two years later, with BBQ making up less than 10% of what we sell. We're certainly not "neighborhood,". since that implies "family" and we are inside a bar where IDs are carefully (and rightly) checked. We are not BBQ, we are not burger, we are not traditional New Orleans, we are not Cajun. While there is a healthy dose of Southern California and Texas (given our roots), we are not Mexican by any stretch of the culinary imagination. We are not "comfort food," though I would certainly put our chicken-fried steak up there with anyone's. We are none of these, but we have been all of them. With this week's addition of a stove and oven, our shotgun approach to menuing will expand even more -- just as the pub's selection of craft beers continues to evolve from month to month.

Yesterday I had to deal with a type of customer who is my least favorite. He stared at the menu for a long time, asking a few questions and finally admitting he was a picky eater and reluctant to try anything new. He finally settled on the sirloin bites, largely because he was comfortable with steak, but told me not to put any guacamole on the plate. Instead of the chimchurri, he just wanted a portion cup of Lea & Perrins. I complied -- but also gave him some of the chimichurri as well. When I picked up his plate a little while later, the worcetshire hadn't been touched but the chimichurri was all gone -- so he DID try something new and he DID like it. A small victory -- and his palate is the winner.

....so our self-defining continues on a week-to-week basis. Not everyone who walks in the door is going to like a smoked ale and not everyone who comes in is going to want the duck sandwich. But the fun part is in the constant experimentation and in pushing ourselves and seeing how our customers react. What we do can't really be classified in any of the T-P's categories -- particularly since we're the only people in town doing it.

If you ain't livin' on the edge, you're takin' up too much space.

 

I've spent a lot of time lately listening to the BBC World Service. It's one of the glories of having satellite radio in the truck (and a shortwave radio at home). It has been a wonderful way to reconnect with part of my personal history and also get a window on the world I'm certainly not going to find in any American media. NPR tries hard but, well, it simply doesn't have the reach, funding, experience or reputation.

I spent over 30 years in radio news -- the first 15 doing air work and the last 18 or so as a broadcast wire writer and editor for the old UPI and then the AP (for 14 years). It was all I ever really wanted to do from the time I was in early high school and found out someone could actually make a pretty credible living at it. It's a business that pretty much doesn't exist anymore except for the networks and in major cities. Used to be (switching to Old Man Voice) the federal government REQUIRED stations to commit a certain portion of their airtime to local news, but all that went down the crapper during the Reagan years when it was decided the "marketplace" knew best. Thanks for killing an entire industry, guys, and allowing the "marketplace" to bring us broadcast blowhards who have no idea what "the public interest" is. Does that term even exist anymore? I think it went down the tubes with the phrase "the good of the game." Or something.

Anyway, it was fascinating to listen to AM radio late at night, particularly in cold weather. I could lay in my bed in Dallas and listen to the news in New York, New Orleans, Los Angeles, Memphis, Chicago, Shreveport, and any number of other cities from virtually all over the country. No matter the music format, nearly every station would stop once (or twice, or sometimes THREE TIMES) an hour for a news broadcast. If I wanted, I could switch over to the shortwave dial and hear Radio Havana, Radio Hanoi, Radio Luxembourg, the BBC, Radio Moscow and a host of others. Sure, a lot of it was propaganda -- but it came from OVER THERE. Once a week (usually Sunday nights) CBS and the other networks ran their public affairs programs that featured analysis (not opinion) of the various events of the day in the US and various capitals overseas.

But this was 40 years ago and more. In the US, virtually all of these stations are now broadcasting a polyglot of radio ranters of assorted stripes on the phone with their (usually very few) equally red-faced adherents, ready to shout down anyone who dares disagree. And folks wonder what happened to civility in public discourse anymore. Thanks "marketplace," you've done us all a great service.

Not that good radio doesn't exist anymore. It's just much harder to find. And if you're lucky enough to actually find it, it's too often sandwiched in between more of the same opinionated drivel or (worse) some infomercial that drones on and on. I don't want to hear Spud or Garland or Tommy or some other host on the phone with their hem-and-haw listeners. I DO like the times when they talk to actual newsmakers who actually inform me -- but times like that are all too rare anymore.

....so I'm listening to the BBC World Service and its financial shows, international analysis, interviews with world leaders and various features about international goings-on and their histories. It's like an on-air version of Smithsonian or National Geographic -- two magazines that never fail to inform, explain and entertain. And I get plenty of information from Asia and Africa -- two parts of the world most Americans don't give a rat's ass about. Hell, most Americans don't care about international events. No wonder the rest of the world looks at us with slack-jawed disbelief. Maybe we oughta see things from their viewpoint sometimes, but -- nah -- who am I kidding? They're just a bunch of weenie foreigners anyway. They're always changing the names of their countries and all they want is US aid anyway, right? Then they'll just give it to terrorists. Why, I heard Rush say on the radio the other day that.....

Sigh.

I had the oddest feeling when I finally got home this evening. The house was a bit cool inside, since the temp has been delightfully lower the past couple of days,and as I was removing the work clothing I had the brief feeling that it was Christmas Eve. I guess it was something about the temperature and the quietness of the house. Or something. It was Nice. Anyway....

Today did NOT start well. I got into work 90 minutes early (7:30am) because the Saints had the early game and folks are going to the 'Dome and stop in for a drink and maybe something to eat on their way. So I spend this time cooking and prepping and getting everything ready and putting it all out there and I'm really proud of this handmade stuff and I'm ready to go on time (10am-ish). But what are my first three orders? Shit from a box. STUFF THAT WAS FROZEN BY SOME CORPORATE ENTITY SIX MONTHS AGO AND HARD-FROZEN IN A FREAKING BOX!!!! My entire effort is to take it out of the box, drop it in a fryer and then deliver it to the customer in a plastic basket. I have no idea where this stuff comes from, how it's made or what it might do to you. Bon appetit! This would be like the bar advertising a special beer event and everyone ordering Miller High Life

But, thanks largely to TBK's professionalism and steady hand, I got over mydamnself and the day turned out very nicely indeed. Every day I am humbled by the nice things our customers say.

...and it's the folks who Get It who keep us coming back every day. It's gonna be a great week. I can feel it.