Monthly Archives: October 2006

General, History

Cat Trivia

2 Comments

(From a post by Major Dick Culver of “Culver’s Shooting Pages)

CAT O’NINE-TAILS:

A short nine tailed “flailing device� used to administer corporal punishment in the sailing ship days. The “Cat� was kept in a red velvet-like bag to conceal the blood drawn during punishment. Hence the term, “when The Cat’s out of the Bag�, punishment is imminent or in more modern times; the term “Uh Oh, someone’s found us out!� (and left unsaid was “and we’re probably gonna’ get punished�) is derived from the old “Cat O’Nine Tails� caution…

~ AND A VARIATION ~

“NOT ENOUGH ROOM TO SWING A CAT�:

As above, when mentioning “letting the cat out of the bag� they were referring the “cat o’nine tails� or a flail with lead balls on the end of rawhide lashes used to administer punishment aboard ship! Thus when punishment was to be administered, the cat came (or WAS) out of the bag. The saying there’s “not enough room to swing a cat� has reference to the same implement of torture. If there wasn’t enough room to “swing a cat� (o’nine-tails of course), the room or space was very small indeed.

Blogging, General

Who’s visiting from Laos?

3 Comments

Just checking the sitemeter logs of late and I note that there seems to be a regular visitor from Laos.

There’s also one from Zambia.

And I’m not going to fail to mention a bunch of regulars from Europe, Germany, Luxembourg, The Netherlands, Great Britain, Ireland, and a bunch of other places.

It warms my ol’ Cajun heart to welcome all ya’ll to my humble little blog…

General, Recipes and Food

Soup, glorious soup!

3 Comments

So I’m home at an empty house all alone by myself with nobody else around, and mealtime is approaching.

I’m tired of noodles.

I’m not in the mood for fast food.

This little trailer seriously lacks the gourmet kitchen I desire.

But I want to cook something.

And contrary to the saying that governs engineering, you can have all three: good, fast, AND cheap.

So I invented a soup. Yeah, I invented it, like I invented water. Just about every civilization has one or more hearty, nutricious soups as part of its ethnic makeup, and I’ve enjoyed Cajun, German, Italian, American, Mexican, Tex-mex, French, Japanese, Chinese, Thai… the list goes on and on. So somewhere from all of those comes this one:

I don’t even know what to name it really but for lack of a better idea:

Two-bean soup (Give me extra points for originality…)

Ingredients:

A chunk of sausage. I used a third of a pound of Rabideaux’s Cajun sausage, but I could have just as easily used a good Polish sausage or a Mexican chorizo or a package of those little brown hard Chinese sausages. Or a ham hock or two. Or real ham. I was going for the smokey flavor from that Cajun sausage. I like it.

Beans: I threw in a can of garbanzos and a can of great northerns, becaue I had them, and I like the difference in textures. We’re talking fifteen or sixteen ounce cans.

Tomatoes and green chiles: Rotel Brand. One can. If you’re unfamiliar with Rotel, LawDog has an article. Rotel might not be Cajun, but if you threw out every Cajun cook who had Rotel in his kitchen, you’d wipe us out…

An onion: Fist-sized. Yellow. Cut up in random chunks.

A can of chicken stock. Fourteen ounces. You could use water. You could use wine. You could use beer. You could use the milk of a Nepalese mountain yak. But you’re gonna need some liquid. I had a can of stock, and it can’t hurt…

Salt and pepper

The process:

Chop the onion and set it aside. Cut the sausage or other meat into chunks the size you’re comfortable with. I use 1/4 inch, more or less. Makes it look like there’s more sausage there. That’s a hold-over from my childhood where soup was THE budget-stretcher. In a two or three-quart pot, start saute’ing the sausage over medium high heat. After some fat renders out, throw in the onion and saute’ it too, until some of the corners of the onion bits are brownish.

Dump in a can of Rotel tomatoes and green chiles, juice and all. Then dump in two cans of beans and a can of chicken stock. Stir and bring to a boil over medium heat. Turn down and simmer an hour. That’s to get all the flavors together. If you’re desperate, you don’t need to wait that long.

If your soup looks too thick, add a little water to adjust. Salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with a cold beverage and crackers or a nice robust bread, like German or french or Italian.

And be warned. You’re eating a big bowl of what is essentially BEANS. This has a specific effect on the lower intestinal tract of many of us, and you might be well advised to not venture forth in delicate company for the next 24 hours…

General

Road warrior again…

2 Comments

Spent yesterday headed up the road past Houston to meet with people about commissioning our project over there. Today I was forty miles north of here investigating a problem we’ve been having, and I contractors doing some testing for me north of Baton Rouge. That’s a 350-mile span…

The meeting in Houston was supposed to be Monday but Houston (and southwest Louisiana, too) were suffering under torrential rains. As a matter of fact, when I got to the site yesterday there was a shallow lake where there used to be a tree-studded green space. The actual construction site was a vast morass of sticky red clay. But it didn’t rain yesterday. It did, however, make up for that today, and to add insult to the injury, we’ve had near-record high temperatures, like the low nineties. It’s the LAST HALF of October, for heaven’s sake.

It’s supposed to cool off tomoroow.

Man, I’m tired…

Blogging, Cajun culture, General

Cajun Food, by a New Yorker…

3 Comments

Over a “Maw-maw and dem’s cajun blog” Chrissy L. notes in this article the passing of a New York Times journalist who just happened to write one of the best articles ever on Cajun food as he toured south central Louisiana, parts known here as “Acadiana”

Here’s an excerpt:

Another thing: the best Cajun cooking isn’t blisteringly hot, contrary to popular belief. It’s not about incinerating fish and meat. The guardians of regional tradition produce rich, slowly simmered soups and stews, more boldly flavored than most American food, yes, but not one-dimensional.

…

Cajun food is poor people’s food. Many of the ingredients are there for the taking, like turtles and alligators, game birds and shrimp and crabs, and many of the others are cheap, like oysters and cane syrup. Tomatoes and okra and mirlitons (a kind of gourd or squash) are easily grown; pigs, easily raised in the backyard, yield matchless sausages like andouille and boudin, tasso ham and gratons (fried pork skins).

The first Cajuns had no choice but to make do. Thousands of settlers were driven from the colony of Acadie in eastern Canada in the 1750’s because they refused to swear an oath of allegiance to King George II after the British wrested control from the French. Over the next 50 years, 3,000 to 5,000 of them found their way to southwestern Louisiana. Some came directly from Canada; others went to France before coming here.

…

They guard their food traditions just as zealously as their linguistic traditions. Recalling her childhood in the town of St. Martinville, Marcelle Bienvenu, an authority on Cajun food, wrote a decade ago: “I can’t remember a day that tables were not filled with tureens of gumbo or stew, platters of baked chicken or variously prepared seafood, bowls of garden vegetables and baskets of French bread and biscuits. I walked through my childhood believing everyone enjoyed the pleasure of preparing and consuming jambalaya, crawfish bisque and stewed okra. Food and its preparation were at the center of our lives.” But even here, Ms. Bienvenu said recently at her bright, snug cottage near Bayou Teche, “it’s a battle” to keep the younger generations conscious of their heritage. Her nieces and nephews, she said, “were ready to settle for fast food cheeseburgers with their boyfriends and girlfriends.” She added, with a satisfied smile: “I taught them otherwise. Now they make gumbo.”

And if you want some more Cajun flavor, you’d do yourself well to read Miss Chrissy’s blog, too.

General

An ill wind…

4 Comments

I am the guy who SLEPT through Hurricane Rita. Went to bed a ten in the evening, after the electricity went out, and woke up in the morning after the worst had blown over.

Nothing that night sounded as bad as this:

Doppler radar

I’m about right there under the “C” in “Lake Charles”. As I sit here right now, we’re under a tornado watch until 1:00 AM. It’s hammering down rain. The winds are gusting over twenty-five and the thunder and lightning are almost continuous.

Whoever said that about how nice it is to sleep under a tin roof in the rain never heard the inside of one of these little trailers.

I’ll sleep good tonight…

General, The Name Game

The Name Game LIV

2 Comments

Running a little late on the names tody due to social obligations, but anyway, here we go:

Two big hospitals reporting today, both from Lake Charles,, a total of 119 births. One hospital is reporting from Aug. 19 to SEpt. 28 and the other from Sept. 27 to Oct. 5. Of that 119, 44 are to unmarried couples, and 11 of the new mommies don’t seem to want to post a daddy’s name…

Let’s lead off with the punctuation enthusiasts:

Miss Brittany G. & Mr. Jarvis B. present their new daughter, little Ja’liyah.

Miss Rae L. & Mr. Kendrick A. also have a new daughter, little La’Nae. Note that these fine folks gave their baby the added boost of capitalizing the letter after the goofy-a**ed punctuation.

Mr. & Mrs. Joshua M. have a new son, young D’Aundre. I can see the future: D’Aundre of the laundry…

Miss Tamika L. has a new son, little Lan’den. Heaven only knows why this little darlin’ felt the urge to put that apostrophe in there…

Miss Aretha C. & Mr. Horace J. present their new daughter, little Ale’ja.

Mr. & Mrs. Norman W. have a new daughter, too, and in a fit of confusion, they named here Ja-el, whom I seem to remember was Superman’s dad… Or it might have been from the Bible, where Jael, wife of Heber the Kenite slew and enemy genral with a tent peg…

Continuing on with the distribution of random punctuation, check this out: Miss Amiracle (Yep! Amiracle) W. has a new baby boy, little Aj’Ali. That might be pronounced “John”. I’m thinking some of these folks are really short of spelling skills.

And Miss Marjorie S. & Mr. Karl S. (two different names) have a new son, little Ka’maril Michael.

Miss Gabrielle M. is almost passe’ with her son, De’Marcus Jamal. That one’s so common that I almost didn’t post it…

Miss Stacy T. & Mr. James V. have a new daughter, too, little Kei’lyn Fay.

Next, I’ll just lump the rest together.

Mr. & Mrs Thearl B. named their son Kristoff. I don’t know why…

Miss Trayanna B. Named her son Izayha. I’m assuming that’s “Isaiah” for the illiterate…

Miss Ashley L. & Mr. Leroy H. have a new son, little Maurion.

Mr. Allayne and Mrs. Marketa E. have a new baby girl, little NiKita (Yep! a capital “K”) Ann-Marie.

And Mr. David W. and Miss Marilee D. gave guaranteed their daughter top billing at a seedy strip club by naming her Stormie Lynn.

And that’s it for this week.

Blogging, General

Broke 2000…

14 Comments

Posts, that is.

As best I can tell, this will be post number 2003. Yeah, yeah, I know… a few posts were reposted, and I actually removed a couple, but in the thirty-four months that this train-wreck has been up and running, I have stuck approximately two thousand alpha-numeric representations of wit and wisdom out here, exposing myself to ridicule and adulation.

I find myself disappointed in no small measure that I haven’t yet been drafted to run the country, a feat that I find am as equally qualified to perform as some freakin’ lawyer who has never lifted a tool with his own hand.

I also bemoan the fact that my efforts on this blog have not given me independent wealth, either. While I do admit that I am no Bill Shakespeare or Mark Twain or Rudyard Kipling, I flatter myself into believing that my literary talent is a least a smidge above mediocre. I find myself at least as pleasant a read a many professional columnists.

Power. Money. Love? Nope, I had the love of a good woman BEFORE I started this blog, and that continues independent of my efforts here. Wasn’t looking, so I’m not disappointed there.

So I guess that I do this for me, and for you guys who pass by here and visit. Beats the daylights out of sticking my head in a barrel and screaming my frustration, or telling my good stories to a couple of guys around the office coffeepot.

That being said, I guess I’ll keep on going for the time being…

General

Why would I ever want to learn THAT? (Repost)

(This was originally posted in February 2004, a month after the birth of this blog. I like it, so I’m moving it up here so a few more folks might see it.)

I was answering a post over on CSP Gun Talk concerning the comments about the NEA being a bunch of terrorists. Looks to me like the conversation turned, because one post was titled “Exactly what is it that the average guy needs calculus for?”.

I answered on Gun Talk, but here’s where my heart is, so let’s talk. Let’s go back a bit, to, say, 1966. There I was, in Mr. Dyer’s Algebra II class. I’d suffered through the whole year, mind addled by hormones and other interests befitting a fifteen year old boy. My previous year’s algebra teacher’d not done much to lay the foundation in Algebra I, so Mr. Dyer was having little success in guiding me through his class.

There I was, coerced into dealing with logarithms, real and imaginary numbers and other esoterica of mathematics. I asked the question of Mr. Dyer myself, impertinent and ignorant as many were at that age. Mr. Dyer just said, “First, it’s part of the class, and second, you never know…” My struggles continued and I finally passed the class. Two maths were required to graduate back then, and the alternative to algebra II, Business Math, was severely restricted in the number of students. It was considered a class for the “less capable.”

Fast forward to southwest Mississippi, 1993. I and a couple of other technicians were setting up the protective system for an electrical transmission line, 230,000 volts, if you’re interested. We had to convert the electrical characteristic data for the line from polar coordinates, a magnitude and an angle, to rectangular coordinates, a resistance and a reactance which the protective equipment could understand. It should have been a cartoon, complete with the little light bulb that denotes the advent of an idea, because AT THAT MOMENT I realized that 27 years before, Mr. Dyer had been right. There it was, the crap I was FORCED to learn in high school, right in front of me … real world application. Hardly a week goes by that I don’t use it now…algebra, trig, geometry, calculus…

Now, you can’t get more ordinary than me…just a plain ol’ American upper middle aged white male. But I needed that stuff they MADE me learn. I’m glad Mr. Dyer took the time and made the effort.

While I’m at it, there are other teachers in my past who I need to thank…probably too late: Mrs. Peggy Pugh, mentioned before, who taught English and made writing an enjoyable experience. Mr. Owen Bourque, history, both world and American, gave me a sense of the importance of the events unfolding around me. Mr. E.B. Lanier, Industrial Arts, showed me the pride coming from working with my hands. A couple of other names have disappeared in the mists of my memory, the chemistry teacher who taught us some interesting things including noxious gases and contact explosives in between moles and Avogadro’s Number, and the dear lady who pushed me through geometry class.

Good teachers introduce you to a lifetime of learning for the joy of learning. I’m glad they were there for me.

General, Humor

Proud Mom!

One Sunday, in counting the money in the weekly offering, the pastor of a small Florida church found a plain pink envelope containing $1000.

It happened again the next week.

The following Sunday, he watched as the offering was collected and saw a little old lady put the distinctive pink envelope in the plate. This went on for weeks until the pastor, overcome by curiosity, approached her.

“Ma’am, I couldn’t help but notice that you put $1,000 a week in the collection plate,” he stated.

“Why yes,” she replied, “every week my son sends me money, and I give some of it to the church.”
The pastor replied, “That’s wonderful, how much does he send you?”

The old lady said, “$10,000 a week.”

The pastor was amazed.

“Your son is very successful; what does he do for a living?”

“He is a veterinarian,” she answered.

“That is an honorable profession,”

the pastor said. “Where does he practice?”

The little old lady said proudly, “In Nevada. He has two cat houses in Las Vegas and one in Reno.”

(From a random email…)

Current events - national, General, Local politics

New Orleans a year later

5 Comments

Well, actually, Hurricane Katrina was almost fourteen months ago.

Here are three stories:

First, FEMA is extending aid to refugees in Houston.

Second, New Orleans population is down to 41% of pre-Katrina numbers.

Third, there’s a huge influx of Hispanic folks in new Orleans.

So what’s all this mean to me? Well, the New Orleans Diaspora has meant a big disappointment for the dimmocrat party in Lousiana. A recent statewide election saw one race without a dimmocrat candidate at all, and another had a dimmocrat and a Republican in a statewide run-off, and the dimmocrat conceded and dropped out of the race. You see, without the machine in New Orleans, dims just won’t have the votes to hold statewide offices.

That brings me to the other two stories, and it may bode well for the state also. Those 15,000 “families” that are in Houston and sitting on the government dole, well, that’s what they were doing in New Orleans, too. And we seemed to have swapped the whole sorry lot for working people, Hispanic working people, and yes, some of them are “un-documented”, but me, I’m really torn here. I mean, what do **I** want, a real, live, native-born American who is third generation on welfare and will NEVER be anything else but a loud mouth, an out-stretched hand and a dimmocrat vote, or Pedro Hernandez who will work his Mexican butt off for pay?

Now, who do YOU want?

General, Gun Stuff, History, The real war

Combat Experience with the .45 ACP

( I got this one off of CSP Gun Talk where it was posted by “smle-man)

Combat Experience with the .45 ACP

Oft times, comments on this net are about GySgt. Carlos Hathcock’s sniping adventures in Vietnam. Here’s one that very few know about, but is probably just as good as far as accuracy during combat is concerned.

A Navy SEAL Team was returning from a mission over North Vietnam in a chopper when it got hit pretty bad. The pilot and one crew member were killed and the copilot was wounded. Going into autorotation, the copilot managed to set the chopper down in a clearing. After landing, a few rounds of enemy fire were starting to come in. Seems the M60s were also damaged beyond use by the crash landing and initial RPG hit, the only M16 fell out on the way down.

The only firearms left was M1911s.The remaining crew member was carrying a match conditioned M1911 and had a few boxes of ammo. As more enemy small arms fire started coming in, the copilot and crew member also noted that the VC were coming out of the jungle and approaching them; shooting as they came. The crew member took out his .45 and took careful aim as he shot at each attacking VC. About 30 minutes later it was all over. Between reloading magazines and radioing for rescue, the copilot was pretty busy, but a rescue chopper finally arrived on the scene.

As the rescue chopper came in and landed, its crew noticed a lot of dead VC laying around. The downed helo’s remaining crew were picked up and on their way out, they counted the dead VC; 37 in all. Their distances from the downed helo were from 3 to about 150 yards; all shot by the crew member with his M1911 .45 ACP. About 80 rounds were fired by Petty Officer R.J. Thomas, a member of the USN Rifle and Pistol Team.

Petty Officer Thomas was recommended for the Congressional Medal of Honor, but by the time the recommendation got all the way up through the chain of command, the recognition was reduced to the Navy Cross.

This incident has been cited this as the only known of example of top-level combat marksmanship since SGT Alvin York’s escapades in WWI.

Submitted by Mark Eberhard-CEO & President
LtCol. USMCR (Ret.)
American Marksman Group
(850) 626-9963
Visit: www.americanmarksman.com

General, Humor

More Zen Sarcasm

The best leaders inspire by example. When that’s not an option, brute intimidation works pretty well, too.

It’s always darkest just before it goes pitch black.

If you want to get to the top, prepare to kiss a lot of the bottom.

It’s a short trip from riding the waves of change to being torn apart by the jaws of defeat.

That which does not kill me postpones the inevitable.

The journey of a thousand miles sometimes ends very, very badly.

The secret to success is knowing who to blame for your failures.

General, Humor

Death Row

2 Comments

A little old lady is on a bus, buying a ticket from the bus conductor, fumbling in a voluminous bag for the correct change. After 15 minutes the conductor becomes so enraged that he hits her on the head with the ticket-dispenser, and the poor old dear dies instantly. Not surprisingly, he is convicted and put on death row.

Just before he is to be electrocuted, his last request is for 12 pounds of bananas, which he devours. They strap him into the chair, flip the switch and he just sits there, smiling. According to tradition, this is considered a reprieve from God and he is freed.

Somehow he gets his old job back, and he is happily handing out tickets when he sees a girl stick her gum on the back of a seat on the bus. Enraged, he lunges out with the ticket dispenser, breaking the offender’s neck and killing her.

Again, he is convicted and sent to death row. He again eats the 12 pounds of bananas, and lo and behold, the electricity does not harm him. This time the executioner cleans the contacts, makes him sit in a bucket of water, he tries everything – but the guy won’t die. So again, he is set free.

Amazingly he regains his job. It takes him one day to lose his temper and beat to death a young boy who starts to chew his bus ticket. He returns to death row, eats the bananas, and again survives the electrocution.

At this point, the failed executioner can take no more, his professional pride has been hurt. Before setting our friend free again, he asks him his secret — “What is it with the bananas?”

“Oh, the bananas have nothing to do with it,” replies our friend.

Continue reading Death Row →