Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Stalking, Walking In My Big Black Boots

My old home town, Duxbury, MA

If I ever get super rich, I'm knocking on this guy's door and just handing him money until he gives me that house. The lighthouse tower is mine, btw....

The "burnt by a pitched Marlboro in 1987, rebuilt with tropical brazilian hardwood so the Deluxeberry people don't have to drive through Mahhhsh Vegas to go to the beach." memorial thingy is still being crafted.

The old school rock memorial thingy hasn't got back from the old school rock memorial thingy guy yet.



Looks tropical, no? You can walk across this bay in January when it freezes, although I wouldn't recommend it.



Duxbury was a major Clipper Ship building center in the 1800s. Ezra Weston, who was known as "King Caesar," ran ship in this town back in the day.










This is my man, the Whooping Crane.


He whoops.


Taste the rainbow...





   Comin' correct with the rainbowedness...



Weekend Assignment #114: Things You Like Now But Not Then

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Beirut? Barry Bonds Was Better!

Barry Bonds turned into one today, sent it about 445 feet into the stands, and passed Babe Ruth for #2 on the all-time home run list. 

Barry was all business, although it looked to me like he was happier hitting #714 than the one that put him past the Sultan of Swat. He's kind of surly anyhow, but he didn't grab his testicles or anything. He got mad applause from his fans in San Francisco, who have generally been pretty nice to him ("nice" meaning they don't throw syringes at him).

Old friend Byung Hyun Kim served up the tater, a 90 mph heater that Barry got all BALCO on. It landed on a platform, before rolling to a guy who was- ironically- using the Barry at-bat to beat the line at the hot dog stand. He can sell the ball for a fortune, although he could also just give it to the guy who hit it. Catching famous home run balls is a sort of fan lottery that came up during the McGwire/Sosa homer war, and McGwire's 62nd home run ball sold for a cool million to the guy who does the comic book Spawn.

Barry got some love from his son, and did the obligatory hat tip to his peeps in the crowd. It is sort of surreal, given the brouhaha surrounding Barry's use of steroids. I'm happy for Barry that he did it at home, rather than somewhere that a fan might run out onto the field and stab him in the neck with a hypodermic needle full of pure testosterone. Nothing insane happened, much to the relief of good people almost everywhere.

How much help were the roids? Barry was a top notch hitter when he was lithe and limber, although the goofy homer toals didn't come until the introduction of the Big Head Barry Doll shortly after Bonds got into Chemistry. Was he essentially gaining the production boost that comes with using an aluminum bat?

Most of us will never know. It's not firewater or marijuana, that a goodly portion of us have messed around with. A small % of our population uses these drugs, with most of them being the weightlifter type that were pretty strong to begin with. My job wouldn't be that enhanced if I suddenly had great strength, although it'd be fun to smack people around and stuff. Maybe only Barry knows, although Ratty, Sosa, and Big Mac can probably make a pretty good guess.

Lots of players get high, pound booze, sex up groupies, or gamble wildly at Vegas. Does the relaxation that a guy like Robert Parish gained from smoking lots of chron give him special powers to the degree that Barry's roids did? Parish played till he was like 70.

Mickey Mantle liked to booze it up, and he certainly never had people throwing hypodermic needles at him. The game was fun to him, and he sure looked a lot happier than Barry does. Ironically again... they were abusing roughly the same internal organs with their drugs of choice.

Babe Ruth never batted against a black player. Brothers quickly came to elite status in every sport they've tried- although they have not yet chosen to dominate hockey. If I could eliminate 15% of the population, my stats would improve... especially if the 15%ers were the ones who were really good at sports.

But Babe never did a steroid in his life- the time he would have needed to spend at the gym would no doubt have interfered with his Happy Hour schedule, especially during Prohibition. His reputation is cherished, even if he got a far greater performance boost than Bonds did.

Henry Aaron seems to be the only one a fan can trult trust- he did it clean, against all comers. If Barry wanted to retire as the ultimate hero, the only thing he can do is step up to bat for the 755... then lay the bat down and retire, leaving the record of the always-classy pioneer that was Hammerin' Hank Aaron to be the ultimate pinnacle.  

If he does that, baseball is saved. Kids will wonder who the greatest slugger was, and they'll learn about how Aaron helped smash the color line in a classy manner. If he doesn't, kids will grow up learning that the best slugger of all time was basically chemicalized like a friggin' one man army.

It's Barry's world to save now... we're just living on it. The public perception of America's Pastimemay just rest in the hands of a philandering musclehead with a testosterone-fueled chip on his shoulder. 

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

I'm on the mound with the butane fireball...

Click to go to page

Briggs & Stratton Diamonds In The Rough

Thanks to her superb essay, her Dad's top-notch photo work, the good people at, and maybe a touch of help from unknownst-to-her AOL and CCToday friends, little Katelyn won't be swinging the lumber at some second-rate sandlot. No, Katelyn wins $20,000 of field repair, and- get this- a clinic from Lou Brock and former Sox catcher Carlton Fisk.

For those of you who slept through 1975 (or weren't born yet), Fisk is the guy who you see coaxing out the Game 6 winning homer in the World Series that year. He is mentioned right at the top of any Best Catcher In Boston History conversation. He has a cool nickname- "Pudge."

Fisk also had a great career after leaving Boston for Chicago. If you ever saw Bull Durham and enjoyed the part where Costner (greatest baseball urban legend ever, but that's a tale for another entry) chews out some kid for not running full speed after hitting the ball... tip your cap to Pudge, who did it on national TV about, I'm guessing, when they were writing the script for that movie.

Brock was a superb fielder who also held the stolen base record for a few decades. They tell me he was fast enough to run around in the shower without getting wet. He's also in a rap song- "If knowledge is the key, then just show me the lock... got them scrawny legs, but I move just like Lou Brock."

Brock won a title in his time... correct me if I'm wrong, but was it not won against our very Red Stockings? Well... we've won one since... we can let him slide, seeing as he's now helping our kids with their skills. Pre-2004, I may have killed him myself... and I wasn't even being considered  in 1967.

Both Fisk and Brock know more  about baseball than you or I, and the Sagamore Beach baseball players will be a lot better off after hearing these two drop science. Big ups to Briggs and Stratton for coming correct with the prize properness. Go by their site and buy a wood chipper or something. They earned it.

Finally, let's all give three cheers to Katelyn! She whipped like 20 other kids from all around the country, made a huge impact on the local economy, hooked up her team with a free clinic from two big-name stars, and got her name in the paper. Not bad, for an 8 year old.

My work here is done.... Katelyn can get me my cut of the loot through Walter Brooks.

Monday, May 15, 2006

... better duck the wild pi-i-itch

"N****s don't listen.... representin' is ill, man."   Nas

Click to go to page   Notice Katelyn from Sagamore in the lower left hand corner of the website here . If she wins this contest, I guess Briggs and Stratton does her baseball field over for her. You can look up the rules if you want to, but I saw the pics of last month's winners (some rural pony league team) with one of those Happy Gilmore-sized checks for like 20,000 friggin' dollars. That's a nice fat plunk in a small town economy.

   In fact, if you live in a small enough town and owned the only landscaping business in the county... it would be in your best interests to rig this contest. The smaller the town, the more dear the prize.

   Probably not a lot of 8 year olds read Briggs and making me think this was Daddy's idea. I wonder if her father is some kind of contractor? I can see a landscaper in Farmington, Minnesota maybe viewing this as an investment. I'd hate to see a Home Slice lose to unscrupulous stuff like that. Therefore, I think we should launch a pre-emptive cyber strike.

   Sure, some hick kid in Old Monroe, Missouri probably needs to win this contest more than a girl who just may be at her summer home. Ayup, that field in Wisconsin looks like it has a small lake in the middle of the infield. If vultures don't roost near that field in Houston, they probably should. This is one of those rare cases of Better Us Than Them.

   I personally have an email containing pasted text between a grandmother and someone who discusses the rigging of this contest with her while she's saying things like "the little girl wrote such a nice entry."  I'm referenced in name... "no finer fixer exists."

   Cute contests with kids are probably the wrong forum for the open election fixing I plan on introducing to this mix, but you can't turn down someone's grandma. The kids have more time left than Granny does.

   Anywho... let's make like Ted Kennedy and exert great influence towards making our back yards nicer. Let's make one of ours be the girl with the most cake. Vote early and often.

I smell the cheeb like a beagle

   If you really study the Bible like I do, you'll see that there is no real prohibition against lying in it. In fact, scripture such as Phil 3:16 states that "She who fibbeth shall prosper." I may not know a lot, but I know better than to piss off the Man.

   But I promised I'd give up the answer, and I'm a Smurf of my word. Before we do, a quick review of the stories in question... two of which are true, and one of which I thought I could slip past most people.

1) I was given the nickname "Smurf" while trying out for a TV show.

2) I had to return thousands of dollars to a terrifying mob figure, but he gave me a ride home afterwards.

3) I met my husband by falling off a wall, and I got sick on him.

   For all the redneck images one associates with fishing, it's actually a pretty deep example of psychological warfare. You immerse yourself in the world of the fish, and try to float a nice tasty treat by him that he'll risk the hook for. You have to think like a fish, and- depending on the bait- act like a fish.

   Conventional intelligence matters very little in this realm. It's the great equalizer- I know guys who smoke crack that have landed 40" stripers, and I know people who have doctorates who can't bait a hook.

    All the work is rewarded when you feel that little nibble. You don't snap the line back right away- that would uck fup everything. No, you let the little scaly bastard take a good bite, get that hook deep in his mouth, then THWACKK!!! You set the hook and drag him up on the beach... then make your husband take the hook out of his mouth, because it's icky.

   Lying is a lot like fishing. Either all Jews are evil, or Hitler was lying... and 50 million Germans don't fool easily. Lying requiresbrains, charisma, insight, showmanship... and the ability to assess both what your prey wants, and how much they'll pay for it.

   You and I are not playing on a level playing field, here. Adventure finds me. Even my lie was mostly true. People who know me IRL were telling me, "You should have included that time you kicked the guy in the nuts," or stuff like that. I was rather fond of my last entry, and I like it just the way it is,

   As far as which one is the lie, it's #1. I got the "Smurf" nomme de guerre from some friends on AOL. I wanna say Phyllis, but I might be wrong. Many of you know of my fondness for the old sticky-icky-icky, and I forget stuff now and then. I'm kind of stalling right now, hoping Suzi logs on and remembers for me.

  I'm pretty sure it was Phyllis, though... or someone at WOWTOWN, my all time favorite chat room. Phyllis also hung "Thumper" on me, which I actually like better. "Smurf" or "Thumper" aren't actually that bad when compared to either my real name or what my diplomas look like. While I won't give any personal info out here, I get asked what my Island is like a lot...  but we won't go there right now.

   Props to John Scalzi for a fat weekend assignment.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Hehehe...Lying is cool

Weekend Assignment #111: Two Out of Three :


Three stories, one lie... guess which is which in the comments.


1)   I got the name "Smurf" when I was in California, trying out for a wrestling promotion that I later ended up writing for... after they banned me from active duty when they found out I had been knocked unconscious for over 5 minutes following an in-game collision with a Ukrainian exchange student on my high school soccer team.

   Anywho... we were supposed to come in with some sort of idea pertaining to what character we'd be portraying. I was born in Rouen, I sound like it, and I figgered I'd be the snooty French heel character. I wore my best blue dress to the meeting, and I may have got 5 sentences out of my mouth before one of the producers cut me off and said... "She looks like a goddamn Smurf."

   It stuck... and here we are.


2)    My father was a rather succesful financial advisor. While legitimate himself, he had a lot of clients who were fairly high-up in the New England crime syndicate. They often came by the house, and I'd been on the knee of several men who undoubtedly had ordered/performed a few killings before I was 7 years old.

   When my parents died, the siblings and I were pretty strapped financially. One night, while my sister and I were splitting a miserable alphabet soup dinner, there was a very heavy knock on the door. I answered it, and saw a Cadillac driving away at a fairly rapid pace.

   I looked down, and there was a grocery bag. I brought it inside, and it had about $35,000 in it. I was like "nice." My aunt, who was sort of watching over us, didn't agree. "What happens... is like 10 years later, he comes up to you looking to get the loan back... and if you can't pay it, they either kill you or force you to murder a union dissident."

   So I had to dig through my father's address book, call this dangerous organized crime figure, and return the money.

   A meeting was set... on top of a parking garage in downtown Boston. For some reason, I ended up going in alone. I was 16 years old, and I had to take the train into town... then walk through a fairly dangerous neighborhood carrying a shopping bag full of what must have been the greatest mugging prize in Massachusetts that day. I'm 5 feet tall, and even children aren't intimidated by me.

   Quite naturally, I was challenged by the attendent as I entered the garage. "I'm just supposed to meet Mr. ______ on the roof," I said. The guard nearly fainted, but he walked me to the the elevator. I got out, and there's the Boss, with a rather burly friend, sitting beside the you-know-it's-gonna-be-a-Cadillac.

   He's actually a pretty nice guy, once you get past all the contract killings and such. Always impressed with my scholarship, he made a point of assuring me that I could go to college pretty much anywhere in New England or New York for free if I went through him. He also asked me if I needed work, and I blew it by telling him I was pretty happy at Friendly's.

   I headed back for the T, but he wouldn't hear of me riding on a subway at night by myself. So he drove me back to Duxbury- an hour ride- while I taught him how to order wine in French without sounding Italian. I failed, but he seemed to enjoy the trip.


3)    I'm walking down the seawall, eating a popsicle. I see a cute guy who was new in town, and start to say "hi." My next steps hit nothing but air, and you know I fell off the far side of the seawall. I hurt my ankle, and this same guy had to carry me home while I cried all over his shirt.

   He checked up on me a few days later, and we agreed to go on a date. We had a wonderful dinner, and then went to the cute little 4-H county fair. We go on a roller coaster, and while I didn't get sick ON him... I got sick. It could have been worse- my bag at the time had a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash.

   Rather than go on rides (which he greatly enjoys), we walked through the farm exhibits and talked to cows. He was charming and polite, he won me a sweet stuffed shark, we watched the fireworks from the hill... and by the end of the evening, I knew I'd marry him.

   When he showed up for date #2, I knew he'd marry me. It was only logical- after falling like a dork and puking on him, there was no feasible means of lowering the bar... short of maybe castrating him in his sleep.

   We're married now, and have two accident-prone daughters.


Extra Credit:  I can lie with the best of them.  I managed to keep my younger sister believing in Santa Claus until she was 11 or so, simply by offering technological/cultural excuses for the phenomena: "Santa only does North America and Europe, while Buddha handles Eastern Asia," or "Chimneys were wider in the old days... Santa just lets himself in now."  


True stories that I considered, but decided against using:


1) While reading a state rep's blog about people stealing his campaign signs, I offered to find and kill these men for $5000. The politician wrote back, and asked me to coffee.

 While letting him know I'm married to a pretty huge ex-soldier, I did sneech an invitation to one of his fundraisers. If I decide that he has a long future in politics, I plan to set him up with my younger sister (they're the same age). From what my parents told me, it will be the first arranged marriage in our family in over 200 years.

((Editor's Note: The state rep- Aaron Malloy, who happens to be very handsome- is as gay as a San Francisco parade. Oh well....)

2) I'm not that old, but I've broken the same leg twice, tore an ACL, broke my thumb, had a concussion, nearly had my finger torn off by a snapping turtle,  been beaten up in a soccer brawl that I had to bite someone to get out of, herniated a disc in my neck, sprained both ankles multiple times, went right through a glass storm door while chasing my sister,  had a shark swim under me while I was floating on a raft,  and I bet I'm leaving some things out even now.

Tuesday, May 9, 2006

Video Killed The Internet Star

Things really aren't going well for your favorite Smurf. I've been laid up for months, and it has hindered my ability to type for a long time. I've had to get all my snarkiness out in comments, many to the poor bloggers on this site.

Anywho... I owe you all an entry. I want it to be as much fun as I can make it, without making my arm go numb (which happens when I type a lot). So, I surfed a bit... and came up with these videos:


Richard Dudley : [OT] Squirrel Launcher 

"I was shocked when I saw this, and felt a great sense of pity for the poor squirrel... then I went out and built one myself."

I have no idea if the squirrel lived/broke bones/enjoyed herself etc... but I can't get away from the thought of a young couple walking hand in hand down a quiet suburban street. They love each other, and they suddenly pause in the street and exchange a gentle first kiss... and then a flying squirrel slams into their faces at 110 mph.

Life is good... unless your name isn't Rocket J Squirrel, but you look like him.

No... the author is not related to Big Dick Dudley of ECW fame.


Tiger Shot

I hit shots like this at the minigolf in Wareham pretty much all damn day.

A girl I went to high school with is pretty high up at Nike, and she said that the ball pausing at the cusp of the hole- while giving you a nice view of the Nike logo- added two kids to her marriage.


Dalmation dog riding a bike in Japan - Google Video

Once I taught Sloppy Dog how to drive my Jeep, she's never home anymore... and she comes home smelling like cat.

I'd advise against this, as dogs don't know the rules of the road, and could get run over by a cement mixer fairly easily while blowing off a stop sign. They could also wander into someone's squirrel catapult, and get flung into Plymouth County. I've seen it happen.


Hamster Escape

If the film The Shawshank Redemption were made with hamsters, this little fella would have Samuel L.'s Oscar.

I'm still trying to find the other great hamster video in my bookmarks- no, it doesn't involve Richard Gere. It's a hamster who must be on some Barry Bonds steroids, and gets to spinning a bit too fast in the hamster wheel, before gravity takes over.


Parking Lot Fight Sucker Punch 1991 - Google Video

Enough cuteness... let's see someone get popped!

Drunks like to look for small people to bully, especially if they're hanging out with a really pretty girl. This can be a bad move, because that hand on her shoulder can easily become a fist in your face. Considering how hard this guy's head hit the concrete, I'm amazed he bounced right back up.


Spirit of Truth

This guy preaches at the Dolemite Baptist Church. I've heard about religious folk who could cuss (they say Stonewall Jackson may still hold some kind of record), but this guy makes Scarface look like a Seventh Heaven  episode.

Friday, May 5, 2006

The KY Derby and slaughtering funeral goers

The Kentucky Derby: Call to the Derby Post... one of my favorite non-fiction works.

   For those of you who care about which rich guy owns the world's fastest three year old horse, the Kentucky Derby comes your way tomorrow.

   The Kentucky Derby is part of American horse racing's Triple crown, along with the Belmont and Preakness Stakes. Most of America's better horse breeders are based in Kentucky. Winning the Triple Crown makes the owner a millionaire, and gets the horse laid (more on this later).

   Horse racing is right up there among our oldest sports. The Roman chariot races were just one example of speed horsing. Modern horse racing began after the Crusades, where Saladin and his army had just whipped a lot of European ass on these speedy horses... which were more than a match for the armored war horses that the Euros brought down to the Holy Land. Knights came back from the Crusades with swift Arabian horses. Bred to English mares, the resulting progeny grew to be the horses you see today.

   They were racing horses in colonial Virginia, and some of the first laws established on the frontier were put down to regulate the racing of horses. The first American horse track was laid out in Long Island in 1665. While it didn't get big time til after the Civil War, they were racing horses in America before, say, King Phillip's War. Before that, I guess they used to bet on things like who'd starve to death first.

   It's big money. Selling out Churchill Downs makes some cash, but the real dollars are made through betting and breeding. You could find a horse somewhere, train him/her (I think KY Derby horses are fillies, but I may be mistaken) to run really fast, and make a fortune off of it. Winning the race is one way to score, but selling the horse to a breeder (called "putting it out to stud") also makes you das capital.

   The sport has ups and downs- especially when they figured out that people will bet just as heavily on easier-to-maintain greyhound dogs, or in the anti-gambling movement in America in the early 1900s. There's a pretty heavy mob influence, which led to the formation of the American Jockey Club. Beyond that... I don't really care.

   A few fun things to know about racing horses:

- Unlike baseball players, horses who are injured during the race are usually put down right on the track. I'm told it is near-impossible to fix a broken leg on a horse, and it's actually less cruel to just straight blast it in the head with a rifle than it is to let the sucker die slow.

   I can recall- when I was real, real young- a local horse named Timely Writer making a big stir. I think he may have almost won the Triple Crown, but he/she took a wrong step in one race... Boo Ya.

- Seabiscuit  made a fortune depicting a sort of Rocky Balboa of horses. National Velvet  may or may not have been a race horse- I don't have time to watch any movie that doesn't have karate, sex, car crashes, or dinosaurs. I don't think Mr. Ed did any racing.

- Rick Pitino owns a horse stable, called Celtic Pride.

- The horse-driven culture of the American South led to the Confederacy having a much stronger cavalry than the Union (who were the city boys). Bobby Lee's horse was Traveller, and Richard Ewell rode a notoriously slow horse named Tangent.

- Always bet on a horse/dog if you see it defecating before the race.

- I'm working from memory, here... but a guy once died in the saddle at the Derby. He managed to stay mounted, and his horse won somehow.  

In non-horse news... I got this clip from


   Most of us don't play World of Warcraft, an online DnD-style game where geeks assume the mantle of clerics, rogues, wizards, etc... still, this is funny/awful.

   I guess one of the players died in IRL, and her friends decided to hold an online funeral for her... in the game itself, in an "open combat area." They were counting on no one being mean enough to disturb it... a bad idea in the PvP realm.

   A "guild" called Serenity Now decided to crash the funeral, and kill everyone at the service. Immoral, yes... but perfectly legal in the game culture. That link above is the video of it- set to the tune of "Yesterday" and "Where Eagles Dare."

   The message board quotes of outrage are funny, too... "I hope your father dies, and someone shows up at the funeral naked, knocks the casket over, runs around slapping people while yelling "Owned," and someone releases a video of it."

Thursday, May 4, 2006

Flat Scalzi


He's on Cape Cod, catching some well-deserved beach time.


As soon as I took my eyes off him, he got into the pot...


Then he started hanging out with my friend "Soul Larry."  That's a Kool 100 for those of you who didn't get the lobster pot line earlier. We keep it family-friendly here at HAC.

Weekend Assignment #110: Strange Dreams

Wednesday, May 3, 2006

I'm in favor of more Bush



   Louisiana could have had a better year. While I like all the Louisiana folk I know, it does look like the wrath of God hit this poor state. That scars people. While I actually had a pretty nice summer on Cape Cod, I wouldn't be taking that much of a gamble in asserting that 2005 A.D. sucked for pretty much everybody in the St. Tammany's Parish area.
   2005 had the requisite catastrophe that will forever make it a bad year. 2006, on the other hand, seems to be off to a mighty fine start. Before the first of the May, there is already a landmark event- a sort of the anti-Katrina that will help bring things back to a proper balance around here. The New Orleans Saints had Reggie Bush drop into their laps on NFL draft day.
   New Orleans had made a huge decision as far as their roster goes. They brought in Drew Brees well before the draft, pretty much making two-thirds of the college superstar talent (Bush, Matt Leinart and Vince Young) persona non grata in this particular region of the country.
   The Houston Texans had the top choice overall, and the Saints- not needing a quarterback- were looking at choosing from a bevy of lineman and cornerbacks. Top notch talent, all... but the sex appeal of a shotgun wound. Few people will ever purchase a ticket for the sole purpose of seeing D'Brickashaw Ferguson block someone.
   That's not a shot at Ferguson. Championship teams are built around men like him. The Jets did well to anchor their offensive line around this giant. Most mock drafts had New Orleans taking him, including my own. It was the sensible thing to do.
   That was before Houston got cheap with meal ticket. They brought Reggie in, took one look at his contract demands, and signed a giant defensive end instead. They will have no monster contract, no season-ruining holdout, and Mario Williams is probably reading the playbook while I'm writing this. There will be no distractions in Houston this season.
   There will also be no Reggie Bush. Reggie will be in New Orleans this year. Unless something dramatic happens, Reggie will be breaking the ankles of the poor men assigned to tackle him in front of packed houses for the next 12 years. That revitalizes the franchise, and the New Orleans Saints need revitalization.
   I like the 'Aints. I had the opportunity to watch Will Smith (the scarier Will Smith) play against the Patriots, and was impressed with the meaness he displayed. He was operating on absolute hatred, and he set the tone for what should grow to be a solid defense. Drew Brees has won a lot of games the last two years, and he's young enough that he provides some long-term security at the helm. Deuce Mcallister is a fine back, and he'll no doubt make some team very happy when the Saints trade him to them.
   Reggie Bush is the difference-maker. He may require a bit of time to adjust, but the kid has speed and moves that no one can match.He already has the quarterback in place, and the team is poised to gel around him. If New Orleans is to win a Super Bowl, Reggie Bush will play a primary role.
   Will that make the hurricane go away? No. Even a sports fan as twistedly shallow as myself knows that some wounds never fully heal. Still... Cajuns love football, and the lives of several million fans just got a whole heck of a lot better when Houston's loss became their gain.
 Speaking of Louisiana, don't forget my man Pastor M at the Trinity Church.... which can be reached via the link on the right side of the page.   Trinity Curch In Covington

Monday, May 1, 2006