Friday, February 08, 2002

Mardi Gras Mambo

I did my duty for the Pussyfooters on a wet and frigid Wednesday night. The marched with the Muses Parade which is a krewe composed entirely of women, some 650 of them in 20 floats. Men are not even allowed in the parade except for menial tasks. That's fine by me. Muses are one of the newest (only two parades now) and best krewes in the city. The thows are generous and the float themes are suffiently picquant. This year's theme had to do with twos and seconds since this was thier second year parading. One float lampooned famous two timers (both last names start with C), another spoofed Second Wives, and yet another ultra topical float celebrated Second place finishers like the Rams and Certain pols. The Pussyfooters were a great fit for this parade and endured the cold and rain as the parade was delayed for over an hour (one of an earlier parade's floats had caught fire). Once everyone was moving, a good time was had by all and the girls were really a crowd fave. As soon as I can get pics I'll start a seperate blog. When the parade broke up we were traipsing up Tchoupitoulas when a fire engine lumbered by and the girls started jumping on or in, much to the delight of the firemen. I was content to jump on the back and rid along till they stopped and said everyone had to get off/out. They were very good natured about the whole thing. As they drove off I saw that one of the pussyfooters (not my wife, but it wouldn't surprise me- Her actual quote: "Mmmmm fiferfighters.") remained in the back with the guys. She was at the Circle Bar on Lee Circle when the rest of us arrived on foot. There, a guitarist belted out songs from "Grease," much to the delight of the over 30 Pussyfooters, whose costumes did kinda remind me of the Beauty School Dropout scene. Still feeling the effects yesterday, but once more into the breach tonite. Posting may be light and or incoherant through Tuesday. Laizzes les Bon Temps Roullez!

Tuesday, February 05, 2002

UAVS again
Stryker on Gold Plated UAVs. Here's my earlier take on the dark future for fighter jocks. Let's face it, the average Battlebot or Junkyard Wars team could probably cobble together something effective and comparatively cheap if given access to the right stuff (sorry about that). With modern processing power and bandwidth, it is technologically possible to rapidly rig an airplane to be flown sans pilot. Heck, we could even use old civil and military prop planes as bait to suss out enemy AAA and SAM emplacements as the war progresses along the axis of evil. Million dollar idea: Create a program that allows qualified citizens to have access to government gomi piles and allow them to use surplus gear and a some set amount of cash to build a UCAV. Place the program in a Junkyard Wars or documentary format and trace the team's progress from inception to battlefield use. Teams would be scored on creativity, cost and effectiveness. Bonus points for style and irony. Think of the propaganda value! Hey Saddam, you know that pink Cessena 172 full of Octal that just flew through your gate of your palace? A welder, a mechanic and schoolteacher from Springfield built that in two weeks. 100 million people just watched it work spectacularly on thier teevees at home. I think the Constitution allows for this sort of thing under the part about issuing letters of mark and reprisal.

Monday, February 04, 2002

Dogs and Cats Living Together

Vodkapundit writes and asks:

I missed that bit o' news about your mayorial race.
Question is, will the
NOPD attempt a coup against the winner?

Actually, one NOPD officer's association didn't endorse the chief. What amazes me is that New Orleans is in the happy position of having to choose between to competant and relitively unblemished outsiders, Chief Pennington and Ray Nagin. This circumstance is on par with the Pat's win yesterday and the Saints finally winning a playoff game last year. They were very congenial with each other on the radio this PM and both agree on priorities (Jobs, infrastructure, accountability) but differ on policy. Nagin clearly has the edge here and is the darling of the business community since he has concrete plans. I expect to see Pennington having to resort to teaming with the machines of the defeated candidates in order to use their voting blocs. This, unfortunately comes with the cost of having to kowtow to the local equivalents of Jackson and Sharpton, whose divisive policies are the last thing NOLA needs. Nagin is my man.
Third time's a charm

Re the Pat's astounding win yesterday I can niether confirm nor deny exactly what was in those hurricanes we bought for Kurt and the boys at Pat O's. The Voodoo shop is just around the block. Anyway it likely goes back further than that. Maybe the spell that the Voodoo priestess cast at the begining of the season for the Saints was not worded specifically enough:

(in Caribbean accent) Oh Ogou, grant that our team, long suffering, having endured crushing defeats in this dome, finally against all odds and despite what the most learned of the commentariat say, have a Superbowl victory here in the Superdome!

Yes, they actually do that, snake and all (that was interesting googling). Last year, not wanting to anger the gods she only asked for a playoff win, which it seems the gods saw fit to provide. It was clear from the Saints' subsequent trouncing by the Vikings and most of this last season that the divine help was not there. It is said that Voodoo gods are mischevious and fickle. Ogou, the warrior god of might, likely chose to interpret the prayer to be meant for the chowderheads, who lost their previous two Superbowls in the Dome.

Sunday, February 03, 2002

Some Superbowl Thoughts

Here friends and loved ones get together to celebrate the spectacle, a paean to the pursuit of happiness.

Over there they shot and mutilated dissidents in soccer stadiums.

Here I am, about to set off for a party where my wife and a black Caribbean born USMC Gunny are sharing the cooking chores to lay out a spread that runs the gamut from hummus to jerk chicken. Men and women from all backgrounds will get together to enjoy the event.

Over there, when there was something to cook, the women had to toil over wood fired cookstoves in burqas. In North Korea they eat tree bark and grass while Kim sends food donated by other countries for the starving inmates of that state to its army and police oppressors. Likewise, in Iraq, Saddam outfits his palaces with gold fixtures while children die for lack of food and medicine.

Our all volunteer armed forces pause in the midst of a near flawless campaign (where practical) to enjoy the broadcast.

Over there, men and boys are brainwashed into monsters or pressed into the service of their tormentors, doomed to fall before the men and machines of a society whose central organizing tenet is to leave people alone to pursue their dreams. Poor fuckers.