"The Pipeline" used to mean something to Nebraskans, and it was a source of pride for Nebraskans that each and every year Nebraska would have an offensive line capable of dominating every defensive line they faced. When I first started truly following the Huskers in the early 1990s, I really had no idea that I would see the last of the great Nebraska offensive lines just a few years later.
Milt Tenopir and Dan Young built a system at Nebraska that took in young men with a good physical foundation and sculpted them into elite linemen. They didn't always have the best recruits, but they were great coaches who produced an incredible resume of Outland Trophy winners: Dave Rimington, Dean Steinkuhler, Will Shields, Zach Wiegert, and Aaron Taylor won the award during Milt Tenopir's coaching term. Nebraska was known as the school that produced great linemen, and you knew when you watched a Nebraska game that the offensive line would wear down their opponent and, by the fourth quarter, that Nebraska backs would be running for big gains. Nothing exemplified this more than the 1995 Orange Bowl, when the Nebraska line wore down Ray Lewis, Warren Sapp, and the rest of the Miami defense so that Cory Schlesinger could run for two touchdowns in the fourth quarter to secure a victory and a national championship for the Huskers. That 1994 Cornhusker offensive line unit had six players that players that would be eventually be drafted in the first four rounds of the NFL draft. Since Barney Cotton took over the line in 2008, though, the Huskers have had exactly zero linemen drafted in the first five rounds of the NFL draft.
There was a long period of time when Nebraska was the first team most football fans thought of when asked, "What college team has the best offensive line?" Now, though, the Huskers' offensive line doesn't even rank in the top half of their own conference, let alone make a statement on the national stage. The responsibility for that lies squarely on the shoulders of one man: Barney Cotton. Under his leadership, the Huskers have produced a string of mediocre lines that constantly fail to deliver. They are slow, get manhandled, fail to dominate the line of scrimmage, even against a weak opponent like Tennessee-Chattanooga, lack cohesion, and are frequently penalized. Their lack of discipline has helped Nebraska become one of the most penalized teams in the country (115 of 120), and their inability to dominate the line means that every game is a crapshoot as far as predicting a win.
When the Nebraska line was great, you could plug in Matt Turman and still expect a win. That line made average players look good, good players look great, and great players look like legends. Without the phenomenal offensive line of 1995, does Tommie Frazier look like the greatest college quarterback ever? He would certainly look good, but would his numbers be nearly as good? I say "no." Don't get me wrong - I think Frazier was an incredible player, and likely the best player I might ever see play the game. That doesn't mean, though, that he didn't benefit from having an offensive line that was not flagged for a single holding penalty during the 1995 season. Today's Nebraska offensive line wouldn't make Frazier look average, but it sure wouldn't help him look great. When a team like Tennessee-Chattanooga is penetrating the backfield 3-4 yards deep with 2-3 players on most option plays, there isn't much one can do as a back to look good.
For the last four years, Barney Cotton has been in charge of building "The Pipeline" at Nebraska. "The Pipeline" of today, however, is best described as "The 3/4" PVC female-female 90 degree ell." The problem is not with recruiting - every season we hear about great recruits coming in to the program. The problem is that Barney Cotton doesn't develop these recruits into outstanding football players. His leadership has produced exactly zero Outland Trophy finalists, zero Rimington Trophy finalists, and zero NFL draft choices in the first five rounds of the draft. When Iowa, Purdue, and Northwestern are ranked above you in the conference, you have failed as a coach. No excuses - he's had four years to create a good offensive line, and he has failed to deliver. I don't want to hear about injuries or youth or anything like that. He isn't the first coach to have to deal with injuries. He isn't the first coach to have to deal with young players. He is, however, the first line coach at Nebraska that I've heard use those excuses for four straight years.
Cotton's lines are undisciplined, and they consistently fail to work together to make combination blocks (when two linemen, double-team a defensive lineman, then one sloughs off to pick up the linebacker). A combination block is something that is taught in junior high to linemen, but it seems like the Nebraska line has never even heard about how to execute them. Nebraskans have a tendency to focus on Taylor Martinez and blame him for the collapse of the offense at the end of the 2010 season, but I think it makes a lot more sense to blame the atrocious play of the offensive line. As a back, it's a lot easier to make smart decisions and hold on to the ball when you aren't being hit in the backfield on almost every play. It's a lot easier to look like a good player when you don't have to worry about the line being able to handle more than the men directly in front of the them. There's a reason that Nebraska fans fondly remember Matt Turman rather than remember him as the guy who led the Huskers to their only (hypothetical) loss in 1994 against Kansas State, and it isn't because of his abilities behind center. The 1994 line helped Turman look good, and he wasn't even an average player. Behind the 2011 Nebraska line, Matt Turman would look like one of the worst players in the history of the game.
In short, Barney Cotton must go. I don't care about his kids staying and playing at Nebraska; I don't care if they transfer. I just want an offensive line coach that will produce a great offensive line, not a below-average line. It is unacceptable that Nebraska has a sub-par line, and Nebraskans should be calling for Barney Cotton's head, not Taylor Martinez's. Remember: one is 20 and learning a brand new offense, while the other is turning 55 on September 30 and has been coaching linemen since 1989. Nebraska fans need to hold Barney Cotton to the same standard they hold Martinez, and demand results now. I'm not even asking for a different standard for the two men - holding Cotton to the same standard as Martinez would have had Cotton out of Nebraska two years ago, and that would have been a good thing.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
I love the Rice Band
The Rice band trolled the Texas fans, and I love it.
Like I said, Texas hubris is the worst influence in college football today.
Like I said, Texas hubris is the worst influence in college football today.
Texas hubris is the worst influence in college football today
With scandals at Miami, USC, Ohio State, Oregon, and North Carolina, one might think that my stance on Texas is hyperbole, but I assure you that it is not, especially if you love the tradition of college football. While the scandals at the different schools listed are cause for concern and should prompt a call for reform, the Texas Longhorns have done more in the last fifteen years to permanently damage college football than any other person, institution, or governing body.
In 1995, Oklahoma and Nebraska played their final post-Thanksgiving rivalry game. That 37-0 whimper of an ending to a great rivalry based on mutual respect was the first symptom of the end of college football as we know it. Texas had a nice situation in the Southwest Conference, but, after Arkansas left the SWC in 1990, Texas started sniffing for greener pastures, and started the push to dissolve the SWC. In 1996, the old Big 8 took a chance and took in the four schools from Texas in what was an attempt by Texas to compete with the SEC for relevance in the national spotlight. A championship game was added, and the conference offices were relocated from Kansas City to Dallas. This shift to Texas also destroyed the great OU/NU rivalry, as OU and NU were split into two different divisions. OU joined the Texas schools and Okie State in forming the Big 12 South, and that was the beginning of the end. Nebraska lost its cultural tie to the conference, as trying to replace OU with Colorado is like replacing your Ferrari with a Sebring. With the fundamental differences between Texas and Nebraska, it was only a matter of time before it would come to a head.
Fast-forward fifteen years, and Nebraska is in the Big Ten, Colorado is in the Pac-12, and Texas A&M has just announced that is withdrawing from the Big 12, presumably to join the SEC. Why did this all happen?
Texas hubris.
Texas hubris pushed Nebraska from the Big 12, ending one of the longest played series in the game (NU/Kansas), ending over a century's worth of association with Iowa State, Kansas, Missouri, and Kansas State, and ending nearly a century's worth of association with Oklahoma and Oklahoma State. All of this because Texas couldn't handle not being the center of attention when part of the now defunct Southwest Conference, and, after becoming part of the national conversation by riding the coattails of Nebraska and Oklahoma, Texas got even greedier and went after their own network. That network is what drove Nebraska away, and it's what drove Texas A&M out, and I can assure you that OU will soon follow.
So why, do you ask, is this bad? Shouldn't everyone pursue money? Isn't this America? Is this capitalism at its finest?
I'll tell you why it's bad: what makes college football great is the stories behind the games. The years and years and years of history behind each matchup make each game more important. Kansas State beating Nebraska in 1998 wouldn't have meant nearly as much to the K-State fans without the thirty previous years of watching the Huskers leave the field as victors. No A&M victory over Texas or Texas victory over OU would mean as much without the decades of games in each series leading up to each victory. Each and every game is important in college football in regards to the pursuit of a national title, but each and every league game is important because of those years of tradition behind each game. Texas is quickly destroying with their hubris over a century of traditions from some of the greatest programs in college football's storied history.
Oklahoma will be leaving. A&M has left. Nebraska has left. Those three programs have great traditions of winning and, in the case of A&M especially, have some great game day traditions as well. Texas doesn't care, though, because they want to make a few more dollars. Soon there will be a just a few super-conferences as the Big 12 fully implodes and the Pac-12 becomes the Pac-16 and the SEC expands to 16 teams. I'm sure that the Big Ten will do the same. The result? We're going to lose games like Georgia-Florida or Tennessee-Alabama or Wisconsin-Minnesota. We've already lost USC-Washington and Stanford-USC. The Big Ten managed to keep the vast majority of its rivalry games, but if there is an expansion to sixteen teams, many will go by the wayside. All of this starts because Texas can't be satisfied with its lot in life.
DIAF, DeLoss Dodds.
In 1995, Oklahoma and Nebraska played their final post-Thanksgiving rivalry game. That 37-0 whimper of an ending to a great rivalry based on mutual respect was the first symptom of the end of college football as we know it. Texas had a nice situation in the Southwest Conference, but, after Arkansas left the SWC in 1990, Texas started sniffing for greener pastures, and started the push to dissolve the SWC. In 1996, the old Big 8 took a chance and took in the four schools from Texas in what was an attempt by Texas to compete with the SEC for relevance in the national spotlight. A championship game was added, and the conference offices were relocated from Kansas City to Dallas. This shift to Texas also destroyed the great OU/NU rivalry, as OU and NU were split into two different divisions. OU joined the Texas schools and Okie State in forming the Big 12 South, and that was the beginning of the end. Nebraska lost its cultural tie to the conference, as trying to replace OU with Colorado is like replacing your Ferrari with a Sebring. With the fundamental differences between Texas and Nebraska, it was only a matter of time before it would come to a head.
Fast-forward fifteen years, and Nebraska is in the Big Ten, Colorado is in the Pac-12, and Texas A&M has just announced that is withdrawing from the Big 12, presumably to join the SEC. Why did this all happen?
Texas hubris.
Texas hubris pushed Nebraska from the Big 12, ending one of the longest played series in the game (NU/Kansas), ending over a century's worth of association with Iowa State, Kansas, Missouri, and Kansas State, and ending nearly a century's worth of association with Oklahoma and Oklahoma State. All of this because Texas couldn't handle not being the center of attention when part of the now defunct Southwest Conference, and, after becoming part of the national conversation by riding the coattails of Nebraska and Oklahoma, Texas got even greedier and went after their own network. That network is what drove Nebraska away, and it's what drove Texas A&M out, and I can assure you that OU will soon follow.
So why, do you ask, is this bad? Shouldn't everyone pursue money? Isn't this America? Is this capitalism at its finest?
I'll tell you why it's bad: what makes college football great is the stories behind the games. The years and years and years of history behind each matchup make each game more important. Kansas State beating Nebraska in 1998 wouldn't have meant nearly as much to the K-State fans without the thirty previous years of watching the Huskers leave the field as victors. No A&M victory over Texas or Texas victory over OU would mean as much without the decades of games in each series leading up to each victory. Each and every game is important in college football in regards to the pursuit of a national title, but each and every league game is important because of those years of tradition behind each game. Texas is quickly destroying with their hubris over a century of traditions from some of the greatest programs in college football's storied history.
Oklahoma will be leaving. A&M has left. Nebraska has left. Those three programs have great traditions of winning and, in the case of A&M especially, have some great game day traditions as well. Texas doesn't care, though, because they want to make a few more dollars. Soon there will be a just a few super-conferences as the Big 12 fully implodes and the Pac-12 becomes the Pac-16 and the SEC expands to 16 teams. I'm sure that the Big Ten will do the same. The result? We're going to lose games like Georgia-Florida or Tennessee-Alabama or Wisconsin-Minnesota. We've already lost USC-Washington and Stanford-USC. The Big Ten managed to keep the vast majority of its rivalry games, but if there is an expansion to sixteen teams, many will go by the wayside. All of this starts because Texas can't be satisfied with its lot in life.
DIAF, DeLoss Dodds.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Something came in the mail a couple of weeks ago
About five weeks ago, Huskermax linked to an auction from CU where they were auctioning off the Big XII banners from their basketball arena. Evidently my wife and I saw the link at the same time and both decided that we wanted to buy the thing for me. Long story short, we didn't bid against one another, but we were the folks who paid $678 for a banner from CU. Guess we're suckers, since the CU banner only went for $400 (OU went for $225), but how many times will I get a chance to get a tie to Nebrasketball and Danny Nee?
During my tenure at Nebraska, my friends and I purchased student season tickets, which were pretty awesome because they were just a punch card for the first couple of years. Swipe your ID, get a hole punched, and off to "40 minutes of heck" (I'm pretty sure only my dorm mates will get that one). We had some great experiences at Devaney, like heckling Chauncey Billups, praying that Tyronn Lue would dunk, being sad that Cookie Belcher left, receiving lame t-shirts like "Kimani is my Ffriend," or taunting Bill Byrne with the taglines "$40 million athletic department budget - Danny Nee is our head coach" and "Hey Bill, if we lose to the Rooskies, can we get a new head coach?" The highlight of my fandom was having a brief video of me and three friends yelling at an official used in a video as an example of "what not to do at Devaney during a game." Yeah, we were young and dumb, but we had a ton of fun. We also went on the road to Iowa State (twice) and K-State (Once. That arena smelled like hog manure.). Email me if you want a funny (to me) story about Marcus Fizer shooting free throws at ISU.
The whole point of this is to demonstrate that while I don't really care all that much about Nebrasketball today (sorry Doc Sadler, but you're no Danny Nee), I do particularly cherish the time in college that I spent at the games with my friends. That's why this banner is kind of special for me - it represents an often overlooked portion of my time at Nebraska, and I also think it will make an awesomely bold statement when I finally hang it up.
Back to the saga of the banner, though. After winning the auction, I got my final bill from CU, which added a $3.50 shipping charge to the bill. What, $678 wasn't enough, vermin? Anyhow, my card run for $681.50, I anxiously awaited the arrival of my banner. I guess you could say I was probably about as excited as the dad in A Christmas Story when the box marked "FRAGILE" arrived (that's Italian for those who don't know). After two weeks, I finally called CU and asked them what was taking so long. The guy said to me, "Oh, it hasn't shipped yet. It's going out today. All packed up." Yeah, right, dude. I'm sure that's what was going on. He told me he'd email me the shipping information, then hung up.
Flash forward four days, and still no email or box. I called the guy again. "Oh, yeah. I'll send it to you. Let me check the tracking number. Yeah, it should be there today. I'm sending you the tracking number." The email shows up and, lo and behold, it's already been delivered! This was the same day I put my new plates on the car, so it was like a doubly-awesome Husker Friday. I arrived home and was greeted by the box sitting on the chaise lounge in the front room. It looked like a third grader had climbed all over it.
Not to worry, though. This thing is fabric, so it will be okay, right? I opened the box, and it looked like the same third-grader had packed it:
The banner was thrown in the bottom with a certificate of authenticity on top, and then some of those air bags were just kind of thrown in there. Note to CU: you're supposed to fill the box with those things, not just put four in and call it a day. Like I said, though, there was a certificate of authenticity, carefully inserted so that its integrity was preserved:
It's creased and has real bits of buffalo, so you know it's good. After taking a good long look at the certificate, I decided that it needs to be framed and displayed with the banner. Let's take a look at the banner itself:
Yeah, it's kind of big. Good thing we have 12' high ceilings in this place! I played around with putting in different places, but didn't hang it because I didn't have the hardware. Here's my favorite place, though I know it won't go there:
That gives you an idea of how big this thing is.
I wish I had hung it, though, because the next day this showed up:
Yeah. Now the house is full of boxes, and for some reason, my wife wants me to unpack before setting up everything else. I'm thinking it will hang adjacent to the entertainment center in the man cave (formerly the sewing studio).
I'm looking for suggestions as to what to do with the banner as well. I'm thinking about having my favorite Nebrasketball team (1996-1997, Belcher, Lue, Mikki Moore, Andy Markowski, Venson Hamilton, Danny Nee) sign it. Bonus because they were the first Big XII Nebraska team. Your thoughts on how I might accomplish this?
During my tenure at Nebraska, my friends and I purchased student season tickets, which were pretty awesome because they were just a punch card for the first couple of years. Swipe your ID, get a hole punched, and off to "40 minutes of heck" (I'm pretty sure only my dorm mates will get that one). We had some great experiences at Devaney, like heckling Chauncey Billups, praying that Tyronn Lue would dunk, being sad that Cookie Belcher left, receiving lame t-shirts like "Kimani is my Ffriend," or taunting Bill Byrne with the taglines "$40 million athletic department budget - Danny Nee is our head coach" and "Hey Bill, if we lose to the Rooskies, can we get a new head coach?" The highlight of my fandom was having a brief video of me and three friends yelling at an official used in a video as an example of "what not to do at Devaney during a game." Yeah, we were young and dumb, but we had a ton of fun. We also went on the road to Iowa State (twice) and K-State (Once. That arena smelled like hog manure.). Email me if you want a funny (to me) story about Marcus Fizer shooting free throws at ISU.
The whole point of this is to demonstrate that while I don't really care all that much about Nebrasketball today (sorry Doc Sadler, but you're no Danny Nee), I do particularly cherish the time in college that I spent at the games with my friends. That's why this banner is kind of special for me - it represents an often overlooked portion of my time at Nebraska, and I also think it will make an awesomely bold statement when I finally hang it up.
Back to the saga of the banner, though. After winning the auction, I got my final bill from CU, which added a $3.50 shipping charge to the bill. What, $678 wasn't enough, vermin? Anyhow, my card run for $681.50, I anxiously awaited the arrival of my banner. I guess you could say I was probably about as excited as the dad in A Christmas Story when the box marked "FRAGILE" arrived (that's Italian for those who don't know). After two weeks, I finally called CU and asked them what was taking so long. The guy said to me, "Oh, it hasn't shipped yet. It's going out today. All packed up." Yeah, right, dude. I'm sure that's what was going on. He told me he'd email me the shipping information, then hung up.
Flash forward four days, and still no email or box. I called the guy again. "Oh, yeah. I'll send it to you. Let me check the tracking number. Yeah, it should be there today. I'm sending you the tracking number." The email shows up and, lo and behold, it's already been delivered! This was the same day I put my new plates on the car, so it was like a doubly-awesome Husker Friday. I arrived home and was greeted by the box sitting on the chaise lounge in the front room. It looked like a third grader had climbed all over it.
Not to worry, though. This thing is fabric, so it will be okay, right? I opened the box, and it looked like the same third-grader had packed it:
The banner was thrown in the bottom with a certificate of authenticity on top, and then some of those air bags were just kind of thrown in there. Note to CU: you're supposed to fill the box with those things, not just put four in and call it a day. Like I said, though, there was a certificate of authenticity, carefully inserted so that its integrity was preserved:
It's creased and has real bits of buffalo, so you know it's good. After taking a good long look at the certificate, I decided that it needs to be framed and displayed with the banner. Let's take a look at the banner itself:
Yeah, it's kind of big. Good thing we have 12' high ceilings in this place! I played around with putting in different places, but didn't hang it because I didn't have the hardware. Here's my favorite place, though I know it won't go there:
That gives you an idea of how big this thing is.
I wish I had hung it, though, because the next day this showed up:
Yeah. Now the house is full of boxes, and for some reason, my wife wants me to unpack before setting up everything else. I'm thinking it will hang adjacent to the entertainment center in the man cave (formerly the sewing studio).
I'm looking for suggestions as to what to do with the banner as well. I'm thinking about having my favorite Nebrasketball team (1996-1997, Belcher, Lue, Mikki Moore, Andy Markowski, Venson Hamilton, Danny Nee) sign it. Bonus because they were the first Big XII Nebraska team. Your thoughts on how I might accomplish this?
Random Awesome Thing About Being a Nebraska Fan
While in the Wendy's drive through Thursday, the fellow in the car behind me rolled down his window and yelled "GOOOOOOOOO BIIIIIIIIIIIIIG RE-EDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD." Of course I answered with "GO BIG RED!" Keep in mind that this happened at like 5:45 pm on a Thursday in New Orleans. Husker Nation is everywhere.
He was probably reacting to the awesomeness of my new plates:
In case you're wondering why it says "SAC HSKR" instead of something to do with NOLA, click here.
I love being a Nebraska Alum.
He was probably reacting to the awesomeness of my new plates:
In case you're wondering why it says "SAC HSKR" instead of something to do with NOLA, click here.
I love being a Nebraska Alum.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Has it really been longer than two months since I posted?
Crap, I guess so. Well, in my defense, during that time, my wife and I have flown back to Sacramento to pack up the house and complete the move to NOLA, hosted a going-away party, driven across the country, had a moving truck arrive, had my MIL, stepson, and niece on a visit since June 24, and, of course, we've been unpacking and playing host.
Anyhow, I'm going to try to post a bit more frequently during the run-up to the season. Right now the 1998 Orange Bowl is in the DVD player, and Nebraska just scored at the beginning of the third quarter with a classic all-rush drive to crush Tennessee's will. Yeah, it makes me nostalgic for my time in school and for the teams Nebraska used to field. What an offense! I remember listening to Tennessee fans at halftime talking about how if they could just stop the turnovers, Tennessee could win the game. I remember laughing then and I laugh now thinking back on it. I miss being able to be that cocksure about the Huskers. Well, on offense at least. I'm that cocksure about the defense.
How do you feel about the upcoming season?
Anyhow, I'm going to try to post a bit more frequently during the run-up to the season. Right now the 1998 Orange Bowl is in the DVD player, and Nebraska just scored at the beginning of the third quarter with a classic all-rush drive to crush Tennessee's will. Yeah, it makes me nostalgic for my time in school and for the teams Nebraska used to field. What an offense! I remember listening to Tennessee fans at halftime talking about how if they could just stop the turnovers, Tennessee could win the game. I remember laughing then and I laugh now thinking back on it. I miss being able to be that cocksure about the Huskers. Well, on offense at least. I'm that cocksure about the defense.
How do you feel about the upcoming season?
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Visitors, Drinks, Dancing, and Palmetto Bugs
With the Rotary International Convention in town for the next week or so, there are a lot of Rotary members flying in to take place in the festivities (are they considered festivities when only five percent of your membership is under 40?). Part of that group flying in are my friends Mike and Heidi, who arrived at 10:30 pm last night, a Saturday.
Being the wonderfully awesome person that I am, I offered up a ride to Mike and Heidi from the airport to their hotel, and also offered to be their guide for the evening. Being the wonderfully awesome friends they are, they graciously accepted my offer and thus was sealed my devious plan to get out of the house for the night, trapping Hot Wife at home with Sick Baby (she'd hit a temperature of 103.5F earlier in the day - very sick). While I felt slightly guilty for this, I didn't feel all too guilty, as Hot Wife is generally in bed for the night by about 8:15 pm, and Sick Baby had been down since 7:30 or so.
Before picking up Mike and Heidi at the airport, I had to clean out the car, grab some dinner, and, of course, get ready. I cleaned out the trash from the car, picked up a pizza, then came back to Craphole Apartment to change clothes and get sexified for the night. For me, getting sexified for the night involved ironing a shirt, brushing my teeth, and taming my hair. It's not exactly a rigorous routine, and the results may or may not be considered sexified by all, but it passes as sexified to Hot Wife, so it works for me.
At about 10:30 pm, I received a text from Mike saying that he and Heidi had landed, so I got up to leave. After giving Hot Wife a quick kiss goodbye, I turned to leave. She said, quite prophetically, "You'll probably be getting home just as I'm getting up." More on that later.
When I opened the door to leave the apartment, a palmetto bug raced paced me from the outside. I'm pretty sure that it was clinging tenaciously to the front door of Craphole Apartment, just waiting for the door to swing in so it could land on the ground with a loud plop, thereby securing it a place inside Craphole Apartment. As to why it would want to live in this place, I have no idea, but I guess the dumpster around the block was full. For those of you who are not aware of what a palmetto bug looks like, please feast your eyes on this monstrosity:
Does it look like a cockroach to you? It should, because it's closely related to the American Cockroach. These things are fairly prevalent here, and they evidently await unsuspecting saps like me opening doors to let them into the house, kind of like these guys. Anyhow, I tried to catch/stomp the thing, but just couldn't get it before it scurried into the front closet. Since I needed to go get Mike and Heidi, I left the bug in the front closet and headed to the airport.
I circled the airport a couple of times, then saw Mike and Heidi and pulled to the curb to pick them up. A couple of big hugs later, the suitcases were loaded in the back of the SUV and we were on our way. While I was loading the suitcases, though, things were going on at the house that would alter Hot Wife's life forever. I received the first clue that something was wrong in the form of a text message, which I didn't see until later that night:
While the palmetto bug was making itself at home on my wife, Mike, Heidi, and I were headed down Veterans Memorial Boulevard to Jax Dax, a drive-through daiquiri place. I think it's essential that every guest to New Orleans is introduced to one of the greatest things that this place has to offer: drive-through bars. Mike and Heidi were suitable impressed, and each ordered a daiquiri and a Jell-O shot. While all of this was going, on though, my phone was blowing up, courtesy of Hot Wife.
Evidently not satisfied with my non-response to her text message (which I had yet to see), she felt the need to call me to inform me of the invasion of the giant cockroaches who woke her from her sleep. Let me assure you, there isn't ever a conversation quite as funny as trying to talk your wife down from panic about a palmetto bug while your two friends are ordering drinks at the drive-through from some co-ed working the window, all while trying to convince your wife that, no, that isn't a cockroach, it's obviously a palmetto bug, don't worry about it and go to sleep! Hot Wife really wasn't too pleased with my response, so I asked her if she wanted me to come home and take care of it, to which she replied, "no," and then said goodbye and hung up.
While I was on the phone with Hot Wife, Mike and Heidi were finishing up their orders and had paid, so when I hung up, I took the change from the co-ed, gave her a tip, handed the change to Mike, then pulled out to get on the freeway. On the way to the freeway, I gave Mike and Heidi a quick rundown of the palmetto bug situation, talking about what had happened while I was leaving and the phone call with Hot Wife. I remarked that a palmetto bug is basically a cockroach, but that I was trying to convince Hot Wife that it wasn't and that she need not worry. Hoping to God that Hot Wife wouldn't do her usual thing and research the living crap out of everything in her life, I pulled on to I-10 and headed toward downtown.
Three minutes later:
Yeah, so much for that. Being the smart husband that I am, I did the noble thing and told my passengers about the text message. Mike and Heidi burst into laughter, as did I, and we went merrily on our way down the highway toward downtown. I knew there would be a story about this bug when I got home, so I kindly ignored the text message and focused on having fun with Mike and Heidi. Here's a brief rundown of the night:
Epilogue
I found the palmetto bug on the Craptastic Loveseat at about 11 am. Keep in mind that this is where Hot Wife slept to avoid the bug. I killed it and disposed of its corpse in a dignified manner: burial at toilet. I didn't want a shrine erected at its burial site.
Being the wonderfully awesome person that I am, I offered up a ride to Mike and Heidi from the airport to their hotel, and also offered to be their guide for the evening. Being the wonderfully awesome friends they are, they graciously accepted my offer and thus was sealed my devious plan to get out of the house for the night, trapping Hot Wife at home with Sick Baby (she'd hit a temperature of 103.5F earlier in the day - very sick). While I felt slightly guilty for this, I didn't feel all too guilty, as Hot Wife is generally in bed for the night by about 8:15 pm, and Sick Baby had been down since 7:30 or so.
Before picking up Mike and Heidi at the airport, I had to clean out the car, grab some dinner, and, of course, get ready. I cleaned out the trash from the car, picked up a pizza, then came back to Craphole Apartment to change clothes and get sexified for the night. For me, getting sexified for the night involved ironing a shirt, brushing my teeth, and taming my hair. It's not exactly a rigorous routine, and the results may or may not be considered sexified by all, but it passes as sexified to Hot Wife, so it works for me.
At about 10:30 pm, I received a text from Mike saying that he and Heidi had landed, so I got up to leave. After giving Hot Wife a quick kiss goodbye, I turned to leave. She said, quite prophetically, "You'll probably be getting home just as I'm getting up." More on that later.
When I opened the door to leave the apartment, a palmetto bug raced paced me from the outside. I'm pretty sure that it was clinging tenaciously to the front door of Craphole Apartment, just waiting for the door to swing in so it could land on the ground with a loud plop, thereby securing it a place inside Craphole Apartment. As to why it would want to live in this place, I have no idea, but I guess the dumpster around the block was full. For those of you who are not aware of what a palmetto bug looks like, please feast your eyes on this monstrosity:
Does it look like a cockroach to you? It should, because it's closely related to the American Cockroach. These things are fairly prevalent here, and they evidently await unsuspecting saps like me opening doors to let them into the house, kind of like these guys. Anyhow, I tried to catch/stomp the thing, but just couldn't get it before it scurried into the front closet. Since I needed to go get Mike and Heidi, I left the bug in the front closet and headed to the airport.
I circled the airport a couple of times, then saw Mike and Heidi and pulled to the curb to pick them up. A couple of big hugs later, the suitcases were loaded in the back of the SUV and we were on our way. While I was loading the suitcases, though, things were going on at the house that would alter Hot Wife's life forever. I received the first clue that something was wrong in the form of a text message, which I didn't see until later that night:
Evidently not satisfied with my non-response to her text message (which I had yet to see), she felt the need to call me to inform me of the invasion of the giant cockroaches who woke her from her sleep. Let me assure you, there isn't ever a conversation quite as funny as trying to talk your wife down from panic about a palmetto bug while your two friends are ordering drinks at the drive-through from some co-ed working the window, all while trying to convince your wife that, no, that isn't a cockroach, it's obviously a palmetto bug, don't worry about it and go to sleep! Hot Wife really wasn't too pleased with my response, so I asked her if she wanted me to come home and take care of it, to which she replied, "no," and then said goodbye and hung up.
While I was on the phone with Hot Wife, Mike and Heidi were finishing up their orders and had paid, so when I hung up, I took the change from the co-ed, gave her a tip, handed the change to Mike, then pulled out to get on the freeway. On the way to the freeway, I gave Mike and Heidi a quick rundown of the palmetto bug situation, talking about what had happened while I was leaving and the phone call with Hot Wife. I remarked that a palmetto bug is basically a cockroach, but that I was trying to convince Hot Wife that it wasn't and that she need not worry. Hoping to God that Hot Wife wouldn't do her usual thing and research the living crap out of everything in her life, I pulled on to I-10 and headed toward downtown.
Three minutes later:
Yeah, so much for that. Being the smart husband that I am, I did the noble thing and told my passengers about the text message. Mike and Heidi burst into laughter, as did I, and we went merrily on our way down the highway toward downtown. I knew there would be a story about this bug when I got home, so I kindly ignored the text message and focused on having fun with Mike and Heidi. Here's a brief rundown of the night:
- 11:30 pm: Leave the highway, take a quick tour up St. Charles, then back down Magazine to show off the neighborhood
- 11:45 pm: Arrive at hotel. Stand outside waiting to be let in as we didn't have room keys. Wonder why the two men standing inside or the woman behind the counter won't let us in.
- 11:55 pm: Follow another guest into the lobby who didn't bother to even hold the door for us.
- 11:56 pm: Listen to the desk clerk finally address the man who had been standing there waiting to check in.
- 12:04 am: Finally begin the check in process.
- 12:15 am: Finally end the check-in process. Evidently not too many people put two hotel rooms on one credit card. This seemed to mystify the desk clerk.
- 12:25 am: Leave the hotel in the SUV, head to the Quarter.
- 12:35 am: Arrive on Bourbon Street on foot, have to walk between a row of cars blaring hip hop on one side and a host of scantily clad underage African-American women "twerkin" to said music. Welcome to Bourbon Street, Mike and Heidi! (Follow this link to see "twerkin." Note that the link is NSFW, and, as a bonus, the song in the link is the song that was playing.)
- 12:50 am: Reach the last Tropical Isle on Bourbon, grab a couple of Hand Grenades and a Horny Gator
- 1:10 am: Finish drinks, head into Old Opera House on Bourbon, and proceed to dance. A lot.
- 2:25 am: Leave Old Opera House
- 2:55 am: Reach the car, head to a 24-hour fried chicken place
- 3:02 am: Emergency potty break at my office on Poydras. So good.
- 3:12 am: On the road again, headed for chicken.
- 3:30 am: Leave chicken place (actually a gas station), head for the hotel
- 3:40 am: Drop off Mike and Heidi, head for home
- 3:59 am: Walk through the front door and observe Hot Wife sleeping on Craptastic Loveseat, obviously still afraid of the bug
- 4:00 am - 4:10 am: Conduct thorough search for rogue palmetto bug in bedroom, find nothing
- 4:10 am: Kiss Hot Wife goodnight, head to bed
- 4:12 am: Hot Wife comes into bedroom and proceeds to tell me her harrowing tale of combat with the palmetto bug. Details include its path of travel over both her hands while she was sleeping, plus the ability to hear it scurrying around a hissing while the lights were out. Bonus details included her paranoia regarding any object remotely the size of the bug, including wall hangers and light switch for the oven light.
- 4:25 am: Drift off to sleep
Epilogue
I found the palmetto bug on the Craptastic Loveseat at about 11 am. Keep in mind that this is where Hot Wife slept to avoid the bug. I killed it and disposed of its corpse in a dignified manner: burial at toilet. I didn't want a shrine erected at its burial site.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Finally, some proper Mexican food!
The citizens of New Orleans are, rightfully so, quite proud of their food. There really is nothing like the Creole or Cajun food in this town, the seafood is incredible, we've had some great pho, and, if the stories are true, the Italian places in town are great. I can stop in a gas station here and get some great fried chicken or a ginormous po' boy, or some Vietnamese food in a strip mall that measures up to anything I might get back in Sacramento or San Francisco. There is one food, though, that this town doesn't do well: Mexican.
In California, you can visit a taco truck, or, as we more affectionately call them, a roach coach, and get a fantastic taco or burrito for somewhere in the range of $1.50 to $5.00, depending on your order. Coupled with jalapeno, radish, and lime, taco truck food is something of an obsession for both me and the wife. We also are regular patrons of the tamale guys who skulk about in the parking lot at Lowe's or Home Depot, or the tamale lady who used to come into one of our favorite bars back in Sacramento, Socal's. Let's just say that we love Mexican street food, so we've been quite disappointed with what we've found thus far in New Orleans. There is some high end Mexican food in town, but that's not what makes us happy. There's nothing quite like taking a drive down the levees in the Sacramento River delta and stopping at the truck by the bridge over the river near Courtland, CA for a trio of asada tacos and a bottle of Jarritos, wolfing them down while watching some guys fishing for stripers or catfish next to the bridge.
My wife and I have tried to continue our tradition of going out on Friday nights, but it's been difficult without a regular sitter that doesn't cost a fortune (seriously - a low cost sitter is $10/hour?!?!?), so we have been taking a lot of drives since we can't always leave the baby with a sitter. On these drives, we never see taco trucks, including the one afternoon we drove some 80 miles down the Mississippi River to Venice, LA. Sure, there are po' boy shops and seafood huts and, of course, the ever-presentdrive-through bars daiquiri shops along the highway, but there are no stainless steel-clad food trucks with tinny Tejano music playing on a Wal-mart special radio while someone with a tenuous grasp on the English language takes my order, the odors of carne asada, pollo asada, lengua, cabeza, carnitas, and a medley of spices wafting out to greet your nose as you place your order, then wander back to the car to await your food. This has been the sole gap in our food experience since coming to town. Sure, we've been to Casa Garcia, and their food is decent gringo Mexican, but I can't take a Mexican place too seriously that has ribs, burgers, and chicken fingers on the menu. The folks in New Orleans swear it's a great place, and it's decent if you want a replacement for Chevy's, but it's no authentic Mexican.
After our experience at Casa Garcia and trying a couple other places, we figured we wouldn't be able to find good Mexican in the New Orleans area. Color us wrong. Last night, we took a drive after work to the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, and I suggested we go check out this golf cart shop that I'd seen on another drive before my wife had joined me here. The shop was closed, and we were getting hungry, but there was a place that advertised tamales just a block down the road, so we pulled in. After placing an order, I asked how long it would be to get the tamales, and they said it would take at least 30 minutes. Evidently they had to be thawed, then baked. Yeah, not so great. We turned around and walked out, then saw a sign advertising po' boys at the corner. We stopped at a restaurant called Che Gaucho, and I wondered why a Mexican place was serving po' boys, but I didn't dare try to find something else given that we had a hungry baby in the back seat and I had a grouchy and hungry wife in the front seat, so in the doors I went, and I'm so happy I did.
The first thing that I noticed was the odor when I opened the door: it was not pleasant by any stretch. The smell of a mildewed, long closed seafood display case greeted my nostrils as I opened the door, and I was very concerned about my food choices. The second thing I noticed was that the dining area that greets you when you open the door is, quite frankly, ugly and poorly decorated, and looks like it used to be a seafood retail space that had the sales counter shortened to just be a small hostess stand, the floor painted black, and some tables thrown into the space. Masking my hesitancy, I asked the girl at the register/counter if I could order some food to go and for a menu.
She handed me a menu that looked like a generic Mexican food place menu with enchiladas, tacos, and the like on it, so I asked about the po' boy sign. She then handed me a second menu, and that was when I realized I had made the right decision. This menu had tamales, empanadas, and various other delectable delights, plus a small po' boy menu. I ordered pork tamales, which my wife was craving, three empanadas (corn, chicken, and beef), a quesadilla for V, and a small green salad for my wife. All told, it came to about $17 with tip, which was ridiculously cheap. We took a brief (20 minute) drive around the Robert, LA area to see Jellystone Park and a couple other sights, then picked up our food and started the drive back to our place in NOLA.
As Sexy Wife got the food situated, the smells started to hit me: the masa and the spicy simmered pork from the tamales and the oil and dough scent from the empanadas. The quesadilla was uninspired, but it was for V, so that didn't matter to much to us. It was just a tortilla grilled with cheddar. The tamales, though, were the best we'd ever had. The masa they used was incredibly creamy and smooth, and looked like it was made with white corn, while the pork was tender and wonderfully spicy and delicious! The star of the meal, though, had to be the empanadas. The dough they used for the empanadas was light, airy, and wonderfully chewy, and the fillings just kept getting better. Sexy Wife kept making naughty sounds while eating the beef empanada, and I had the chicken empanada, which was good, and the corn empanada, which was mindblowingly good. Fresh corn and cheese were wrapped in that delicate dough, then deep fried to a golden brown and served just for me! Seasoned perfectly, it made my day.
So hey, if you're looking for some good Mexican food somewhere near NOLA, you can go to Robert, LA, and visit Che Gaucho. While speaking to the owner's daughter, who is also the cashier, she told me that they had just moved to Robert from Miami. The owner himself is from central Mexico, and he can cook. I can't wait to be up on the north shore again to try it.
In California, you can visit a taco truck, or, as we more affectionately call them, a roach coach, and get a fantastic taco or burrito for somewhere in the range of $1.50 to $5.00, depending on your order. Coupled with jalapeno, radish, and lime, taco truck food is something of an obsession for both me and the wife. We also are regular patrons of the tamale guys who skulk about in the parking lot at Lowe's or Home Depot, or the tamale lady who used to come into one of our favorite bars back in Sacramento, Socal's. Let's just say that we love Mexican street food, so we've been quite disappointed with what we've found thus far in New Orleans. There is some high end Mexican food in town, but that's not what makes us happy. There's nothing quite like taking a drive down the levees in the Sacramento River delta and stopping at the truck by the bridge over the river near Courtland, CA for a trio of asada tacos and a bottle of Jarritos, wolfing them down while watching some guys fishing for stripers or catfish next to the bridge.
My wife and I have tried to continue our tradition of going out on Friday nights, but it's been difficult without a regular sitter that doesn't cost a fortune (seriously - a low cost sitter is $10/hour?!?!?), so we have been taking a lot of drives since we can't always leave the baby with a sitter. On these drives, we never see taco trucks, including the one afternoon we drove some 80 miles down the Mississippi River to Venice, LA. Sure, there are po' boy shops and seafood huts and, of course, the ever-present
After our experience at Casa Garcia and trying a couple other places, we figured we wouldn't be able to find good Mexican in the New Orleans area. Color us wrong. Last night, we took a drive after work to the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, and I suggested we go check out this golf cart shop that I'd seen on another drive before my wife had joined me here. The shop was closed, and we were getting hungry, but there was a place that advertised tamales just a block down the road, so we pulled in. After placing an order, I asked how long it would be to get the tamales, and they said it would take at least 30 minutes. Evidently they had to be thawed, then baked. Yeah, not so great. We turned around and walked out, then saw a sign advertising po' boys at the corner. We stopped at a restaurant called Che Gaucho, and I wondered why a Mexican place was serving po' boys, but I didn't dare try to find something else given that we had a hungry baby in the back seat and I had a grouchy and hungry wife in the front seat, so in the doors I went, and I'm so happy I did.
The first thing that I noticed was the odor when I opened the door: it was not pleasant by any stretch. The smell of a mildewed, long closed seafood display case greeted my nostrils as I opened the door, and I was very concerned about my food choices. The second thing I noticed was that the dining area that greets you when you open the door is, quite frankly, ugly and poorly decorated, and looks like it used to be a seafood retail space that had the sales counter shortened to just be a small hostess stand, the floor painted black, and some tables thrown into the space. Masking my hesitancy, I asked the girl at the register/counter if I could order some food to go and for a menu.
She handed me a menu that looked like a generic Mexican food place menu with enchiladas, tacos, and the like on it, so I asked about the po' boy sign. She then handed me a second menu, and that was when I realized I had made the right decision. This menu had tamales, empanadas, and various other delectable delights, plus a small po' boy menu. I ordered pork tamales, which my wife was craving, three empanadas (corn, chicken, and beef), a quesadilla for V, and a small green salad for my wife. All told, it came to about $17 with tip, which was ridiculously cheap. We took a brief (20 minute) drive around the Robert, LA area to see Jellystone Park and a couple other sights, then picked up our food and started the drive back to our place in NOLA.
As Sexy Wife got the food situated, the smells started to hit me: the masa and the spicy simmered pork from the tamales and the oil and dough scent from the empanadas. The quesadilla was uninspired, but it was for V, so that didn't matter to much to us. It was just a tortilla grilled with cheddar. The tamales, though, were the best we'd ever had. The masa they used was incredibly creamy and smooth, and looked like it was made with white corn, while the pork was tender and wonderfully spicy and delicious! The star of the meal, though, had to be the empanadas. The dough they used for the empanadas was light, airy, and wonderfully chewy, and the fillings just kept getting better. Sexy Wife kept making naughty sounds while eating the beef empanada, and I had the chicken empanada, which was good, and the corn empanada, which was mindblowingly good. Fresh corn and cheese were wrapped in that delicate dough, then deep fried to a golden brown and served just for me! Seasoned perfectly, it made my day.
So hey, if you're looking for some good Mexican food somewhere near NOLA, you can go to Robert, LA, and visit Che Gaucho. While speaking to the owner's daughter, who is also the cashier, she told me that they had just moved to Robert from Miami. The owner himself is from central Mexico, and he can cook. I can't wait to be up on the north shore again to try it.
Things I've Learned in New Orleans (First installment of an ongoing series)
There are some, well, oddities in the New Orleans vernacular and lifestyle. Also, there are a lot of misconceptions about the New Orleans around the country, and I just felt like sharing about about what I've learned.
1.Other parts of the country (read: everyone) call the grassy area in the middle of the road the median, but not New Orleanians. Nope, this is called "neutral ground," which is surprisingly accurate because driving in New Orleans is a lot like warfare in an anarchic country. The people here are really friendly, but once behind the wheel, they turn into a cross between Charlie Sheen, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Roseanne Barr, and Larry The Cable Guy, plus the bumblebee guy from The Simpsons.
Imagine this, if you will: you're stopped at a stop sign on a two lane street, and you're turning left on to a six lane street (three lanes each way). Between the opposing lanes of traffic, there is a 20-foot wide grassy median, and a roughly 100-foot gap in the median for making left turns. As you sit at the stop sign, waiting for traffic to clear so you can turn, a car approaching from the left stops in the "neutral ground" waiting to turn left, away from you. As this car waits to turn left, a car pulls in behind it so it can make a U-turn. Both cars are perpendicular to traffic flow, and parallel to you. As this is happening, the same thing is occurring from the other direction, so now there are two cars facing you and two cars facing away from you, all waiting to turn left or make U-turns. Did I mention that there are no left turns allowed at this intersection from the major lanes of traffic? That's right, they're lining up two or three deep to break the law. While this is happening, a police officer or two might drive by - who knows? All I know is that they won't pull anyone over for this. Finally, there is a break in traffic and all four cars make their turns. You look to go, but the gap is closed. Sighing, you turn right, then make a U-turn (see future installments for the definition of "New Orleans left turn"), continuing the dysfunctional relationship you have with the traffic in this town. This is why I don't try to turn left from my street in the morning, but go to the light. It happens every day.
Oh, I forgot to mention that while this is happening, people will stop in the lanes of traffic in front of you and block the entire intersection. Have I mentioned that I hate my commute? I can't wait to move on June 1 to my home in the Lower Garden.
2. Mardi Gras isn't a one day thing, it isn't just on Bourbon Street, and there is no need for nudity in exchange for beads. I figured I'd wrap all of these into one item, just to make it easy. Like many folks around the country, I thought that all Mardi Gras celebrations occur on a Tuesday, they center around Bourbon Street, and I'd see tons of naked breasts. That would be a resounding "no" to all three misconceptions. Mardi Gras is simply the name generic name the nation has given to the Carnival season that runs from Epiphany (January 6) through Mardi Gras day itself (47 days before Easter).
If there is one thing I've learned here, it's that this town doesn't mess around when it comes to partying. Between Epiphany and Fat Tuesday, there are a multitude of parades, balls, parades, parties, parades, dinners, and did I mention parades? These parades are like nothing I've ever seen, and it seems like there is one every other day up until the last four days before Mardi Gras, when there are 2-3 every day. It's crazy! Each parades features floats, bands, local celebrities, and literally tons of throws. Throws can be frisbees, cups, necklaces, decorated shoes (Muses parade), stuffed animals, or many other things, but the one throw that is always present is beads. If you believe Girls Gone Wild, there are nubile women eagerly removing their clothing in hopes of catching a $0.25 strand of beads, but the reality is that when you attend a parade, you can't help but catch at least a few strands of beads and some other throws because there are just so many things thrown. Don't believe me? Check out Napoleon Avenue after a parade or two on the Saturday before Mardi Gras:
All those plastic bags are the bags from the throws from the parade. Don't worry, though, because they clean that stuff up, too, with a convict crew, some front loaders, some dump trucks, and an army of street sweepers. This is the same street about an hour later:
See? It's not so bad.
So where are the boobs? They're down on Bourbon Street, and that's pretty much where they reside. The vast majority of the events surrounding Carnival are family friendly, and I attended them with my wife and daughter. It's a great time, and a great party on the streets. Because there aren't any open container laws here, there aren't any issues with having to duck into a bar to drink while at the party, nor do you have to buy beer from a vendor. You can bring your own drinks, but, if you have to, you can purchase beers for $2-3 on the street from any number of tents. Sacramento could take a lesson from this town on how to throw a party, for sure.
1.Other parts of the country (read: everyone) call the grassy area in the middle of the road the median, but not New Orleanians. Nope, this is called "neutral ground," which is surprisingly accurate because driving in New Orleans is a lot like warfare in an anarchic country. The people here are really friendly, but once behind the wheel, they turn into a cross between Charlie Sheen, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Roseanne Barr, and Larry The Cable Guy, plus the bumblebee guy from The Simpsons.
Imagine this, if you will: you're stopped at a stop sign on a two lane street, and you're turning left on to a six lane street (three lanes each way). Between the opposing lanes of traffic, there is a 20-foot wide grassy median, and a roughly 100-foot gap in the median for making left turns. As you sit at the stop sign, waiting for traffic to clear so you can turn, a car approaching from the left stops in the "neutral ground" waiting to turn left, away from you. As this car waits to turn left, a car pulls in behind it so it can make a U-turn. Both cars are perpendicular to traffic flow, and parallel to you. As this is happening, the same thing is occurring from the other direction, so now there are two cars facing you and two cars facing away from you, all waiting to turn left or make U-turns. Did I mention that there are no left turns allowed at this intersection from the major lanes of traffic? That's right, they're lining up two or three deep to break the law. While this is happening, a police officer or two might drive by - who knows? All I know is that they won't pull anyone over for this. Finally, there is a break in traffic and all four cars make their turns. You look to go, but the gap is closed. Sighing, you turn right, then make a U-turn (see future installments for the definition of "New Orleans left turn"), continuing the dysfunctional relationship you have with the traffic in this town. This is why I don't try to turn left from my street in the morning, but go to the light. It happens every day.
Oh, I forgot to mention that while this is happening, people will stop in the lanes of traffic in front of you and block the entire intersection. Have I mentioned that I hate my commute? I can't wait to move on June 1 to my home in the Lower Garden.
2. Mardi Gras isn't a one day thing, it isn't just on Bourbon Street, and there is no need for nudity in exchange for beads. I figured I'd wrap all of these into one item, just to make it easy. Like many folks around the country, I thought that all Mardi Gras celebrations occur on a Tuesday, they center around Bourbon Street, and I'd see tons of naked breasts. That would be a resounding "no" to all three misconceptions. Mardi Gras is simply the name generic name the nation has given to the Carnival season that runs from Epiphany (January 6) through Mardi Gras day itself (47 days before Easter).
If there is one thing I've learned here, it's that this town doesn't mess around when it comes to partying. Between Epiphany and Fat Tuesday, there are a multitude of parades, balls, parades, parties, parades, dinners, and did I mention parades? These parades are like nothing I've ever seen, and it seems like there is one every other day up until the last four days before Mardi Gras, when there are 2-3 every day. It's crazy! Each parades features floats, bands, local celebrities, and literally tons of throws. Throws can be frisbees, cups, necklaces, decorated shoes (Muses parade), stuffed animals, or many other things, but the one throw that is always present is beads. If you believe Girls Gone Wild, there are nubile women eagerly removing their clothing in hopes of catching a $0.25 strand of beads, but the reality is that when you attend a parade, you can't help but catch at least a few strands of beads and some other throws because there are just so many things thrown. Don't believe me? Check out Napoleon Avenue after a parade or two on the Saturday before Mardi Gras:
See? It's not so bad.
So where are the boobs? They're down on Bourbon Street, and that's pretty much where they reside. The vast majority of the events surrounding Carnival are family friendly, and I attended them with my wife and daughter. It's a great time, and a great party on the streets. Because there aren't any open container laws here, there aren't any issues with having to duck into a bar to drink while at the party, nor do you have to buy beer from a vendor. You can bring your own drinks, but, if you have to, you can purchase beers for $2-3 on the street from any number of tents. Sacramento could take a lesson from this town on how to throw a party, for sure.
From where did I come? How did I become the NOLA Husker?
First, let's start with the history of my writing. I haven't posted anything in a while because I've had some major life changes, but I figure it's about time to start up again. My old blog was Sacramento Husker, and I'd just started that before the life changes. You can find it here: http://sacramentohusker.blogspot.com/.
Anyhow, you can see that I used to live in Sacramento before moving to New Orleans. In fact, over the course of my life, I've lived in Sacramento for roughly 23 years, so I consider it my hometown. Actually, I consider Rancho Cordova (or Corclova for you, Brian) my hometown, but no one outside of Northern California knows where that is, so Sacramento works well for most people. Rancho is a suburb of Sacramento, and would be the third largest city in Nebraska if it was up and moved 1500-1600 miles. I had a pretty good life growing up in a solidly middle class family. Not a crapload of money, but we weren't poor, either. My parents were both educated at CSU Sacramento, and I was at both of their graduations from college (well, all three - my dad has two degrees), so I guess you could say they were non-traditional students. They are who I credit for instilling in me a fierce desire to learn and read, and I can't thank them enough for it. I'm the youngest of three and the only boy, which means that I am very humble and never, ever, ever acted like a spoiled little snot while growing up.
After high school, I left Sacramento and went to Lincoln, NE for school. My dad grew up in Missouri, Iowa, and Nebraska, and his side of the family was pretty firmly rooted in Gretna, NE, just outside Omaha. The last time I was in Nebraska, though, I think Omaha had pretty much expanded all the way out to Gretna, so it isn't so much a small town as a suburb now, which is a shame. My aunt designed the Gretna Dragon logo that was on the town's water tower for some 30 some-odd years, my uncle still holds a hurdles record at Gretna High, and I think the cops are still trying to catch my dad for all his mischief from high school. Like I said, his side of the family has roots in Gretna. Anyhow, I grew up a Nebraska fan, and pretty much always wanted to go to school there. When researching schools, it didn't hurt that they have a decent engineering school and that the tuition is dirt cheap. All in all, I have never regretted my choice to go to school there, though I do wonder how my life would have been different if I'd attended a party school. Odds are I'd be dead by now, so it probably wasn't such a bad thing.
During my senior year at Nebraska, my mom told me she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, so I piled on the classes so I could finish a semester early and get back to Sacramento as quickly as possible. Evidently you're not supposed to take 26 credit hours in one semester, but I hadn't learned that lesson yet. All I can say is that I lived school for several months, and I couldn't have been happier to graduate.
When I returned to Sacramento, I started my career in engineering at a mechanical design-build contracting firm designing HVAC and plumbing/piping systems. This was a great company, and I learned a tremendous amount about the industry and the technologies used. The best part, though, was that working there helped me get ready for the Professional Engineer's exam, which I managed to pass on the first attempt after several months of studying. I can't tell you how happy and sad I was to tell my mother just a few days before she passed that I had passed the exam. I really don't know if she heard me, but I hope she did.
I left the design-build firm and entered the world of consulting engineering just before my mother passed, and I've never really looked back. During this time, I met my wife (NOLAH wife) and we had a daughter (Miss V) after our elopement. I eventually became a partner in a firm, but the dynamic in the firm really just wasn't what I wanted nor was the partnership working out, so I ended up leaving after a couple of years. After some soul searching and job searching, my wife and I decided that we'd move out of California so we could save a lot of money, pay off homes, and retire much earlier than 70, which is the pace we were on in Sacramento. We still have homes in Sacramento, but with the reduced cost of living in other parts of the country, we can bank quite a bit of money and then move back to Sacramento. The job and location search eventually led to Austin and New Orleans as our options, and the money, attitude, and culture of New Orleans was right for us.
In February of 2011, I moved down here to establish myself at my new position and secure a small apartment in which to live until my wife and child arrived. My stepson, J, is staying in Sacramento until June, when he will graduate from high school. Since being here, I've seen and done things that I never really thought I'd see or do, and I have learned so much about this place in a short 10 weeks that I don't think I'll ever be able to write about it all. My goal with this blog is just to talk about Husker football, my experiences in New Orleans and elsewhere, and to make random observations. Enjoy.
Anyhow, you can see that I used to live in Sacramento before moving to New Orleans. In fact, over the course of my life, I've lived in Sacramento for roughly 23 years, so I consider it my hometown. Actually, I consider Rancho Cordova (or Corclova for you, Brian) my hometown, but no one outside of Northern California knows where that is, so Sacramento works well for most people. Rancho is a suburb of Sacramento, and would be the third largest city in Nebraska if it was up and moved 1500-1600 miles. I had a pretty good life growing up in a solidly middle class family. Not a crapload of money, but we weren't poor, either. My parents were both educated at CSU Sacramento, and I was at both of their graduations from college (well, all three - my dad has two degrees), so I guess you could say they were non-traditional students. They are who I credit for instilling in me a fierce desire to learn and read, and I can't thank them enough for it. I'm the youngest of three and the only boy, which means that I am very humble and never, ever, ever acted like a spoiled little snot while growing up.
After high school, I left Sacramento and went to Lincoln, NE for school. My dad grew up in Missouri, Iowa, and Nebraska, and his side of the family was pretty firmly rooted in Gretna, NE, just outside Omaha. The last time I was in Nebraska, though, I think Omaha had pretty much expanded all the way out to Gretna, so it isn't so much a small town as a suburb now, which is a shame. My aunt designed the Gretna Dragon logo that was on the town's water tower for some 30 some-odd years, my uncle still holds a hurdles record at Gretna High, and I think the cops are still trying to catch my dad for all his mischief from high school. Like I said, his side of the family has roots in Gretna. Anyhow, I grew up a Nebraska fan, and pretty much always wanted to go to school there. When researching schools, it didn't hurt that they have a decent engineering school and that the tuition is dirt cheap. All in all, I have never regretted my choice to go to school there, though I do wonder how my life would have been different if I'd attended a party school. Odds are I'd be dead by now, so it probably wasn't such a bad thing.
During my senior year at Nebraska, my mom told me she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, so I piled on the classes so I could finish a semester early and get back to Sacramento as quickly as possible. Evidently you're not supposed to take 26 credit hours in one semester, but I hadn't learned that lesson yet. All I can say is that I lived school for several months, and I couldn't have been happier to graduate.
When I returned to Sacramento, I started my career in engineering at a mechanical design-build contracting firm designing HVAC and plumbing/piping systems. This was a great company, and I learned a tremendous amount about the industry and the technologies used. The best part, though, was that working there helped me get ready for the Professional Engineer's exam, which I managed to pass on the first attempt after several months of studying. I can't tell you how happy and sad I was to tell my mother just a few days before she passed that I had passed the exam. I really don't know if she heard me, but I hope she did.
I left the design-build firm and entered the world of consulting engineering just before my mother passed, and I've never really looked back. During this time, I met my wife (NOLAH wife) and we had a daughter (Miss V) after our elopement. I eventually became a partner in a firm, but the dynamic in the firm really just wasn't what I wanted nor was the partnership working out, so I ended up leaving after a couple of years. After some soul searching and job searching, my wife and I decided that we'd move out of California so we could save a lot of money, pay off homes, and retire much earlier than 70, which is the pace we were on in Sacramento. We still have homes in Sacramento, but with the reduced cost of living in other parts of the country, we can bank quite a bit of money and then move back to Sacramento. The job and location search eventually led to Austin and New Orleans as our options, and the money, attitude, and culture of New Orleans was right for us.
In February of 2011, I moved down here to establish myself at my new position and secure a small apartment in which to live until my wife and child arrived. My stepson, J, is staying in Sacramento until June, when he will graduate from high school. Since being here, I've seen and done things that I never really thought I'd see or do, and I have learned so much about this place in a short 10 weeks that I don't think I'll ever be able to write about it all. My goal with this blog is just to talk about Husker football, my experiences in New Orleans and elsewhere, and to make random observations. Enjoy.
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