My site is littered with unfinished posts and even shorter pieces that were ideas meant to be fleshed out at a later date. While perusing some of these half-baked ideas (insert 4/20 joke here), I came upon this, from 2009.....

A Muscovite mime named Mame memoed me the meme 'Hmong-mama in a mu-mu'. Oh man, a Montagnard-Moscow semi-mute melee!

Then Thayer over there threw up on the Thelonius thirty-three and a third, that thrilled the throng.

But Benjy beat the bar he bellied by imbibing Bab's best bourbon via brimmed beer-bong.

Pre-appearance of the precinct police, Pop's party is plainly a polite preliminary, portending a Paradise, placing a premium on peace. 

First off, I do not remember writing this, a common occurrence anymore. That is usually a good thing, as I can read my own work as others do, with a sense of wonder and anticipation. 

I googled this stuff to see if it was something I copied from elsewhere, but no one is taking the blame. I don't know if this was going to be a poem, or just a random collection of alliterative lines, sans narrative.

So, I'm tacking this on the telephone pole on the corner, handing out fliers, printing it on the side of milk cartons, "Have You Read ME?". If anyone recognizes it as their own, knows the author, or has a idea WTF  I was up to, let me know. 

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It's true, the Constitution makes it clear

We cannot kill a suspect sans voir dire

The rules of war were written long ago, son

The citizenry simply can't be shot

But if someone needs assassination

We take 'em out

Habeas corpus and innocence's presumption

are luxuries unaffordable in war

and if the target's file reads 'American'

Take 'im out

Take 'em out, take'em out

All's fair in love and war

From the sky soldiers drop

Or a drone destroys their car

Though each move  is  highly orchestrated

we're imperfect, every one of  us

In short, sometimes we miss

the appropriate terrorist

and we not-so-smartly bomb a wedding 

or a  kindergarten bus

secret ops secret ops

they're black and wet,  against the  law

But hey, with secret ops

I can deny them all

I never admit knowledge a priori

unless the mission happens to go right

In short, it's all about 

taking the  bad guys  out

by the technically extra-legal means 

That we call secret ops

Would I really rather live naked in the woods, feeding on grubs and roots, shivering in the cold rain, slapping at gnats in the summer heat, risking death by predator, disease, or starvation every day, than deal with the systemic menus, unconscionable delays, and the heavily-accented voices of people who are unable to help me in the end, that is modern-day customer service?

Gimme a minute, I'm thinking!

The morning sky hinted at the bad weather to come....

The wind flags snapped in the morning breeze, the usual crowd of seagulls was feeding on whatever our wheelwash brought to the surface.

Then the gulls were joined by a few stray ducks

My old camera was incapable of taking a shot like this; the wings would have been a blur

Then we met two of Christopher Columbus' three ships, The Nina and the Pinta...

 Apparently, the Dauphin Island Bridge is the work of a Pre-Columbian civilization

I am considering going into the Witness Protection Program. It may be the only way to stay off the boats, by preventing my former boss from calling with sob stories and pleas of 'just one week'. 

Anyway, I am on the m/v Chelsea for a period of time, until Jim gets better, and it ain't so bad. The crew is decent, and we are running east instead of west. Plus, I get to take more pictures from the unique perspective of a working tugboat, in places not seen from any touring bus, not featured in any brochure, but just as much a part of New Orleans as the Superdome or Audubon Park. And, from the city itself, sunrise views are nowhere near this spectacular....

Eastern New Orleans is the industrial side of the city, and the following pictures were taken on the Industrial Canal, which runs north and south from the L&N Railroad Bridge to Lake Ponchartrain, about two miles.

That is the 1-10 overpass looming above the RR bridge. And in the near distance...

...is the Hwy 90 bridge. For those viewers with a literary bent, the Industrial canal is the site of the fictional clothing factory where Ignatius Reilly, the main character in A Confederacy of Dunces, was temporarily employed, in a building similar to....

This one.....

As you can see, industry in New Orleans has seen healthier days

"That's all fine and dandy," You say,  "but where are the Pelican pics you promised?" Oh, my impatient viewers!

Very well, then...

And now, the action shots....

Peek-a-boo!

That blur is part of his wing. He was so close to me that I could not get all of the bird in focus

About ten years ago, our boat was holding up for weather, alongside another of the company boats in Theodore, Alabama. I had just come back from a week at home, and made up my bunk and took a nap in the afternoon. I woke up a few hours later,  dressed, and walked downstairs into a galley full of rowdy sailors. Someone had bought adult beverages, two half-gallons of Canadian whiskey, and a brisk taste-test was in full swing. I proceeded to join in the judging, and soon we were all singing to an AC/DC concert DVD one of the deckhands had thoughtfully provided. However, that I held my own with some world-class imbibers isn't the point of pride to which the title refers.

At some point, an arm-wrestling contest started. Clint, the captain from the other boat was taking all comers. Aside from me, He was the oldest present, at 49. He put my captain down first, then Carl, the deckhand on my watch. That surprised me, as our deckhands are a fit bunch, but Clint has some shoulders on him, and arms like Popeye's. Then the captain's son, who is the youngest on either boat at 29, tried Clint. I just knew it was over for Clint, but down went John's arm in short order.

It was up to me to save our boat's honor. Now, I occasionally help tighten down ratcheted wires on the barges that we push, but a bad rotator cuff in my right arm had kept me off deck for a few months, now, so I begged off. "Hell, let's go left-handed" Clint urged. So I sat down across from him, and we clasped hands. Everyone gathered around, Peanut adjusted my arm, placing my elbow closer to my opponent's, and stepped back. The theme from "High Noon" played quietly in the background (not really, but it should have). We tensed, and on the count of three, went at it.

Clint started to put me down, but I brought us back to neutral, and there we sat, red-faced and straining while my guys cheered me on. My arm was quivering, and I could feel Clint waver, but neither gained advantage for what seemed like minutes. Then we both relaxed simultaneously;  Clint looked at me with new respect. We rested for ten seconds, still in position. I said "Are you ready?". he said "Go! And this time there was no mercy. We grunted, we groaned, the  crowd went wild. I pulled up my last ounce of strength, and brought his arm down to a 45-degree angle, and he gave in.

If we had been outside, I think I would have been hoisted onto shoulders and ticker-tape would have miraculously started falling from the sky. I was back-patted, hugged and praised. I told Clint that on a different day, with his own cheering section,  he would have won, but he was having none of that. He said it was fair and square, and we hugged like boxers.  Indeed, I felt like Rocky Balboa. The drinking resumed, and I got to sit in the captain's chair the rest of the night. It was definitely my greatest athletic moment, and the thrill lasted through the next day's hangover.

Note: the picture is from that night, but it is of Carl versus Craig, Clint's deckhand. Craig won.  Later, Craig and I went at it, until a draw was declared.

Although we started early......

...he was ready for our arrival, whatever it brought

"Damn! Too late to leave, they've seen my car !

Bob Burgess has lived a full life several times over. he was one of the first, if not the first to study the phenomenon known as the Bermuda Triangle. He served in Italy in WW2, then stayed in Europe to continue his education. He worked as a stringer for several magazines, and covered the American movie stars who hung out in Spain, befriending many. He has made thousands of deep-sea dives, and salvaged old wrecks. These and other adventures are the subject of over a dozen books that he has written. 

Seriously, we wait here until invited into his yard. You don't get on his lawn without permission.

30 minutes, and they won't go away....ahh, just get it over with......

Your humble blogger, Our Host, our entertainment

Bob accompanied us to lunch, a  very good seafood diner, then we checked out some spots on Lake Seminole...

...and some of its denizens, such as these Coots

..and those ducks in the other picture

Bob, Ron, and Hoppy. Which man has a Wikipedia entry? Who was featured in Chopper? Which two have been in Florida Sportsmen countless times because which guy is an editor for the rag?

Lotsa land here, hopefully off limits to development

Both cool guys, but which one is preternaturally chilly?

Jim Woodruff Lock and Dam, one lock I never traversed

Bob showed us some spots on the lake where he used to anchor his sailboat and fish for whiting, bream. and trout. He gave us some history of the area, and took us to a nice park where I found some blewits, a tasty and pretty mushroom...

It was a good day, a typical day in my retired life so far; now let's see what day four brings.

He's no legend, I have seen him, he's real.

That's my cue...enter, stage right!

well, sorta pinkish, anyway. I figure he's either an albino brown peilcan, or a cross between a white and a brown pelican

Others were curious about the bird as well

 The news spread fast

Still, he seems to get along with his fellows,

Joiwind did the googling, and learned that this is a Pink-Backed Pelican, no legendary creature...

I was mildly disappointed, until I discovered that MY Pink-Backed Pelican.....

...can actually walk on water!

Cruising downriver the other morning, it was too cold to venture outside the wheelhouse, or even open the doors, in order to get a glare-free shotSo I didn't bother....

These barges have been aground since Isaac passed through

Those are ducks, and they number in the thousands around any of the grain terminals along the  length of the Mississippi River

 ...and the grain elevator of choice for this discerning flock is Cargill Westwego

Formerly Continental Grain, it can offload or load two ships at a time, from either barges or silos on land

One of the area's most popular attractions, and a very good friend of mine, The Aquarium of the Americas!

It's just steam, so we are told

A Corps of Engineers towboat, and several quarterboats, probably part of a levee repair project. Those barges are each 200-feet long

 And we batten the hatch on another photoblog, and wish you all the best of New Years

Finally! I experienced a conjunction of close proximity to gregarious pelicans and possession of a working camera

For such big birds, they slice the air cleanly

Just one look, that's all it took, was just one look......

This may be my best ever pelican photo

his feathers do look a mite ruffled

Meanwhile, back at the power plant......

This a re-post from several years ago. I am not a christian, but I do have a spiritual side, and this story is as close to a modern-day miracle as I have ever read....

Something akin to a miracle happened on Christmas Eve in 1914.  I am posting an article written by the Rev. Kevin Stanley, of the Carmelite order of Catholic Priests and Nuns. Merry Christmas, everybody!!

                 THE CHRISTMAS MIRACLE OF 1914

                   by Rev Kevin Stanley, O. Carm.

Europe some 80 years ago was a tinder box awaiting for a spark that
would ignite it into a terrible conflict known as World War I. Since the
turn of the century the French had been enjoying what they dubbed "La
belle Epoque" (the beautiful era). Great scientific progress and human
exploration had been made. But still the mood was ominous and the clouds
of war hung sullenly over Europe.

The assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria on June 28,
1914, at Sarajevo provided the spark that plunged Europe and much of the
world into the greatest war known up to that time.

Shortly after, the "guns of August" boomed and the mighty armies of
British, French, German, Russian and Austro-Hungarian empire began a
relentless war that would claim millions of lives before peace was
restored.

But in spite the shelling, gunfire, smoke, blood, mud and earth, a
little-known miracle took place on Christmas day 1914. It was a miracle
of human kindness and love.

In November of that year, Pope Benedict XIV called for a cessation of
hostilities on Christ's birthday. "Impossible." Was the reply from both
sides.

Kaiser Wilhelm II and the German high Command admonished their troops to
"let their hearts beat to God during the coming season and keep their
fists on the enemy". Meanwhile, at home, folks wondered, "How will the
troops in the trenches fare?" French officers shrugged their shoulder
and predicted that the sniper and gunner would be active as usual.

"Judging by present portents," the Times of London added, "It is
probable that the plum pudding will be eaten under fire, perhaps in the
intervals of fierce action.

When the German artillery, on Christmas Eve, mounted one of the most
violent bombardments on the British Lines, the stern prediction seemed
likely to prove correct. But what seems impossible to those in high
places, is possible for ordinary soldiers, who often long only for peace
and for home. The thousands of soldiers facing each other in the mud
filled trenches that stretched from the Swiss border to the North
Atlantic decided to call off the war themselves.

At sundown on Thursday, a cold and frosty Christmas Eve, the firing died
slowly until every gun was silent. The silence was almost eerie. What
was happening?

According to reports, it was a young British soldier who first sensed
that a miracle had occurred. Standing guard at midnight in an isolated
outpost in Flanders, Peter Goudge suddenly heard the German troops
singing "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht" (Silent Night, Holy Night). Goudge
started singing too. Before long British and Irish troops of the British
Expeditionary Forces began singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" to the
cheers of the Saxon Infantry. The singing continued till all along the
Western Front, former enemies were singing Christmas carols with joy and
peace in their hearts.

English and Irish troops then began to notice hundreds of coloured
lights strung up by the German soldiers along the barbed wire in front
of their trenches. And at intervals, along the trenches brightly
coloured Christmas trees brought the solemnity of the season to the
war-ravaged battle ground. Private Goudge was even more startled to see
a lone German soldier picking his way across the desert of barbed wire
and shell holes while holding aloft a tiny Christmas tree bright with
flickering candles. Leaning over the barbed wire of the British trenches
he shouted in English "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you", shouted back the soldiers. Soon the air was
filled with shouts of Merry Christmas and "Froeliche Weihnachten."

The Germans then shouted: "Come out. We will not shoot for Christmas."
Timidly at first, troops of the BEF climbed out of their trenches and
advanced unarmed to greet yesterday's enemies.

When they met, on a line drawn halfway between opposite trenches, the
soldiers regarded each other with curiosity. Officers saluted stiffly
then shook hands. The Germans clicked their heels and they bowed. Some
laughed, others were tears as they embraced.

The Christmas spirit caught up quickly along the hundreds of miles of
trenches. French troops shouted "Joyeux Noel!" and a French regiment
band serenaded the German troops with classical music.

Belgian and German troops exchanged gifts of cigars and cheese, presents
from their loved ones at home.

Christmas day dawned to the strange sight of formerly hostile soldiers
exchanging gifts, good wishes and songs on the once bitterly contested
battle fields. Despite the language and other barriers the spirit of
Christmas overcame all. Soccer matches took place between teams from
opposite armies and the Germans beat the English, 3-2. Minor officers
and ordinary soldiers had photos taken with their opponents. It was
difficult to tell that war had raged between these armies for five
months.

Toasts with beer and wine, or tea or coffee were offered for home and
family and friends.

The most popular toast though was for peace.

Soldiers on both sides agreed not to take advantage of the lull in
fighting to repair barbed wire on the trenches and if a shot were fired
accidentally it would not be regarded as an hostile act.

The only serious business on this day involved burying the dead. Both
sides dug graves for those who had fallen, and the British supplied some
wooden crosses. Then a party of Germans moved toward the British line,
heads bare carrying the body of a British officer who had fallen behind
their lines.

As the early Friday darkness of cold Christmas day fell on Flanders the
strange mix of former enemies gathered for a sing-along. British and
German forces entertained each other by singing in turn. Allied
contributions ranged from "It's a long way to Tipperary" to "Home Sweet
Home."

A fine German baritone overcame the difference of nationality with
Schumann's "Two grenadiers" which was familiar to all. And a German
cornet player warmed the soldiers' heart with popular sentimental airs.

The troops applauded each other. At times a flare would illuminate the
Christmas night sky and was greeted with a new round of cheering and cap
waving.

But as evening fell soldiers began to trickle back to their trenches to
reluctantly resume the bitter business at hand. Tears and embraces
marked the parting of thousands of soldiers who at last had found "peace
on earth and good will to all men," if only for a day. The next flares
shed light on a deserted "No Man's Land'.

The barbed wire looked sinister and menacing again. Death was about to
replace peace.

A very young British soldier later wrote home, "They, the Germans, were
really magnificent and jolly good fellows." But he ended the letter
saying, "Both sides have started the firing and are enemies again.
Strange, it all seems, doesn't it?"

The Christmas miracle of 1914 had ended.

The military high commands of both sides took severe measures to ensure
that the warring troops would not repeat such an event in the future.
There were no more Christmas miracles. But to those soldiers who took
part in it, the day that war stopped for Christ's birthday, remains a
cherished memory of peace on earth.

Once one of the many wharves along the New Orleans waterfront, Poland Street is a victim of benign neglect

We are told to let sleeping dogs lie.  But Pepe says he's comfortable, and that's no lie.

 Put your left foot forward and your wingtips out,

you do the hokey-pokey....

Right tasty with ketchup

The new surge control floodgate, west of New Orleans, and you know that it's new...

....no dings, no divots, no scrapes, yet! Give us time.....

The trail at the Lynn Haven sewage reclamation site. Don't drink the water...

I will post more pics, just as soon as we find the trail outta here

A shooting that some are comparing to the Trayvon Martin killing has occurred in Jacksonville. 

Michael David Dunn, 45, is charged with murder in the death of Jordan Davis, 18,who was in an SUV in a store parking lot that was playing loud music. Dunn asked the guys in the van to turn it down, an argument ensued, and Dunn shot into the van, killing Davis. He claims that he thinks he saw a gun in the van, but none was subsequently found.

The story can be found here

This so-called Stand Your Ground law, that Florida's right-wing, loony-filled legislature passed, has got to be repealed. It isn't that this idiot is covered by the law, the problem is that he and idiots like him THINK that they are covered by the Stand Your Ground defense. The law may not apply in this case, but the following parody I wrote after Trayvon's shooting does:

How many hoodies must I see pass by

before one stops to burgle my pad?

And how can one tell if a lad's okay,

and just running to the store for his Dad?

Yes, how many kids walking outside at night

are really out to do something bad?

The answer, my friend doesn't matter in the end

When on my own ground  I do stand.

Just how young does a man have to be

to not be considered a threat?

And since when did having a lousy sense of style

make it right to shoot someone dead?

Yes, and what if your fear of a young black guy

is by sensationalist media fed?

My answer, my friend, is a bullet from my gun

I followed him and shot him with my gun.

Yes, and how many more will die needlessly

Before we fix this law finally?

How many more Mothers will have to see

their dead sons each night on TV?

Until it's changed, I feel perfectly free

to shoot you for looking cross-eyed at me

You can thank the NRA for this insanity,

now go out and kill someone legally.

This fellow circled over the boat Wednesday morning, then landed in a favorite perch of his, overlooking the industrial side of Morgan City.

...And sunnier times. This cold weather penetrates older bones more rapidly than it does a younger man's. So here are some pics from last May. looking at these is almost as effective as looking at video of a fireplace.

You know, that Betsy Ross did good work.

G'wan, you goldurn camera hogs!

 We are selling our precious asphalt to the commies? Why not? We can't afford to fix Our roads anymore

The superstructure of a ship is the part above the main deck

roarrrrr... I'm a P-51, about to strafe an enemy position

Old fuddy-duddy that I am, I still have a fondness for the odd black & white shot.

Pity the fool!

 they don't look too happy about the duck sharing their perch