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Friday, October 07, 2005

 

Lunchtime in NOLA

Miscellaneous musings and tales:

The fine folk from the Salvation Army run an outdoor daily hot-lunch line for us. As I was waiting today for a serving of beef stew, I couldn't help but notice that there are some fat flies in NOLA *shudder*.

After Rosh Hashana services Tuesday, a nice couple invited 3 of us military types to their home for lunch- a COL, an SFC, and myself. They had just returned home, and we thought that was really something, their insistence on sharing what little food they had. Immediately after we sat down, our host launched into total moonbattery- global warming causing the hurricanes, Bush being "selected", the wrongness of the Iraqi campaign. All the LLL talking points. While we soldiers were walking back to a main street, the SFC revealed the holes he'd bitten in his tongue, and the COL remarked on my deft redirection of the conversation.

We passed many trash piles topped with bird cages. As the owner of a small parrot, I found myself for the first time really thinking about the lost pets of NOLA.
On St. Charles St. I stuck my thumb out as a fire engine turned a corner. The mixed crew of NOLA and volunteer firefighters drove us to our door.
Shana tovah, all.

Addendum:
The FASTAC is up and running as of Wednesday, still without a muffler. One of the mercs remarked, "that's a real chick magnet, there." Well, maybe not a chick magnet, but certainly still a BLS rig/field aid station. Parked on the riverfront where the tailgate stickers can drive liberals nuts.

Comments:
Glad to hear the FASTAC is up and runnin'. Heh. You can always give the ladies a choice between riding in it or chasin' it down the road....
 
Broke my exhaust just back of the catalyst a year ago. I'll have to fix it by November so I can pass the exhaust test here in the Peoples' Republic, but in the mean time I'm getting better gas mileage and have a cult following of 13-year old classmates of my son who think I'm cool. Any time a 45-year old can be deemed cool by 13-year olds, you hate to make the repair.
 
Heck, a broken down vehicle is quite the chick magnet, because they think you drive it only because you're so manly that you like to tinker with your truck. You know, grease under your fingernails, scooting under the truck on one o' them little rolly things, a big wrench in your hand...

Ohhhh, that's sooooo hot.

(don't tell 'em you took it to the shop, whatever you do)
 
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All original content on this blog copyright 2005-2012 by bblatt and FASTAC_6; all rights reserved. Original posts are the opinions of the authors only, and do not represent the policies or opinions of any Federal, State, or other private or corporate entity. Comments on posts are unedited, and do not represent the views of the blog authors; they may be deleted at any time by the blog authors