Due to a cruel twist of fate, my soul was deposited here in Wisconsin, rather than in my beloved New Orleans. Until I can make my escape, I spend my time helping put our two sons through college, maintaining our 1882 Queen Anne, driving my 1960 Ranchero (during the three decent months we get up here) and shoveling snow. Endless snow. Color and life-sucking snow. The White Death. That’s why jokes are so important. They remind us that before we have The Big One while shoveling more of God’s Dandruff we need to find a few minutes to laugh. Gotta go. It’s snowing. By the way, that picture is me in my Grim Reaper costume on Bourbon Street on Halloween night a few years back. Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
People falling down. The Stooges. People walking into things. People doing really dumb things, then getting hurt. Days when it doesn’t snow.