Why me, Lord?

You know how it is. You get to that time of the year when you expect someone to step up and when nobody does, you know it's up to you. Is it because nobody is paying attention or because they just don't care? Maybe it's both.

Last month, for example, was the Oscars and for the past five years, the video guys hosted an Oscar pool and the office sprung for a couple pair of movie tickets for prizes to make it more interesting. This year: nothing (even though I sent an email to remind them.) Too much trouble? It's really no trouble at all. More like terminal ennui.

So here we are with March Madness looming and nobody is going to step up with the office pool. So either I find some poor schmuck to run it or I have to run it myself (heaven forbid!) I can't ask my regular go-to guy because he's mere days away from being a father for the second time and he doesn't have the necessary attention span right now.

One of the big problems with my office is that it's not overly sports-minded and not just because it's overwhelmingly female. In fact, my boss (female) always participates in the pool and it is because of her that I feel compelled to make it happen. It's sort of defaulted to my responsibility even though, technically, office pools are frowned on by higher administration.

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Sometimes, just writing down your problem in a semi-creative way will give you the insight necessary to solve your problem; meaning that I had an idea of who to pin this on. Let's hope he takes the bait. Thank you, Lord.

My Lenten...uh, thing.

Maybe it's my age and maybe it's my over-exposure to media, social and otherwise, but whatever it is, I'm getting crankier by the minute. Sure, Republicans in general and the Tea Party in particular make me want to scream and hurl epithets and f-bombs at them but what's the point of me working myself into such an apoplectic state? Who am I hurting? Surely not those Social Darwinist, Ayn Rand-worshipping scum...but I digress. Those on the Right, curiously enough, are sure that they're right and I'm sure not going to convince them they're not (even though they're not.)

So for the next 38 days (I started late) I'm not going to let them bother me. I'm going to avoid reading inflammatory op-eds from both sides of the political spectrum. I am ignoring Twitter and Facebook posts that only elevate my blood pressure--again, regardless of political stripe. I am going to follow the middle way--which I am defining as not letting anyone push my buttons. Of course, the easiest thing for me to do would be to turn off all social media for the next month but that would be as difficult as giving up wine and I don't want to set myself up for failure.

Sure, my eye might twitch when I hear the words "Wisconsin" or "Koch Brothers" or "Palin" but you're not going to see me fire off some outraged Tweet or "like" some Facebook post about Michael Moore. (I should probably stop watching "The Daily Show" because satire is tough to ignore and nobody can push my buttons like they can.)

I would appreciate everyone's help in my Lenten endeavor. Please don't try to rile me up or say any of the above words until April 25. I will be as sweet as pie to everyone, even filthy, rat-faced...whoops, almost lost it there for a second. May the peace of Christ be with you always but especially during this glorious Lenten season.

The day after Mardi Gras, 1997

The closest I ever came to celebrating Mardi Gras in New Orleans was in 1997. Ash Wednesday, 1997 to be exact. My wife and I flew into NO after dark and caught a cab to the Royal Sonesta Hotel. The cabdriver knew the back routes and took us to the garage entrance to the hotel where we were met by several bellmen who unloaded our bags and hustled us into the crowded lobby.

Having never been to New Orleans before I couldn't wait to experience it. I wandered out of the hotel's front door right onto Bourbon Street. It was like stepping in a maelstrom. The remnants of Mardi Gras were everywhere including many intoxicated people who may not have known that it was already the next day, or week, or whenever they started their party. Beads hung from street signs and little mountains of beer cans appeared here and there. I have a vague memory of my wife pulling me back into the hotel while strange hands grabbed at me struggling to to pull me back into the Hell of Bourbon Street. It was pretty exciting. Once the front door of the Sonesta shut tight, the din of Bourbon Street became a distant muffled roar and I regained a shred of sanity. However, there was no convincing my spouse that we should give Bourbon Street another try that night.

Luckily, the room they put us in was on the hotel's top floor on the Bienville Street side. People I talked to with rooms facing Bourbon didn't get to sleep much that night--or any other night.

We spent time strolling Bourbon Street taking in its exotic and unusual sights and sounds for the next couple of days until around dark when the atmosphere and clientele of Bourbon Street changed visibly and palpably. It became a sinister place after dark--which I presume is most of its appeal but it surely didn't appeal to the wife even one little bit.

She and I have been back to New Orleans on several occasions, the last time was the year after Katrina. We took the Gray Line Katrina tour which was an eye-opening experience even if it did make us feel a little like ghouls. I remember the bus dutifully stopping at a lone traffic light somewhere in the lower 9th with nothing but destruction in every direction. Even Bourbon Street seemed more sedate back then.

My best regards go out to the people of NO who are hopefully enjoying a rousing Mardi Gras today. And if you're staying in the Royal Sonesta tonight, sweet dreams.