Living The Louisiana Life

Michael Kurth Tuesday, October 11, 2022 Comments Off on Living The Louisiana Life
Living The Louisiana Life

 For the first time in about two weeks, it wasn’t raining and the sun was shining. So I decided to mow my back lawn in the area where the grass was now two feet high. Then I noticed the weeds around my fire pit were about three feet high. So I decided to pull them out by hand. 

That is when I discovered the fire ants. I had pulled some weeds with my left hand and saw fire ants scurrying about. Then I looked down at my right hand, which I apparently had placed directly on their bed because it was covered with the tiny back buggers from my wrist to my elbow. 

I brushed them off as quickly as I could, but my arm was already red from ant bites, and I knew from experience that by evening it would be covered with tiny blisters. “Son-of-a bitch, this means war!” I declared to the ants as I envisioned the scene from Apocalypse Now with “The Ride of the Valkyrie” playing in the background and Robert Duvall declaring, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning … “ except I was saying “I love the smell of fire ant killer in the morning.” 

So, the first thing the next morning, I drove to Tractor Supply and bought the last two cans of fire ant killer on their shelf. (Apparently it’s in high demand.) Then I dropped my 2003 Honda Pilot off at the repair shop to get everything checked out so I could renew my inspection sticker and registration. 

I had gone to the DMV to renew my registration but was told that because State Farm had totaled the vehicle after Hurricane Laura, I would have to get it re-inspected. They gave me a printout of instructions. 

I did not bother to read the printout because I assumed (incorrectly) that it was like an annual safety inspection. But nothing dealing with government bureaucracy in Louisiana is ever simple. The inspection for a “salvaged vehicle” must be performed by a full-time Peace Officer Standards and Training certified law enforcement officer who has been certified by the Department of Public Safety and Corrections, Office of State Police, to inspect motor vehicles at a cost of about $180. And there is a whole lot of paper documentation.

Nothing mechanical on the Pilot had been damaged by the hurricane. I had parked it outside my wife’s dance studio as we left town before the hurricane because I was afraid (correctly) that the trees lining the driveway of our house might fall on it. But I did not anticipate that the building across Highway 171 from my wife’s studio would be demolished in the storm and its debris hurtled into the front of our strip mall 

 and the back of my Honda, taking out the rear window and taillights, and denting its body. 

Rather than sending someone to inspect the damage, State Farm offered to total it because it was 18-years old and not worth that much based on the Blue Book value. I had the rear window replaced and fixed the other damage myself. (The photo shows me and my dog Bandit driving down the road in my Pilot pre-Hurricane Laura; Bandit “owned” the middle row of seats). 

The repair shop called and told me my Pilot was ready, so Cathy dropped me off to pick it up and she went on to teach a class at her studio for the next two hours. But when I got to the shop to pick up the Pilot, it would not start.

It did this occasionally. I told the repair man I thought it was a loose wire in the fuse box. But after some troubleshooting, he told me it might be a problem with the Pilot’s computer. Computer? I didn’t know it had one; it still has a tape deck in it. And if it was the computer, they suggested, it might be time to give up on it. “It’s old and nothing lasts forever,” they counseled me. 

At 76, I take statements like that personally. I was hoping that I could be buried in that car. It would be cheaper than a coffin. So, I got a soda and went outside in the 95-degree heat to contemplate the demise of my beloved Pilot and wait for Cathy to pick me up after her dance class. 

As I was sitting there trying not to scratch the blisters on my arm, I noticed two love bugs swimming in my soda. I looked around and there were love bugs everywhere. 

Well, I thought, I’m living the Louisiana life: fire ants, love bugs, government bureaucracy, scorching heat, pouring rain, and hurricanes. Then I thought of a song about love bugs I put together for a Lagniappe article I wrote 30 years ago, back when I had a Toyota van:

Love bugs on my windshield, 

love bugs on my grill. 

I love to watch them splat.

It gives me such a thrill. 

I love to drive on the highways of Loosee-an. 

Got love bugs all over my Toyotee Van. 

Now, I don’t know if science 

will ever find a use 

for love bug parts, and love bug guts 

and all that love bug juice. 

But if they do, I’ll run out, as fast as I can.

Gonna buy me some property in good ol’ Loosee-an. 

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