TheEvan

Not bad for old guys wayyyyy past their prime. In other words, it was half-baked, proven by the fact they were upstaged by the lights

Pigs have officially flown. Hell has frozen over. [Y][<)][^] A gratifying win of a well-played, entertaining game by two classy, talented, well-coached teams.

NOT an expert here, but I do believe 1966 is correct. One digit, letter, 3 digits is the typical scheme for that period. Cool-weird speakers. I haven't seen any decorator Khorns in the flesh.

[][li][st]

LOL! But you forgot the [N]

Love that photo of Jimmy with Richard (pron. "Ree-shard", y'all) and Landreth. I 'discovered' Landreth a number of years ago by accident. A friend and I went to Mulate's in Breaux Bridge one day after Festival International in Lafayette wrapped. BeauSoleil was appearing, no cover charge (as usual at Mulate's back then). The place was packed and DANCING and a great vibe was on. I kept hearing electric slide guitar coming from the band. This was quite unexpected from BeauSoleil, no? I worked my way to the stage and stood tranfixed while Sonny worked his utterly unique magic with pick and slide. I'd heard of him but had never heard him until that evening. I've been a fan ever since. Not suprising he's gained a measure of fame and success.

My head tells me Colts win but my heart will go with CECAA and Madden. Saints, 35-31.

The kind of inverter Thebes is speaking of converts 12v car battery to 120v power.

dtel, Rock & Bowl (official name, Mid-City Lanes and Sports Palace) has got to be the coolest live music venue ever. I've got stories...

Then there was this in yesterday's paper... This is not meant to offend Hoosiers present. The Colts Nation and the Who Dats; like night and day By Ron Thibodeaux, The Times-Picayune February 01, 2010, 5:39PM INDIANAPOLIS - I was the first member of my extended family ever to attend a New Orleans Saints game. The date was Dec. 1, 1968 - Season 2, Game 12 - and I was 10 years old, tagging along at the last minute with my friend Chuck and his dad. Michael Conroy/The Associated PressIndianapolis Colts fan Michael Hopson is decked out before the AFC championship game Jan. 24, 2010, in Indianapolis. Let's just say Hopson is the exception to the fans our columnist has encountered.It was a cold, wet day in old Tulane Stadium. Bundled in my coat and hat, I was utterly indistinguishable from even a couple rows away, yet Grandpa Robichaux, God rest his soul, insisted he saw me in the crowd shots while watching on TV back home in bayou country. I was thrilled about seeing my heroes Billy Kilmer and Danny Abramowicz in real life that day. The star of the game, though, turned out to be an obscure backup running back for the Chicago Bears. Subbing for the great but injured Gale Sayers, some guy named Brian Piccolo (remember “Brian’s Song”?) ran for 100 yards for the only time in his brief, tragic career, and the Bears won 23-17. For the Saints and their devoted fans, there would be many more losses to follow. But not this year. This year, the Saints are going to the Super Bowl. And all of us who have cheered and cried and hoped and dreamed and lived and died with the Black and Gold for any or all of the past 43 years are along for the glorious ride. That’s fitting, because a trip to the Super Bowl is about more than just the game. This moment in time is, or at least should be, a validation and a celebration of the fans, the communities, even the entire states and regions backing the two teams that will take the field. In any Super Bowl, that is the rest of the story. So I came to Indiana in search of that backstory of the Indianapolis Colts. We know all about the Colts, of course - a quarter-century removed from an ignominious retreat out of Baltimore, two coaching regimes removed from Jim Mora’s last hurrah, now Peyton Manning’s team, now favored to win their second Super Bowl in four years. But what about the people of Colts Nation, faithful followers of this year’s AFC champions? What feeds their frenzy? What marks their madness? What heightens their hoopla? Good questions, all. I’ve been on their trail for the past four days and I still have no idea. So far, the only frenzy I’ve found was at the Sunday brunch buffet at Moe & Johnny’s. The closest thing to madness I’ve come across has been the temperature, which hasn’t broken 25 degrees since I got here. As for hoopla, it’s been limited to the news out of the west central Indiana city of Terre Haute that Beef O’Brady’s will be serving blue beer Sunday night. It’s not that the fans in Indianapolis haven’t noticed their team is heading to Miami. Lots of folks around here are wearing Colts jerseys. “Go Colts” signs are visible at businesses all over town, and in towns all over the state. But it all seems strangely subdued. At Sunday Mass at Christ the King Catholic Church in Indianapolis, the Rev. James Bonke spoke eloquently on St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians and made no mention of the Colts in his sermon. That was a big deal. Understand, Father Jim is a serious sports fan. He has been known to wear black and white checkered vestments to say Mass for the pit crews in Gasoline Alley on the morning of the Indianapolis 500, and this season he has said Mass for Colts players on the nights before home games here. He manages to work the Colts into many of his homilies; parishioners have come to expect it. On this day, though, with the Super Bowl just ahead, he was strictly by-the-book. In fact, wherever I’ve gone around here - restaurants, bars, the downtown mall, the riverside walking path - and chatted up the locals about the Super Bowl buildup, the reactions were all the same: Brees is good, Peyton is better; the Colts defense will contain the Saints offense; the Colts will finish the job in Miami and bring home another ring. Strictly by the book. (Well, the other thing they’ll tell me is, they’re sick of hearing about Hurricane Katrina over the past week. I tell them we’re sick of hearing about Hurricane Katrina too, except that for us, it’s been 4 ½ years, and it has had very little to do with sports, and would they like to trade places? But I digress.) Anyway, to these folks, it’s all about the game on the field. If the Colts win, they’ll take pride in that. And if the Colts don’t win, then maybe they’ll just take pride in their AFC championship, put their blue jerseys away for the next six months and settle in to watch some hoops action. That’s about the entire range of emotion these days in heart-of-the-heartland Indianapolis, where the standard cure for Colts fever could be to take two aspirin and check Austin Collie’s stats in the morning. The Colts just don’t seem to be central to life here in the all-consuming way that the Saints are for us. It would be easy to dismiss the disparity as a reflection of the Colts being Super Bowl veterans while we’re first-timers. There’s more to it than that, though. Here in bedrock America, boyhood home of Abraham Lincoln, source of the limestone used to build the Empire State Building and the Pentagon, I think it’s an Indiana thing. In Louisiana, we revel in our excesses and eccentricities. It was no surprise just weeks ago that, for all our problems, we in the land of jazz, Mardi Gras and boiled crawfish ranked No. 1 in a scientific study of the happiest states in America. Indiana was No. 47. Well, what would you expect? When we’re ready to party, we crank up the music - our own music, birthed by our own funky heritage - we start tossing beads and we strut our stuff with second-line umbrellas. When Colts fans get really wild and crazy, they wave their little white towels. I wonder if they’re really flags of surrender, the folks waving them hoping to be rescued before they all just die of boredom. After all, we have role models like Harry Connick Jr. and Fats Domino. Indiana’s home-grown role models are Orville Redenbacher and Dan Quayle. We live by the credo, “Let the good times roll.” Indiana’s motto could be, “What happens in the corn field, stays in the corn field.” All of which is to say, Hoosiers are solid, salt-of-the-earth, genuinely nice people. They are quintessential citizens of middle America who have developed great knacks for making pork sandwiches and playing basketball. They’re patriotic and orderly and devoted to their football team, even if they’re not overly demonstrative about it. Louisianians are products of a very different place: a cultural mecca, a crossroads of the Americas, a melting pot of influences that simmered for hundreds of years to produce a city and a state whose character is much admired and often imitated but never duplicated. We’re the crazy uncle at the wedding reception, dancing with everyone and no one and singing along at the top of our lungs to every Kool & the Gang song the cover band knows. They’re the quiet relatives from the other side of the family, sipping their ginger ale as they watch stoically from their table against the wall, not really sure what to make of us. They’re tornado people, scurrying into the basement at a moment’s notice, bolting the door behind them and keeping still and low until it’s safe to emerge. We’re hurricane people, pacing ourselves, taking days to prepare for the big event, laying in supplies and emptying the refrigerator, gathering with relatives and checking in on friends, making it a social event. To be sure, at some point this week we will get focused on Xs and Os and offensive trends and defensive matchups and everything else about the game on the field, too. For now, though, there’s a cone of probability extending throughout Louisiana, across the Gulf Coast and down to south Florida, signifying that the party is on. Just don’t expect Colts fans to understand.

This was on the front page of yesterday's Times-Picayune: Dear Miami, The Saints are coming. And so are we, their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans. While there's still time to prepare -- although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won't arrive until Thursday or Friday -- we thought we'd give you a heads-up about what you should expect. First things first: You need more beer. Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don't. New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you're winning. (Who knew?) So let's just say we're thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly. And look. When we ask you for a go-cup, be nice to us. We don't even know what "open container law" means. Is that anything like "last call"? It's Carnival season in New Orleans (that's Mardi Gras to you), and we'll be taking the celebration on the road. So don't be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that's just our way of saying hello. Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can't help ourselves. Times-Picayune archive February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami. When the dude in the 'Who Dat' T-shirt asks if you want to suck da head and pinch da tail, resist the urge to punch him. He's not propositioning you. He's inviting you to dinner. And if you see a big Cajun guy who looks exactly like an old Saints quarterback walking around town in a dress ... don't ask. It's a long story. We know that crowd control is a major concern for any Super Bowl host city. Our advice? Put away the riot gear. Reason No. 1: Indianapolis is going to lose, and their fans are way too dull to start a riot. Reason No. 2: New Orleans showed the world on Sunday that we know how to throw a victory party. We don't burn cars. We dance on them. Reason No. 3: Even if we did lose, which we won't, leaving the stadium would be like leaving a funeral, and our typical response to that is to have a parade. Speaking of which: If you happen to see a brass band roll by, followed by a line of folks waving their handkerchiefs, you're not supposed to just stand there and watch. As our own Irma Thomas would say, get your backfield in motion. And hey, Mister DJ! Yes, we know you've already played that stupid Ying Yang Twins song 10 times tonight, but indulge us just one more time. To us, "Halftime (Stand Up and Get Crunk)" isn't just a song; it's 576 points of good memories. It's the sound of a Drew Brees touchdown pass to Devery Henderson, a Pierre Thomas dive for first down on 4th-and-1, a Garrett Hartley field goal sailing through the uprights in overtime. It's what a championship sounds like. You may get sick of hearing it. We won't. Encore, dammit. Inside Sun Life Stadium, you may find your ears ringing more than usual. We're louder than other fans. Seven thousand of ours sound like 70,000 of theirs. Don't believe us? Ask the 12th man in the Vikings huddle. Some people think it's just the Dome that heightens our volume. But you're about to discover a little secret: We can scream loud enough to make your head explode, indoors or out. It's not the roof. It's the heart. Well, OK, and the beer. Susan Poag / The Times-Picayune Don't be surprised if there are more Saints fans outside the stadium than inside. A lot of us are coming just to say we were part of history, even if we can't witness it up close. The Saints are family to us, and you know how it is with family: We want to be there for them, whether they really need us or not. Because we know our presence will mean something to them, whether they can see us or not. Come to think of it, seeing as how you're taking us in for the week, we pretty much regard you as family, too. So we're warning you now: If you're within hugging distance, you're fair game. Hugging strangers is a proud Who Dat tradition, right up there with crying when we win. Most sports fans cry when their teams lose. Not us. We've been losing gracefully and with good humor for 43 years. Tragedy and disappointment don't faze us. It's success that makes us go to pieces. Hurricane Katrina? We got that under control. The Saints in the Super Bowl? SOMEBODY CALL A PARAMEDIC!!! So anyway, don't let the tears of joy freak you out. We're just ... disoriented. OK. Let's review: Order more beer. Throw me something, mister. Suck da heads. Wear da dress. Stand up. Get crunk. Hug it out. Protect your eardrums. Pass the Kleenex. Hoist the trophy. See you at the victory party. Faithfully yours, The Who Dat Nation

Meanwhile, New Orleans is going totally bonkers. Lots of local schools will be closed Monday. Most will close early Tuesday for a welcome home parade. Sunday, tens of thousands of burly guys paraded in the streets in dresses to celebrate and to honor the late Dubby Diliberto (local sports commentator) who had said he's don a dress and dance in the streets if the Who Dats ever went to the Big One.

Saints fan checking in. 1. In context, the Williams comment is not what is being reported. 2. However, given how the Saints attacked Warner and then Favre, Williams is asking to be misinterpreted. I'm all for good, hard play, but several of the hits on Favre were dirty and meant to injure. I'm disappointed. I'd like to think we can win playing straight up.

Oh, I rather doubt that. The discussion above is remarkably even, considering this is a Klipsch forum. I don't have an opinion, but I enjoyed reading the posts. I've heard a then-new 19, but its habitat was a large auditorium at my place of work. No way to compare it to what I had in my living room.

If it weren't already taken, I'd say Top Notch™. So I'll just say UNBELIEVABLE!

Kev, it's really not a matter of "dumbing up". In the Cajun dialect the "th" sound is pronounced as a "D" when spoken....it really isn't just a "regional or particular folks" thing....it's simply the Cajun dialect that was adapted by Saints' fans. Have you ever heard a Cajun person speak? Maybe you've heard Bobby Hebert on one or two occasions....or Lousiana's notorious former governor, Edwin Edwards? I always took WhoDat? as typical "Yat" dialect...that Bronx-like patois common among the New Orleans working class. It's strongest in Chalmette, the Nint' Ward 'n da Irish Channel. It's used to great effect in Bunny Matthews' Vic 'n Nat'ly comics. I can see it fitting the Lafourche-Terrebone Parish cajun accent as well. I don't so much hear it in the Lafayette-New Iberia-Opelousas Acadiana version of the Cajun accent, though. Anyway...WHO DAT?[H]

HUBBA, HUBBA!!!!! [Y]

WHO DAT?©

WHO DAT??™

I'm pretty sure that's all I said the first, and second, time I heard Klipschorns. I was otherwise speechless.

Yeah, runaway feedback. It'll send you diving for your volume control every time. You need more isolation, yeah. But your initial description of your setup and isolation tells me more may be in play. I wonder if your particular cartridge is prone to being microphonic...or to going microphonic with age.

Give me $17k and mine definitely will sound better... Order up some VRDs, perhaps do a full ALK or "greg" my Klipschorns. A full boat turntable set up. Yep.

Stew, you may have Notre Dame to thank for the Raidahs taking Russell #1. Russell lit them up something awful in the Sugar Bowl (I was in the Dome for that one) and all the scouts went ooooh and aaaah. Alas, it was a sham. Notre Dame was just awful that night.

What got into Reggie? Maybe Kim threatened him, eh? Dang, maybe we should keep him after all. Today SD beats the Jets. I think the Vikes overcome the 'Boys, for the same reasons as the Saints victory...rested, healthy and prepared.

Feedback. Make sure your preamp's rumble filter is ON. That will help. Isolation will help more. If your TT is located in a spot of the room that loads up with bass you may have to move your rig.