Hello, my name is Craig Whitley. I live in Houston, Texas and love “all things Louisiana” because I was born and grew up in the Pelican state. I’ve lived in Houston since 1984. Although I’m proud to be a Texan, I will always treasure and cherish my Louisiana roots.
Welcome to my personal blog, a safe haven from the bad news and horrible events we read and hear about daily. Consider time spent on my blog as a temporary break away from the stress and struggles you face in your daily life, a source of joy, laughter and inspiration. Hopefully, you’ll look upon visits to this blog as just the right medicine you need wind down at the end of the day, destress and win in this rat race we call life tomorrow.
Despite me being a perpetual optimist and glass half-full kind of guy, I have no visions of grandeur or great ambitions for this blog. In fact, if the only time you read my blog is when you have a “call of nature” and want something humorous to read from your smartphone during your morning constitution, that’s fine with me. At least I’ll know you’ll be reading my blog often and my words will become your special “Boudreaux moment.” Oops! Ouch! Ugh! Let’s try not to vision that!
Although this blog is about my life and includes commentary on serious issues and events that I’ve experienced along the way, it focuses more heavily on the lighthearted and comical moments of my life. I’ll mix in some Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes along the way, provide motivational support, interesting stories about living on a farm during my childhood and life growing up in a small country town. Heck, I might even throw in some good down home Louisiana recipes along the way, including some larruping good Cajun recipes I like to cook.
I’m what’s known these days as an observational humorous as I often pause from time to time to see if I can find humor in everyday things I encounter that most people take for granted. If I was younger I might give comedy a try, but I’m far too old and too much in love to bring that lifestyle into our lives. Although friends often tell me I’m funny, or I should have been a comedian, I stop far short of calling myself a comic or comedian.
Comedy coaches and comedians have different views on the difference between comics and comedians. The definition I prefer most is one written by comedy coach Steve North, who says a comic says funny things or makes funny observations, whereas a comedian is a funny person. Of the two, I’m closer to a comic than I am a comedian. I know I’m not a true comedian, not because I’ve never performed comedy on stage, but because the most successful comedians in the world have their own brand of humor that makes them very unique. Think of Jerry Seinfeld’s brand of comedy, versus Carrot Top or Chris Rock — all very distinct styles and brands of comedy.
I, on the other hand, am nothing more a joke teller with a good sense of humor. Granted, I try to find humor and observe the comedy tin life situations I encounter and experience. I love sharing my funny observations with friends and family. But as for the jokes I tell, 99% of the time they are other people’s jokes, and they run the gamut, from Boudreaux and Thibodeau jokes, to knock-knock jokes, mother-in-law jokes, marriage jokes, etc. Hence my style is more like “comedy karaoke.” Weave in the observational humor I author myself and you have something akin to a comedy karaoke meets the Jerry Seinfeld of Texas. Except I’m no Jerry Seinfeld, not even close. I merely use Jerry’s name because he’s the Godfather of observational comedy.
My life has been an interesting mixture of up’s and down’s, phenomenal wins and disappointing losses. But by far, there have always been more up’s and happy moments than downers and sad moments in my life. I like to think that my success in life has come because I’m a highly competitive, self-motivated, hard-working individual that can look back at my mishaps, mistakes and failures, finding humor in most, and lessons from each to work on, resolve and overcome. I’ve always tried to focus on the positives events and accomplishments I experience and see in my life, and not let negative issues get me down. So, when you’re bored, feeling down and out, or just in need of a good laugh, I hope you will check my blog out from time to time and read about another crazy experience or moment I’ve experienced during my life.
So why is my website named Boudreaux’s Life?
I’m known affectionately by some of my closest friends as “Boudeaux,” hence the genesis for my blog’s name, Boudreaux’s Life. During my life I’ve gone by several nicknames that people close to me have christened me with at one time or another. However, for the past twenty years, Boudreaux has been the most commonly used nickname I’ve gone by — used mostly by friends, Church members and former work colleagues that I’ve touched and/or brought joy to by telling them “Boudreaux and Thibodeau” jokes in my cheesy fake Cajun accent.
My Cajun accent is fake because I grew up in West Central Louisiana eating corn bread, butter beans, black-eyed peas, mustard and collard greens and any protein we could raise, kill or catch on our own. For you city friends of mind, or any of my four children and four grandchildren, you’re allowed to say “Ugh!” or “Gross!” at the very thought of me eating what I raised or killed in my youth.
There is a small town in Louisiana named Marksville, located about 30 miles south of Alexandria, the largest city in Central Louisiana. If you drew an imaginary west-to-east line across the state of Louisiana that went through the city of Marksville, you can safely conclude that the portion of Louisiana above the line is Redneck Territory (aka North Louisiana) and the portion below the line is Cajun Country (aka South Louisiana). Granted, some slightly north of the line would challenge me, because they had a lot Cajun influence, but still ate a North Louisiana diet in the 1960’s. It’s doubtful that anyone south of the line would challenge me on whether they consider themselves a Cajun or not.
Over the years I’ve really grown to love Cajun-style cooking, eating Cajun food and telling Cajun jokes. However, when I was growing up in the 1950’s and 1960’s you couldn’t purchase boiled crawfish, Cajun boudin and other wonderful Cajun food items in Vernon Parish, where I grew up in the small town of Anacoco. These days Cajun fare its pretty much common place in North Louisiana, with several locations that sell boiled crawfish and gumbo in Vernon Parish’s largest town and Parish seat, Leesville. Because I haven’t lived in Anacoco since I graduated from college in 1970, I’m not certain when Cajun food became commonplace in North Louisiana, but my guess is it generally took place in the mid-to-late 1990’s. I base this on my frequent travels to Anacoco to visit my parents until they passed away in 2010 (Mom) and 2013 (Dad).
My hometown was officially incorporated as the Village of Anacoco several years ago and has a population of roughly 900 residents, almost double its population when I graduated high school in 1966. Yes! Be horrified by that graduation year, as it instantly labels me as an “old fart.” But trust me, you’ll soon discover from my sense of humor and the pranks I still enjoy pulling that there’s a 15 to 20-year old living inside the gray matter that occupies my skull. My sense of humor ranges from silly sophomoric behavior, to corny Dad jokes and from Boudreaux and Thibodeau jokes to witty intelligent observational humor that will cause you to pause, think and chuckle after you finally arrive at that “ah-ha” moment when you finally decipher where the humor is in the statement.
Getting back to nicknames one final time . . .
The most frequently used nicknames I’ve gone by during my life that didn’t start with the letters “d-i-p” or “a-s-s,” are Boudreaux, Buddy, Whit and Whitster. Oops! I almost left out Shorty, Runt and Pipsqueak, three nicknames used by school bullies during my elementary school days to draw attention to the fact that I was the smallest guy in my class. It’s funny how bullies never pick on people that could potentially whip their asses.
I never was one to let bullies and words dictate my life. My true friends and buddies would always come to my rescue and threaten to whip anyone’s butt that picked on me, so I can honestly say that nasty nicknames designed to make fun of me had no negative impact on my life. If anything, I typically added fuel to the fire by pulling intelligent pranks on the very bullies that made fun of me — and regularly referred to them by nicknames I assigned each of them (e.g., nitwits, morons and dumbasses). My pranks on them never stopped, particularly when I discovered that the only thing more embarrassing to a bully than getting his butt whipped in public, is being the victim of a prank performed in public — particularly in front of girls he wanted to impress or in front of his equally ignorant bully friends. I was a master at “Payback Pranks” and would plot for days, picking the perfect joke and time to prank someone that bullied me.
Of the nicknames list noted earlier (i.e., Boudreaux, Buddy, Whit and Whitster), I cherish Buddy and Boudreaux the most. “Buddy,” because my mother and father called me Buddy and Bud throughout my life. To this day I still use the nickname Bud when talking to my own sons and my closest male friends. In business I often sign off my emails and letters with “Whit,” always hoping it would take off and become my nickname at work or what my friends would call me, but for some reason it never resonated with them or stuck.
Although I’ve never been a big fan of the nickname Buddy when used for others, I always loved being called Buddy and Bud by my Mom and Dad. It made such a great impression on me because they used and said either one of these two nicknames in a manner that exuded the love they felt for me. Looking back, as years have passed I’ve come to realize that Mom and Dad used the nickname Buddy and Bud when communicating with me, and Sugar when communicating with my sister, as their special terms of endearment for us.
What’s really interesting when a nickname is used as a term of endearment, is that I actually never heard or focused on the word “Buddy” when they called me “Buddy.” It was not until I was in my forty’s that someone asked me if I had a nickname growing up and my first answer was, “No.” When Mom or Dad addressed me as “Buddy” or “Bud,” the closest word or meaning my brain would interpret and conclude my ears were hearing was “Love.” There was just something about the way they said Buddy and Bud that conveyed how deeply they loved me. It was the same when they called my sister Pam by the nickname they gave her, which was “Sugar.” When they called out, “Sugar, come inside for supper!” — my brain sensed and interpreted their request as, “My dearest loving, precious, sweet, darling little daughter that we love so much, come in for this wonderful meal we have made our little angel.” Like Buddy, Sugar was also a special term of endearment in our household.
I know what I’m saying might sound crazy to most. The best way for me to explain it is to simply say that they used these nicknames so much I never thought I was being referred to by a nickname when they called me by Buddy and my sister by Sugar. There was just this uncanny inflection in their voices that expressed true parental love, love that went beyond the love they had for Craig their son and Pam their daughter. Somehow, our official given names were reserved as proper names, to be used by others, while our nicknames were used regularly as a sign of love and affection. If you’ve never experienced that feeling, I realize it will be hard to put yourself there. But know that if you can use a special nickname for your child or grandchild it will always have special significance in their life.
For my friends outside the Deep South, I know that nicknames and double names are not common where you grew up. Instead, they are more commonly used in the Southern States, where we have some real doozies. Thank God my Mom and Dad didn’t assign me one of the more commonly used nicknames for boys in the South. Just think, I could have grown up with a nickname like Bubba, Bo, Booger, Buck, Boo, Ace, Scout, Trooper, Jed or Billy Bob; and everyone else in the family would have been just fine with it. However, somehow I can’t see being called “Booger” and my brain interpreting it as a term of endearment, love and affection. LOL
Boudreaux says . . . “You can pick your nose and you can pick your toes, you can pick your end, and you can pick a friend . . . but you can’t pick your nickname.”
I really like it when people call me Boudreaux, because it’s their way of noting their special appreciation for the humor and special moments I’ve brought to their lives by sharing a great “Boudreaux joke” that lifted their spirits. It’s funny how something as simple as a nickname can bond two people together or be used to demonstrate that you’ve endeared yourself to their life in a special, kindred spirit, sort of way.
How I arrived at a domain name for this blog . . .
When trying to come up with a domain name for my blog, I thought about going the route that most people take in this modern social media age and brand myself by using the domain name CraigWhitley.com. After all, I have owned the domain name CraigWhitley.com for many years. However, I own an energy consulting business and have business clients and prospects that will search for me by name rather than by my company name. I want to direct interested business contacts to WorldEnergyConsultants.com, my business website, or my personal info site at CraigWhitley.com. The last thing I need is for a business owner needing an international liquefied petroleum gas and natural gas liquids consultant becoming confused and landing on a website focused on humor and the comedic life of a transplanted redneck and wannabe Cajun. LOL Since the domain name BoudreauxsLife.com was available, and CraigsLife.com was already owned by another party, it made perfect sense to name my blog Broudreaux’s Life and use the domain name BoudreauxsLife.com for my blog, as Boudreaux is a nickname I wear proudly.