Blog of Billy

The trip to New Orleans was fantastic. I had some of the most entertaining, spiritually and politically enlightening, and personally fulfilling times of my life. The highlights:

I got to drive Chris Brodt's 89 oldsmobile for almost 1000 miles. It took me back to the time of The Oldsmobile with its quirks and falling ceiling fabric. How I miss that car. We got to the hotel after discovering that MapQuest has some decent directions. The hotel was not as bad as I had feared. The New Orleans Grand Palace is definately not the highest-class establishment I had ever been in, but it's also not exactly the CrackHaus. We settled in just fine and were even allowed to check in at about 9:00 when we got there. We unpacked, and went hunting for some breakfast. We found a little gyro place with some cheerful folks for 9:30 in the ridiculous. I ate 1/4 of a chicken deep fried. We went back to the hotel and slept off the rest of the driving.

Patty, after having conquered his second thoughts on getting a tattoo in the French Quarter, decided that he would go right then and there. I called Mike back in Oklahoma to get the name of a reputable place, and after calling Electric LadyLand for more specific directions, we were off. It was a good 2 miles total from our hotel, through the French Quarter, and another block or two north-east of the end of Bourbon Street. Patty told me later that he would have given up without my impeccable sense of direction. After filling out the forms and id and whatnot, Cameron Sweet make a transfer of the picture that Patrick had given him, and about an hour later it was done and shaded. It looks absolutely incredible, and if I had the money, I would have made Cameron give me my next one.

Our walk back was the most incredible experience I had the whole time I was away, and I honestly couldn't tell you all the reasons why. We had decided not to go back down Bourbon Street because of the smell and the annoying touristy types, so we struck out west of the Quarter and walked until we hit highway. Following that down south through some residential streets, it struck me just how different the conditions were. This was probably the most poverty-stricken area I have ever seen, and yet, there was more to it than that. There was a womun playing with her kid on the porch, kids riding old bikes around the street, men sitting on a bench outside a store talking and lauging loudly. The life of the area struck me, and the power that seemed to exist but was being sqashed by lack of means. There was a man on a porch whose eyes were orange from whatever drugs he though would help him escape, and the phrase "NO MORE PRISONS" was spraypainted in red on the curve of a sidewalk. "I have seen the best minds of my generation..." I couldn't quit thinking about it for the rest of the trip.

We made it back to the hotel and rested up before going out partying on our first night. The transformation of Bourbon Street from day to night is incredible. By day, there are vans every few feet, plumbers, keg delivery, painters. By night there are no cars at all, just pedestrians wandering up and down. The smell is the same: alcohol, sweat, and vomit. In the daytime, it is all business. You can still buy shots and daquiris and whatnot, but you feel like should cut your walk short, grab a paintbrush, and get to work. Nighttime is thousands of people in various state of nice dress and nice un-dress all drinking, all shouting, all stumbling. After starting my night nice and easy with shots of Jack Daniels, I met a nice girl named Jeanine (I'm assuming that's true; I told her my name was Sid) who seemed really interested in getting a corsage made out of a hotdog. We flirted for a bit (lots of weiner jokes) and I bought her a hotdog. It felt good and clensing to have that kind of interaction with a random girl, knowing that I could probably do more with it because of how drunk she was, but deciding that that wasn't quite what I wanted from her. I haven't hit on girls like this since long before Rosie.

Somehow or another, I was pretty sure that the best minds of my generation we being destroyed on that street too. Consumption hurts.

The next day, Patty wanted to go back and have Cameron do some different shading to his tattoo. We walked the whole hour up there, only to be told that his tat needed to heal for another 4 or 5 weeks before anyone could go back in that area. We left, mildly disappointed, but still looking for fun. Cafe du Mond was nearby, so we stopped in. I ate some of their incredible beignets and Patty had some hazelnut coffee. We called the kids from the academic team, but couldn't get a hold of any of them.

We hung out at the hotel for a bit, watched some of a Cheers marathon, and put on our charm suits to go out again. Just as we left the hotel, Rosie called 3 consecutive times, and sent me a text message. I figured it had to be pretty important if she would interrupt my vacation with such alarm. I answered the 4th call, sounding about as exasperated as I was. Apparently there were tornadoes within 25 miles of her, and she though she should tell me. Yep, that important. She tried to tell me to call my parents to make sure they were ok, but she forgot two things. First, my family has never been as weather-freaky as hers. We've never ended dinner at a good restaurant out-of-town to be sure we had plenty of time to make it home before a storm hit. We've never changed plans because of tornadoes in the area. We just don't do that. Calling them from 1000 miles away, where I am powerless to do anything for or against them would be both fruitless and annoying. Second, my family wasn't even in Edmond. They had taken the 5th wheel and gone to a campsite somewhere else for Memorial Day.

It took 2 shots and 2 mixed drinks before I forgot about how much I was annoyed with Rosie for tainting my previously ex-wife-free weekend. Saturday night, though, proved to be the most entertaining night I had had in years. The Krazy Korner was the hoppingest place that wasn't IDing people (silly young'ens). There is nothing quite so empowering for those of us with lower self esteem than realizing that yes, the hot girl will dance with you; you don't even have to settle for her really ugly friend. Bachelorette parties came in dozens and mothers of the bride loved hitting on the young nordic Mark. After 5 or 6 crazy whirlwind hours, we all started stumbling back to the hotel. I stayed deaf for another 24 hours, and only after we got back did my muscles stop hurting.

Mark talks in his sleep more than anyone I've ever heard.

Sunday we tried to catch up with the academic team kids and Gene, but couldn't seem to make the connection. Turns out they made it to the quarters of the tournament, and beat some pretty good teams before dropping to Irmo, who is a powerhouse in their own right. We all walked over to Cafe du Mond, but it was way too crowded for us to get service. I love large bodies of water more than I probably should, and we took a riverwalk back up to about where the tattoo parlor was, then went next door to a hooka bar. The other three gents had their fill of smoky goodness, while I relaxed with a glass of water and my disappointment at finding their kitchen closed. We got back to the hotel all pretty famished, and found an advertisment for a pretty good deal on 3 large pizzas. We each threw down, and got some tasty toppings, then watched more of the Cheers marathon on TV Land. I had no idea that show was so funny. It's like hundreds of little episodes of Frasier that I've never gotten to see before. Chris decided he we too sick to go out, and we all should have probably joined him, because Bourbon Street was dead that night. Mark took some shots of tequila, but the rest of us weren't really in a drinking mood if there was to be no dancing and romancing.

We spent the last night in fitful sleep before getting up early to check out and drive back. I ended up taking several more shifts, since Mark is not allowed to drive us anymore. He seems to have a love triangle going on with the accelerator and the brake; he keeps throwing himself back and forth into intense relationships with each. Coffee at Dennys was a good end to an awesome weekend.

Brown Sugar, how come you taste so good?