Jazzfest: The First Day! Will there be a 2nd, or Do I Die in the Awesomeness! Read and find out!

   Anticipation is everything. At least, in my opinion. Whether you're waiting for Santa to come down the chimney, or for that girl to decide if she'll go out with you, or if you're just waiting for some dumb blogger to finally put out a post that was due weeks ago; anticipation is everything. It's what makes life exciting. It's what makes you not able to sleep the night before. It's what makes you want to hug and needlessly tickle everyone around you. OK, maybe that last part is just me. But the point is, anticipation is the honey of life.
  One of the sad realizations of getting older is learning that rarely does the moment itself live up to the great anticipation leading up to it. (Another sad realization is learning that most people don't like to be hugged and needlessly tickled, but that's a discussion for a different post).
  One of the reasons I was so excited for Jazzfest was because I didn't know what to expect. For unlike my partner in crime, Shorty, I had made no effort to learn what would be going on during the festival. For all I knew every band I had ever wanted to see would be playing there. Every desire or whim I've ever wanted to indulge in would be available for indulging. There was no limit to the possibilities, no constraints to my imagination; and there was no way the actual festival was going to match my anticipation.
   At least, this was what I told myself the morning of the opening day of Jazzfest, in an attempt to reel in my excitement. But then, as we walked from my cousin's house to the promise land, I came across this scene, and promptly forgot about reeling in my excitement.
     

     But could you blame me?! Look at all these people, going to the same place we were going, with the same desire to experience something great, something unforgettable. Who knows how many of these people will end up being my friend, I wondered. Who knows how many will end up being more than friends?
    I tell you, I was so excited that it was all I could do to not hug and needlessly tickle each and everyone of them.

    Then we came across a series of street vendors who were selling Jazzfest-related merch. This got me even more excited as I realized that I couldn't make heads or tail of what they were selling.  Loud, colorful clothing? Why would I want that? I wondered.

   We continued to walk with the rest of the pack, which was getting louder and louder as we were getting closer and closer to the jazz. All the while, I was just imagining what kind of insanity I might see in only a mere matter of minutes.
    And then we reached the fence that surrounded the entire festival. And that's when I saw something that gave me my first real clue as to what kind of environment I was about to enter.
     

 

  At that moment, I suddenly became aware that I was about to experience a world of lawlessness. Where not only would all the rules be broken, but they would be openly mocked at every turn. "Oh, don't park my bike on the fence, OK, how about I park it right under your little sign!" Clearly, Jazzfest was a veritable wild west where only chaos could thrive. And I was getting closer and closer to this chaos, which made me more and more excited. I was now so excited, in fact, that I honestly had to stop myself from furiously spinning into the festival like the goddamn Tasmanian Devil.   
    

    We reached the entrance and came to a security checkpoint.
    I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that if they had a security check than surely it couldn't be as lawless as I had assumed. But just like the sign against bike parking, this security check was just a joke. I mean that literally. When we reached the front an old woman with a security hat on laughed at us and said, "Just kidding, this isn't a real security checkpoint. See, I'm not even going to look in your bags, I'm just gonna look you over once and then send you in." And she did. She just sent us in without even looking at our bags, and she did that for everyone else too. Which meant there were thousands of bags and backpacks inside this festival of Jazz and there could have been anything inside them.          
     Anything!
   Jesus Christ, this really was the Wild Wild West, I thought. 
   And then I noticed this sign and couldn't help but reminisce.  

    Back when I used to be a little shit, when I used to come to New Orleans for the summer and hang out with my older cousin, I would always point out these signs to him and say: "Isn't it funny that a city as corrupt as New Orleans calls it's police department NOPD!"
       He never laughed, but I always did.   
      And I couldn't help but chuckle when I saw it again.
       It was too perfect. It would be the ultimate sign of irony, if it was actually ironic. But I don't think it was. I think for it to be ironic the acronym would have to read GREAT PD. Right?
       In any case, it seemed like a good omen at the time, and, yes, it made me even more excited for what was to come. 

As we crossed under the glorious banner, I realized we were crossing the finish line. After countless hours of driving and talking, and a few hours of sleeping, we were finally here.
   And so were all my best friends that I hadn't even met yet!
     

The first thing we came across once we were inside the festival was this seemingly infinite row of eateries; each one offering a different type of classic Southern food.  

 As we walked alongside the row of eateries, I read off all the different types of food and realized I was basically reading off a long list of food I had never tried, some I hadn't even heard of.
 Like a chicken sandwich, what the hell was that? (Just kidding, I totally know what a chicken sandwich is. I can be so silly sometimes.) Anyways, the point is, we were only five minutes into the festival and I had already been besieged by numerous opportunities to try something new. So far, this place was living up to the anticipation.

 But neither of us were hungry at the moment, so we kept on moving. I could tell Shorty was just as amped as me at this point, so I suggested that we walk around aimlessly and just see what else Jazzfest had to offer. 

 

Now, at this point it was still morning, so I didn't have much interest for the shade that we passed by. Would this change later? Am I foreshadowing something here...Only time will tell.

    

    This is a picture of an art sale we came across that was really awesome. All the art was by local artists of the community. Most of the art was authentic photographs and paintings pertaining to the life and times of the Big Easy.
    There was one beautiful photograph that I found so impressive that I wanted to take a picture of it.  But when I went up to it with my camera, a woman came up to me and told me I couldn't take pictures.
       No pictures? Does that mean there are actually rules here that people enforce? I worried.  
       But then I noticed that she wasn't wearing a security hat, so I asked if her if she was indeed security. She laughed.
     No, she said, she was the artist who took the picture. Ah, my spirits rose. This wasn't a rule established by the authority, it was simply a request from the artist. And not just any artist, but I cute artist, I realized. There was only one thing to do. Make her laugh.  
    "OK, I won't take a picture of it, but what if I paint it instead. I have a canvass with me..."   She laughed delightfully and we separated amicably.
       

        As we continued our meandering, I came across this little scene:

   "Holy mother of God," I remember thinking to myself. "That mother is getting her kid boozed up." I guess I couldn't have expected anything less. Not in the wild wild west. It wouldn't be long until everyone was hammered, young and old, toddlers and seniors, and that would be when the real fun would begin. Until then, I decided to continue to wonder and left Mom while she continued to get little Johnny sloshed.
    
    After that spectacle, I found myself coming across more and more interesting people.

    That last picture nearly got me killed, as Dr. Dave turned out to be no fan of picture takers. And by nearly got me killed, I mean that he gave me a wicked sneer that still haunts me to this day.

    But things quickly got better when I walked up to a stage and found this musical man:

 
        Blue feather man was definitely a high point of the day. His band played great music and he had impressive moves. Also, he was blue and feathered. Two things that I am a big fan of. The crowd seemed to dig him too, I noticed.
       I also noticed that the crowd for the most part seemed hot and sweaty.
      And then I realized I was sweaty too. 
    Very sweaty.
     Too sweaty.
     I looked up at the sun and realized it was kicking the shit out of me. My sunblock most have worn off. (Does it wear off, or does it melt away?) I looked down at my watch and saw that it was only noon, which meant there was another good four hours of ginger ass kicking to go. 
       Some people might point out that New Orleans is known for it's heat and brutal humidity and the fact that I was surprised that I was sweaty proves I'm a moron.
     Well smart guy, what you don't know is that for the last week or so New Orleans was hit by a random wave of nice, cool weather. And everyone had told us that this would last throughout Jazzfest. It had been the conversation topic everywhere you went. "How lucky is it that the weather is suddenly so nice and pleasant, just in time for Jazzfest!" People would say.
      And yet, I sweat. 
    And while I couldn't detect even a hint of humidity, that was but a small comfort for your humble and sun-delicate narrator.
    But I had a plan for this, it was a solid plan that I had developed after years of being ravaged by the sun. 
    First, I would have apply sunscreen every thirty minutes. This wasn't a problem as I had a whole tube of it in my backpack.
      Next I needed to drink a bottle of water every hour to keep hydrated.
      Lastly, and this was most important, I had to start preparing my stomach for an onslaught of booze that I would rain down upon it in the near future.
     Of course, I wouldn't start drinking heavily right away, I would only start at the moment when I grew so fed up with the sun and all of its bullshit that I just washed my hands of the whole situation. That's when I would dismiss the first two steps and just get really really drunk. And then, I would burn. I would burn badly. I wouldn't notice the burn at the time, thanks to the booze in my system, but I would feel the effects of the burn and the heat stroke in a couple of hours, just as the sun was coming down.
    And when the combination of the heat stroke and the burning and the booze finally hit me, that's when I would turn into the dreaded lobster madman. And the lobster madman was hated by all. Even those who currently resided in this lawless land.  For he would spend most of his time belligerently shouting at the sky and cursing the ones responsible for making him a failure of evolution.
    He would also be red, like a lobster, and that would frighten everyone, especially the boozed up children.
  
    But maybe it wouldn't come to that, I thought. I wasn't the lobster madman yet. For now, I was just sweaty.  Sweaty and concerned.

    So concerned in fact, that I felt that the only thing that could help calm me down was a nice cold beer.

While in line for a beer, I bumped into these two love birds. In case you can't read it, their' shirts say: 20 years ago we feel in love at Jazzfest. And there is a picture of them from twenty years ago. The whole thing was very moving, and I remember wondering if I there was a chance I might meet my future wife at Jazzfest. Then I remembered that pretty soon I would be too red for any women to love, so I ended up buying two beers instead of one.

    After I bought the beer, Shorty suggested we finally try out some of that authentic southern food.
    That's a picture of me eating a box of crawfish. You eat them by savagely ripping their bodies in half and then sucking on the ass end. It actually is really tasty and I wish they were available nationwide.  But just like all the rest of the delicious food down there, you can only get it down there. What a shame.

You can see here that I'm starting to come undone by the heat.  The beer didn't help things, and frankly, neither did the spicy crawfish.  But on a plus side, I did end up meeting two other lovebirds, and these ones were five times crazier than the previous ones.

  I can't recall their names, I do recall that they told me they were part of a watermelon cult. No joke. They explained to us that this cult consisted of going to different events and smashing watermelons over each and every cult member.
        They told me the watermelon smash would be going on in two hours near the Conga Stage. I asked them if I could join in on the smashing. The man laughed and told me of course, I could be an honorary member.
      After they left us, I vowed that I would make it to their cult meeting and smash watermelons over every one of my new lawless friends.

      After we ate, Shorty and I continued to wander from stage to stage. However, as we were walking, we found ourselves in the middle of a marching band!

 That's right, not only was there music all around the crowd, there was also music literally going through the crowd. And man, these guys were having the time of their lives. Everybody was jumping and jiving and shaking what their mother's had given them. It looked so enticing I couldn't help but join in.
    This was a blast for a good five minutes; and then I realized I was close to death, as all the shaking, jumping and jiving left me a withered, expiring man who didn't have much more sweat to give.
   "We need to seek shelter!" I exclaimed to Shorty.  He pointed to the giant tent that was behind me. Perfect, I thought. But first, I needed to rehydrate.

    There are those who believe that daiquiris dehydrate you, rather than hydrate you.  These people are fools who are clearly unfamiliar with the delicious power of the daiquiri.
     On another note, do you see how my skin is beginning to resemble the color of the daiquiri. That's the first sign of lobster madman, and it's the reason why I needed to head to that tent behind me. But my only question at the time was, what kind of tent was it?

   " A gospel tent?!" I said to Shorty as I read the sign. "Oh man, this is going to be stupendous!"  
  

    And it was. Admittedly, at first, the best part of the tent was the fact that I was able to escape from the sun. But it didn't take long for me to understand that this tent of God had another appeal all it's own.  
     This is a picture of a high school choir team that was serenading the crowd with melodic tales about the almighty. The guy up front by himself was actually rapping while the others sung behind him. Their energy was so raw and earnest, it really was rather moving. I've never been big with this whole God business but I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the Gospel tent immensely.  

    I know my face looks like I'm mocking the music, but I really wasn't. I honestly enjoyed it.
    After twenty minutes or so, my skin stopped feeling so hot, and I hoped that meant I wasn't that burned after all. But I had also finished my daquiri so that might have also been the reason I was feeling better.
     I decided to continue to hang out in the Gospel tent for an indefinite amount of time, just to be safe. I'll leave right before the watermelon smash starts, I thought.

       But I had a change of heart after I took this picture.
    This picture made me realize that had to stop hiding. I mean this guy, a father of a newborn, could have hid in his house and just dealt with his daughter while the rest of the world partied at Jazzfest. But he didn't. Instead, he bought some goddamn earmuffs for daddy's little girl and proceeded to seize the day.
      And if he could do all that, than I could go outside and face the burning heat. 
   So I threw on some more protection and Shorty and I went back out, taking the gospel with us.
   I can't say I felt like a new man, but I felt like everything was gonna be alright.

     I was wrong. This is me ten minutes later. Shorty was laughing at me mercilessly as I lied there in a state of pitiful ginger.  But I didn't even care. The grass felt so good on my skin, I felt like I had finally found home.
   But then Shorty bought me some water and convinced me to leave my new haven and go see a truly unique sight.
    "Come on man," He said as I chugged the water. "Kermit Ruffins is about to go on stage. He's an incredible Jazz musician. We've been talking about wanting to see some authentic jazz, this the chance. Come with me."
    "If I go back out there it's curtains me, Shorty." I said. "You go, enjoy your life."

     So Shorty left me in the shade and went back to the land of murderous sun. It wasn't too bad where I was, I could watch the people pass me by while I laid down and relaxed.
    But then, after all that drinking of water, beer and daquiris, I discovered that I had to pee really bad. That meant getting up and facing the sun again and going in a disgusting, and disgustingly hot, portapotti. I honestly considered just peeing right there in the shade instead. Let's see if this place really is lawless, I thought to myself.  
    

But of course, I didn't. Instead I walked a good minute or two in the sunlight until I found the line of portable toilets. And then I stood and waited for one of the shit scented ovens to become vacant. Eventually someone did come out of one of them. And it was this man:

     I immediately took his picture, without even asking his permission.
     He smiled widely at me.
     "I look good, don't I?"
    He didn't even wait for me to respond. He just strutted past me like the Smooth King of Jazzfest. He didn't even have one bead of sweat on him. I swear, I looked closely.
     Once again, I felt like I been filled with hope by a stranger. I mean if that guy can deal with the heat in that heavy, pimptastic, outfit  AND can go into that stinky hellhole like it ain't no thing, and not break a single sweat at any point, well then dammit I could do the same. 
    
     I held my breath and went in.

    I don't wanna talk about what happened to me in that foul vertical coffin. Just know that I did not come out looking as good as the Smooth King; in fact I probably came out looking more like whatever the Smooth King had ejected from his body earlier. And that really isn't the same thing.
    Nonetheless,  I felt a lot better about everything after I evacuated the portable toilet. I decided that I wasn't going to let the sun spoil my time, I was going to see some sweet jazz.

     Once I found the stage where Kermit was playing, I quickly a developed a strategy for my survival. I knew I couldn't stand in one spot because then my mind would focus on the harsh sun rays and I would soon perish; BUT if I walked around, cutting through the crowd, making sure I distracted myself with people-watching and music listening, I could last a whole lot longer out there.

  My strategy worked great for awhile.
    I was too distracted by all the action to notice the sun, and I was really enjoying the music. I have to say, there is something about great jazz and blues musicians that, 'when they do their thing', it just seems like they are ridiculously cooler than any other kind of musician out there.
     I remember thinking that I had reached a turning point. I was going to be alright. "My strategy is working." I thought, "It's really working." 

      I'm not sure when I realized my strategy was not actually working. But it was probably around the time that I realized I was too weary to keep moving. Yeah, probably then, just before I involuntarily plopped down on the grass and succumbed to the brutality of the sun.  
       I remember falling to the ground, and then closing my eyes  and just listening to the hundreds of people as they passed by me. I noticed that not a single one of them expressed dismay that there was a dying red man laying out on the grass in the sun. They must have assumed that this was a typical sight in the land of lawlessness.
     But they won't be so nonplussed when I turn into the lobster madman, I whispered to myself. Then they'll see the monster that this ungodly sun has created.
     And then I passed out. 

      I'm sure I would have died on that oven baked grass if I had slumbered there any longer, but I was saved when the ground started to shake all around me, stirring me from my sleep.
     I looked over and saw another marching band marching it's way right passed me. Watching everyone in the band go nuts just like the other one made me realize that life was worth living.  

 
      The next thing I know I forced myself onto my feet and started stumbling my way down the field, looking for any kind of shade.

     And I found shade, it was being used by others who were also no friends of the sun. Luckily though, it wasn't being completely used up, as I found an empty square of the good stuff on the other side.

 After I was securely nestled inside my square, I began to watch the kids around me. I discovered that the group in the bottom picture were trying to hide the fact that they were smoking weed. But they weren't doing a very good job.
    One of them noticed that I noticed what they're doing, and he started to look nervous.  He nudged his friend and motioned to me. His friend looked at me and saw the weak, tired, delirious red man before him and just laughed. He knew I was probably not long for this world.

   I woke up a couple hours later and discovered that I was all by myself, the stoners were gone. But I was feeling a little better, if still a little woozy.
    I checked the time, and realized I had missed the watermelon smash.  I looked up at the sun and cursed it, but it only blasted me again with its heat and I quickly snaked my way through the festival looking for water to drink.

  I ended up finding something better, much much better.

  
     A mist tent! Possibly even more Holier than the Gospel tent.  Again, I'm not sure how long I was there, but I do know I shared it with a lot of fellow red heads.

    I only left the mist tent when I needed to run to the bathroom. It was during one of these runs where I I encountered this little angel.

    She complimented me on my shirt and we had a nice conversation about Jazzfest and New Orleans in general. At some point she said something along the lines of "You know, you're a good kid. I'm glad that there are people like you here today."
    And that's when I knew I was going to be okay, that I wasn't going to turn into the lobster madman, not today. This thought made me really happy, and I realized that it was the third time that day that a stranger had helped me out in some way or another. I thanked her kindly and then hightailed it back to the mist tent, just to be safe.

    At some point, Shorty called me, wanting to know my whereabouts. When he found me, we both had huge grins on our faces. I wasn't sure why he was grinning, but I was grinning because the sun was finally losing its power and I could feel the surge of energy and excitement return to the crowd.  

   "Come on," Shorty ushered me. "Let's go to the main stage. Wilco's about to go on."

    Wilco was the headlining act of the day. And it occurred to me as we made our way out to the main stage that I really wasn't too familiar with their music. I had no idea if I was going to enjoy them. But when I saw the mass amount of crazy music lovers going nuts as they waited for their favorite band to perform, I could feel the anticipation grow inside me.

   Yes, with a collection of people like this as your fanbase,  I figured your music has got to be pretty sweet.
   And I was right. 
   In case your unfamiliar with Wilco, here is a link to one of their songs that I enjoyed the most. Play this in a different window, while you continue to read.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLnsFR4E8mk

   By the time show started, the crowd was firing on all cylinders.

  I'm afraid, like most things, that the pictures simply do not capture the magic of the moment. (On a side note, it also doesn't capture the sign that the plane in the last picture is dragging behind it. The sign, I swear on my mother, read "Advertise here." I found that to be hilarious,  I don't know why.)
      But like I was saying, the pictures really don't capture the thrill of the moment; the love that was present among the crowd. The strong urge to hug and needlessly tickle each other. Oh well, I guess you'll just have to take my word for it.
    On yet another note, I also took pictures of adorable children who were running around and dancing like madmen to the music of Wilco.

Now were these kids boozed up? I don't know. In a place this lawless and out of control, I don't think anyone could know for sure. But I would like to think that they weren't. I would like to think that as the sun set on the festival, and the great music kept flowing out, and the good vibes just fluttered out of every single person in the crowd, that these kids got carried away by the beauty of the moment and just started running around like tomorrow would never come.

   But tomorrow would come. And with it would come Arcade Fire. The band I had been anxiously awaiting to see for so long. Would they put on a show as good as Wilco? Again, I didn't know. But not knowing filled me with anticipation. And anticipation, they say, is everything.

New Orleans!

  Our first day in New Orleans was supposed to be a restful day. It was the day before the start of Jazzfest, and we knew once the jazz started that the next three days would be nothing but endless partying at a hardcore level. So yeah, the first day was supposed to be a restful one.

       But like most things, this day didn't turn out at all like the way we planned it.

     It started out innocently enough.
    After some much needed sleep, we rose from our bed and grabbed breakfast in the main house. After breakfast, Shorty asked if I could take him on a tour of the city.
     "Uh, sure. It's just that..."
     "Just that what?"
    "Well, I don't really know my way around the city."
     "But I thought you've been coming here since you were a little kid?"
    "Well,  yes. But I never really had my own car. I always just kind of stared out the window while my cousin drove me around."
    "Oh. So, you can't take me on a tour then."
     "No, but I know someone who can."

 

After my cousin took us on an idyllic drive through uptown I decided it was time for things to get a little real. 

       "Cousin, how about we turn this into a Katrina tour? You know, so we can see the damage that has been done to your beloved city." 

      "Yeah... OK, I guess." 

        

      As we drove towards the poor neighborhoods of the city, my cousin pointed out the water marks on the buildings. 

    " You see those water marks on the building? Those marks show how high the water level was when the town was flooded for days on end. You'll notice that the closer you get to the poorer neighborhoods, the elevation gets lower and lower, and the water marks get higher and higher."
   When we started our Katrina tour, the water marks were barely a foot off the ground,  by the time we reached the Ninth Ward, the water marks had damn near reached the roofs of the dilapitated houses.

      As we approached the ill-fated ward, I recalled the last time I had made a visit.
     It was during my last stay here, and only a couple of years after Katrina. I was shocked to find that so much of the destruction still remained. I mean the place looked like a graveyard for houses.
        Actually no, that doesn't fit. The word 'graveyard' implies that the houses were properly disposed of after their destruction. This was more like the aftermath of a house battle. And by that I mean, it literally looked like a group of houses decided to declare war on the rest of the houses in the neighborhood and savagely fought and attacked them for days and days and days, until every house on both sides had been destroyed.  And now, years later, all that was left were the countless house casualties that just continued to rot away on the battlefield that was once the Ninth Ward. 
     

    But that was a couple of years ago, surely things had improved by now.

   When we first drove into the ward, it didn't look like things had changed. The house corpses were still decomposing in a forgotten world.
     But then I could see houses in the distance that didn't look dead at all. In fact they looked new. And they appeared to be on stilts.
     As we got closer I realized that they were indeed brand new houses on stilts. I also realized that they were designed to look really, really cool. 

 
     Did the government finally step up and take action in an awesome way, I asked my cousin.
      No, he told me, the houses had been built by the actor Brad Pitt.

      Yes, that's right. Apparently, Brad Pitt walked into the mayor's office one day and said,
     "Look, we're going to build cool, innovated new houses in the Ninth Ward that are cheap to build and even cheaper to buy. Also they're going to look like cool future houses."

  And the mayor said, "That's genius. How many workers will we need?"
  And Brad Pitt said, "None. This is just going be a job for you and me. I've got all the tools and material in my car. Let's go."
   And the mayor said," I can't do that! I have a city to run."
   So Brad Pitt replied, "Fine. Then I'll do it myself. And I'll see you in hell!"
    And then he walked out of the mayor's office and built 50 houses in the ninth ward.

     Now this is obviously a great thing, but I remember thinking that it was odd that he hadn't taken any action in removing any of the dead houses before he built the new houses. The way those new futuristic stilted house just rose above the sea of rotten dead houses was a surreal sight. It made the Ninth Ward look like a scene from a weird sci-fi movie.
     A sci-fi movie starring Brad Pitt, I thought, realizing what that son of a bitch was up to. Clearly Brad Pitt needed a location to shoot his new sci-fi movie about a world that was once run by houses until the houses' greedy nature destroyed them all. Now there was a new type of house that had risen from the ashes of the dead and they were the only ones who could turn things around. All they needed was a leader...
       Brad Pitt would stop at nothing to get his location so he could shoot this movie. Even if it meant turning a decimated neighborhood into a suitable and affordable place to live.  That selfish bastard..

On a lighter and more coherent note, here is a adorable girl selling Pralines down at the Ninth Ward. Pralines are a southern delicacy. They are kind of cookie that are made entirely out of sugar. They are extremely tasty.

French Quarter in Daylight

Once we finished the Katrina tour, my cousin asked us where we wanted to be dropped off. I figured the historic French Quarter would be a good place.
    "You want to go to the French Quarter during the day?" He said like I was crazy.
    "Yeah, " I said. "I've only been at night.  I've never really seen it in the daylight." 
     I could tell that he thought that this was a bad idea, but he said no more. 

   Instead, he just dropped us off at the edge of the quarter and got the hell out of there. I watched him speed away down the nice, clean street behind us and then turned and looked down the dirty street that lay before us. I realized right then that there was a great deal of difference from the Quarter at night and during the day.
     For one, the place was now far more empty than I had ever seen before.
     But that I expected.

     What I didn't expect was the smell. Of all my nights at the Quarter I could not recall a single one where the smell stood out in my mind. Perhaps all the excitement and visual stimulation available to the Quarter night dweller allowed the nose to be spared of the stench.

    Whatever the reason, neither my nose nor I was spared the stench during our day trip.
    It was the unmistakably pungent combination of stale booze, rancid body odor, curdled vomit and diseased urine; and as we made our way deeper and deeper into the Quarter, the smell became stronger and stronger. 
      Soon the stench was so strong that I wasn't just smelling it anymore, I was tasting it.
      I could actually taste this perfect storm of various spoiled waste, this collection of millions of microscopic particulars of scum, scuzz and filth, as it infiltrated my mouth and nestle down on the top of my tongue.
      And then, like a predatory tab of acid, this perfect storm soaked through my tongue and hightailed it up into my brain; unleashing the many repressed memories that I had accumulated from my nights at the Quarter.  

      Some of these memories were just ones of public embarrassment. Like the time when I was in a red dress on Bourbon Street and asked strangers for hugs. 
    Other memories were stronger and caused my stomach actual nausea. Like the one of me vomiting up the famous Nawlins drink The Hand Grenade seconds after chugging down the sickly sweet liquor.

    But there was one memory above all the others that was so nauseating, it made me want to die. 
     It was the memory of the girl with the most disgusting breath in the world.
    The one I made out with on these depraved streets many, many months ago.

    Yes, that was the memory that made me want to die. Because I could also remember her breath, and how it tasted. Believe it or not recalling this taste was worse than the present taste of the Quarter.  
      I tried my best not to gag, because I knew that once I started I would never stop.
     "We have to get out of here." I said miserably to Shorty.
    "Yeah, this place is dead, and kinda gross." He replied, not aware of the state I was in.  

      I struggled onward, keeping my focus on the cross street in front of us.
     That will lead us to salvation, I thought.
      But I could see that before we reached our salvation we had to cross a gauntlet of seedy doormen, all of whom were standing by their places of ill repute and ready to serenade us with promises of pleasure. As we approached them I lowered my head and pressed forward.  
    We were so close. 
    But then one of the doormen stood in front of us, blocking our path, and we were forced to stop and look at his unsightly face that had undoubtedly turned vile after years spent in these toxic surroundings.
      My stomach turned at the sight of him and it turned once more after hearing his nasal voice as he described what the girls behind his door could do with their mouths. 
    It was all too much for me, I couldn't take another step. I felt woozy.

     So I grabbed a nearby pole for support.
     This completed my nightmare, as I found that the pole was covered in a thick layer of stickiness that was now glued to the palm of my hand. Now all five of my senses had been taken over by the unspeakable contamination of the Quarter.
    And as I stood there, desperately trying to wipe the impure goo off on my jeans, the unsightly doorman made another attempt at swaying us into his place. 
    " Leave me alone! I'm sticky!" I yelled at him.
      And then I ran. I ran to the cross street as fast as I could and then I continued until it was safe to breath.
     Eventually, Shorty caught up with me,  and when he did he asked me what had happened back there.
    "Oh nothing," I said calmly, now fully recovered. "I just realized that my cousin was right. The Quarter is no place for the day."
    " I can't imagine it's any less filthy at night." He said.
    "Oh it's not. But for some reason, it seems better. A lot better. You'll see." 


A Concert in the Park
.  

   After I found a place to wash up Shorty and I walked around the area until we stumbled upon this day concert being held at a park.
       I asked someone if this concert was connected with Jazzfest. They gave me a puzzled look and replied, "No it's just the ordinary Wednesday show. It goes on every Wednesday. There's always a party here on Wednesday."
    I thought about this for a minute. Only in New Orleans can you find a free concert in the park where you can party and enjoy life. And on a Wednesday at that. A Wednesday!

     During the concert I received a call from a friend of mine, Leia. Shorty and I knew her from when she lived in a LA, but she recently moved to New Orleans and we had made plans to meet up at some point during our stay. I told Leia where we were and she said she lived close by. She told me she was going to get ready and meet us there in about an hour. 
     So with some time to kill, Shorty and I grabbed some food and some beer and sat down on the grass and enjoyed the scene.
    Whatever negative impression of the city that my day trip to the Quarter had left on us was washed away by this moment of relaxing in the grass with great food, great music and the great energy.
      I had a feeling that this was a small preview of what Jazzfest would be.
      Once again, life was good.

     Leia found us just as the sun began to set. She joined us on the grass and we caught up. We filled her in on the funny stories of our trip and she told us about her new life in The Big Easy. It was a nice time, and restful.
    Then the concert ended and darkness was upon us.

   Shorty and I found ourselves at a fork in the road. We could either stay out and keep drinking or stick to the plan and save our strength for the next three days.
    "Maybe it would be smart to take it easy tonight." I said in a rare moment of maturity.  
     "Look dude," Shorty said. " I'm fine with whatever, but the truth is I happen to have infinite energy. I know you're worried about your endurance and everything, and that's cool. But we don't have to go home on my account."

       This statement puzzled and annoyed me more than you can possibly know.
     Infinite energy?
     Who was he kidding?
     Had he forgotten that I've known him since college?
     Was he trying to show off for Leia?
        Or was he simply trying to infuriate me? If the latter was true than he succeeded, because now I was determined to show this motherfucker that he did not have limitless energy. Even if it meant spending all of my energy to prove it.

    "Well in that case, Shorty, let's stay out and go crazy. Because I too have infinite energy, but like you, I decided not to reveal this until just now."
    "Oh fun," Leia said, not aware of what had really just transpired.  "Tonight's gonna be awesome. But do you guys mind stopping at my place for a second while I drop off my bag? It's close by."
    "Not at all Leia." I said, while staring at Shorty. " In fact, let's run there."
    "Why would we run there?"
     Because fuck you, Shorty. Fuck you.

    Much like how the concert in the park had washed away any negativity I acquired from the Quarter, the sight of Leia's house washed away any lingering anger I had for Shorty.
     I mean just look at this place. Can you imagine living here? Granted, this house had been divided into apartments, but still. Look how cool it is. There are hundreds of houses all over New Orleans that are just as cool as this, some even cooler.
    I thought about this as we went through the front gate and I couldn't help but wish that I lived there.   I imagined returning home after a long day and being able to see this sight. I was certain it would uplift my spirits every single time I saw it.
      But there are no houses like this in LA, at least not that I've seen.
    
     After drinking some more beer at Leia's place, the three of us discussed our next move for the night. Leia named off a number of different things we could do in the area, but we all knew that the French Quarter was the best place to start. For one, it was incredibly close by, and for two, Shorty needed to see it during the night, as God intended. So we headed back to the Quarter, and I just prayed I wasn't making a big mistake.


The Return to the Quarter 
  

 

   We reached the edge of the Quarter for the second time that day. It felt like a completely new area. Not just because of the massive addition of tourists, musicians, and drunken life lovers, but because of the exciting raw energy that had followed these people into the Quarter. 

    This energy made everything more tolerable. It also made me want to get a drink. And so I did. In fact we all got a drink, and danced to the music, appreciating our time at the edge.   

   

 

    But we couldn't stay there forever. We had to plow ahead just as we had done before.  

   And so we did. And I'm happy to report that I was able to enjoy our journey without doing something that I would eventually remember and regret. At least I think so...  

      In any case, what I do know for sure is that Leia provided a balance of calmness in contrast to the high energy that Shorty and I brought. I believe that it was because of this, that I was able to have fun without losing my head in the wilderness of Bourbon Street. 

     But what would happen when Leia wasn't around? I worried.  

     But there was no point in worrying. I just had to focus on the tasks at hand. Drink moderately, have fun, don't touch any poles, and if I did decide to kiss someone I would smell their breath first.

       

    

   We had walked a good number of blocks when we came to this sizeable crowd.

       There seemed to be a great buzz of excitement from the crowd so Shorty and I rushed  over to see what was going on. Once we were up front we found that the crowd had formed around this fenced off empty lot that had the semblance of a make shift stage. There was even a drum kit set up. 

   But there was no one in the lot. 

   "I'm gonna see what's going on." Shorty told the two of us, like he knew people on the inside. 

    While Shorty went to find answers I noticed people getting out of the parked red car. And they were carrying instruments and other weird, mysterious things.

         As they came up to the crowd, I could see that they looked to be in their earlier twenties. 

        I could also see that despite their best efforts to keep cool, they were clearly pumped for what was about to happen.

       Then the sound of drums echoed out from the makeshift stage and the crowd went nuts. This was immediately followed by brightly multi-colored christmas lights lighting up on the walls and trees behind the band, as well as neon glow sticks being thrown out of the passenger door of the parked car and landing at the feet of the crowd. 

     Then they decided to really get the crowd excited.  

   Yeah, they weren't just a band, they were a band with freaking fire twirlers. If there is anything a drunken crowd is guaranteed to love at any given time, it's fire twirlers. 

      Their show went on for a good twenty minutes, until it was finally stopped by the police. As the cops asked the kids to show them a permit, Shorty leaned over to Leia and I and told us what he had learned. 

       Apparently these kids would drive to random cities and put on a crazy show in a populated area and play as long as they could until the cops shut them down. 

        I don't know about you, but to me, this is just a great example of how to fully enjoy your youth. I even wondered if maybe I had spent the last five years of my life poorly. Maybe I was supposed to be showing up at different cities and twirling fire.

   After we watched the cops shut down the fire twirlers, Leia mentioned she was hungry so we decided to grab a bite. 

   She took us to this place called the Trolley Stop. I found myself incredibly annoyed by this because I was always been told that you should never refer to the streetcars of New Orleans by the San Francisco term "trolleys". 
     I caught myself as I was getting angry about this, and I realized there was only one reason why I could be so upset about something so trivial.
    The liquor was starting to take effect. If I wasn't careful I was going to have another embarrassing memory at the Quarter, and after all I had been through that day, I really didn't want that.
     It's okay, I told myself. As long as Leia is around I'll be fine.

    After we ate, Leia told us she was tired and, since she had work the next day, she was going to pack it in.
      Now there would no one to stop me from myself.
    "Don't get into any trouble." She said before she got into her cab.
     Easy said then done, I thought.

Left to Our Own Devices
    

     After she left, Shorty looked over at me.
     "So how are you doing? It's midnight right now. You wanna pack it in, or can you stay out?"
      "Are you kidding me. I was made for this city." I said, realizing I had just sealed my fate.

       We made our way back to Bourbon Street and began to mosey our way down the quarter like a couple of real winners. We eyed each drinking establishment we passed to see what the girl situation was like inside.
    Shorty nudged me when we were passing this fancy bar that looked very much out of place for the French Quarter.  
    "Nah dude, they're closing." I said as I watched the bartender stack stools and wipe down the bar.
    "But look at the two girls." He argued.
     I looked, and saw not girls, but women. Fully grown women that looked to be in their mid thirties. They also looked out of place as they carried themselves respectably and were holding sophisticated drinks that they carefully sipped.
   But they probably had good breath, I said to myself.
 
     We approached the women in the upscale bar and cracked a few jokes. They laughed, and we convinced the bartender to let us buy a round a drinks before we got the boot.
    We were a couple of real winners.
    Just like in Austin, Shorty waited until I decided which girl to pursue and then acted accordingly. 
     As you know, he was eager to help me because he was spoken for. And like all guys who are no longer in the game, they want to help their friends get some action so they can live vicariously through them.
    This desire to help can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the guy and his state of mind.

    At the moment Shorty was definitely a blessing. He focused his attention on the other girl so the girl I was going for wouldn't be hesitant to focus her attention on me. All I had to do was be funny, confident, and give off a dash of mystery.
    After all, this was the Big Easy, and we were all strangers. Mystery was a necessity.

      Things were going great, but the bartender kick us out after we finished our drinks. Now these ladies had to decide whether to call it a night or join us two scoundrels for some more good times.
      If we had been anywhere else on a Wednesday night I wouldn't have even bothered hoping for a good outcome, but we were here, and anything goes here.
    And wouldn't you know it; they decided to go with us. 
    Obviously this meant things were going well.  But we soon realized we couldn't just take these women to some nasty hole-in-the-wall.  It took us awhile but we finally found a place that had an acceptably low amount of sleaze.  

    Now in bar number two, Shorty and I continued our strategy, and I felt like it was working. Just keep them talking and we'll be fine, I told myself. 
        " I like older women," I heard myself say. "They're just easier to talk to."
         As soon as I said that I knew how cheesy it sounded. But she knew it too and playfully teased me about it. 
         "Yeah, I bet you can't stand the sight of some twenty two year old hoochie who's showing you her ass and cleavage."
         "Well, ok, sure, I don't mind the sight, but I was referring to talking. It's the talking with them that I don't like. The looking is great for me."
      She laughed at this and then asked how old I was.
     "26." I said foolishly. She gave me a smile when she heard this and I could tell I just ruined the game.
      "Do you know how long it's been since I was 26?" She asked.
       "A couple of years ago." I said, going for the flattery card.
       "Hey Rhonda, Rhonda!" She called out to her friend. "How long ago since we were 26?"
        "Age is just a thing." I said like an idiot. Shorty gave me an incredulous look as the women giggled and snickered.
       They declined our next offer of drinks and excused themselves for the night. The only thing I managed to get out of my girl was a goodbye hug and this picture: 

Make a guess...

      "Why would you tell her your age?" Shorty asked after they had left.   "What possible good can come from that?"
       "I didn't think it was a deal breaker."
       " It's not necessarily a deal breaker, but nothing good can come from sharing that information. It can only hurt you to give her those kind of facts, it can't help." 

     He was right of course, I should have kept things mysterious. 
 

    Leaving the Quarter Again

    After that whole incident, we both figured it was a good time to head back home. Not that either one of us was the least bit tired, mind you. Not at all. It was just that it felt like this was a good time to go.
     And so we hailed a cab and headed back home.

      And this is where the night is suppose to end, right? That's what I thought at the time. But I had made the mistake of forgetting that New Orleans is a town where anything can happen at any time, at any place.
     Case in point, we tell the cab driver to let us out a few blocks away from the house so we can sober up a little before we go to my cousin's place.
     So there we were walking down this nice uptown suburb, and there was not a sound to be heard except for the two of us.
     And then we came to this weirdly shaped house with a blue light shooting out onto the sidewalk.  That was when we heard a lot of odd noises. Particularly, the sound of constant laughter, loud chatter and general merrymaking.
      It was, without a doubt, the undeniable sound of a large party in progress.

        At first I thought it was some high school party being held at some poor parents' house while they were away. But then we saw a group of young adults come out of the house and light up cigarettes.   This was no high school party.

    "Wanna crash a party, or are you too tired?" Shorty formed the statement like a question, but I knew it was a challenge. A challenge I was all to eager to accept. Sleep was for the weak.
     "Let's do this."

      I wish I could have seen our faces when we realized what we had walked into. I'm sure we just looked utterly confused for the first three or for four seconds.
        First of all, as soon as we walked in we were blasted by red light. This red light was the only thing lighting the place and it made it difficult to see.
       But it then we saw the display of countless booze bottles on the wall and realized that we hadn't walked into a party, we had walked into an actual bar.  In the middle of the suburbs.
      Am I the only one who thought this could never happen? Weren't there rules and court orders that made it impossible for a bar to reside in the middle of a freaking peaceful suburb. 
     And yet, here we were. In a suburb. In a bar. A loud bar at that. Very loud.
    "I'm gonna go snoop around and get some answers."
      

   While my partner in crime went to investigate, I went off to find the pisser.  
      After I had found it and was doing my business, I noticed this graffiti on the bathroom wall.

 

"Real eyes realize real lies." I read aloud. "Real eyes realize real lies." The wheels in my head started turning.
    "Oh! I get it now! This is a college bar!" 
I washed my hands and went back out to the drunk academy kids.  I found Shorty at the bar talking with some other guy. When he saw me he told me what I had already put together.
     "Dude, we're so stupid. It's a college bar. Tulane is like five blocks away. I think your cousin told us that."
     The other guy Shorty had been talking to turned to us and loudly said, "Of course it's a college bar. Isn't it obvious? The beer of choice is pabst and it cost 2 dollars. And everyone hear is way too excited about being in a dive bar on a Wednesday."
    As if to bring the point home, a minute later a woman across the bar yelled "I'm a lesbian!" before doing this:

      This prompted a large guy next to me to flash the crowd too.

I'm not sure how long I giggled about all of this, but it was a good long while.
      Once I was composed myself, I made introductions to our new friend; his name was Dylan and he turned out to be a real character.

       Sadly I don't remember much of the details about Dylan, just that he lived out here and went to school here and he thought most people, especially his schoolmates, were morons. It was clear he was a funny oddball, so I knew he'd fit in with us two. The three of us enjoyed each others company over the next couple of rounds. 

       We stayed until last call, which wasn't until around four, I believe. At that point, we wished Dylan the best, used the pisser one last time, and then prepared to finally end the night.

      But nothing can be easy, can it.
      When we reached the house, I retrieved the set of keys my cousin had given me and tried to unlock the big steel gate that protected the house.
       But try as I might, I couldn't seem to unlock the damn thing. Being impatient I decided to try and climb the ten foot steel fence, which had sharp steel spikes shooting out the top of it.
      I was at the top of the fence with one foot hanging over the other side, when Shorty decided to try his luck with the keys. I heard the sound of a lock unlatching and then Shorty shouted "I did it!" before he ran through the gate and into the front yard.
    I told him not to shout, but my voice was cut off by the deafening sound of the gate door crashing back into place. This was followed by the sounds of all of the dogs on the street barking and howling as loud as possible. There was no way we didn't just wake up everyone in my cousin's house, if not the neighborhood. And I was still stuck on top of the fence. And it was four in the morning.
       
    It was one hell of a way to end the day. But now that I think about it, it was the perfect ending. And I only had to wait four hours for Jazzfest to begin! 
    Four hours is a good amount of sleep, I thought. But I gotta make sure Shorty falls asleep first.  
    After all, it wasn't like I was tired. 
   

Austin: Day Two!

  The girls of Austin have special powers. I'm convinced. I became convinced of this fact during our second day. A day which did not start out well at all.
      In fact, it started with Shorty and I being woken up by the following conversation between two moron stoners early in the morning:
    "Can you believe he asked me for five bucks bro?"
     "No way dude. Did he really ask you for five bucks?"
     "Yea bro, I was like 'You can't have five bucks bro.' "
     "Yea, I would have been like 'you can't have five bucks bro'."
      "Yea, that's what I said. I was all like 'you can't have five bucks bro.'"

 The conversation went on like this for what felt like hours.
What's worse, neither Shorty and I could even get to the door to tell these kids to shut up because we were so completely hungover. I mean we were just destroyed as men. It hurt to even think, much less move.
       It wasn't until around four in the afternoon that our collective misery subsided enough for us to get up and shower. This disappointed Shorty much more than me because by that time it was already too late to do half the things on his itinerary. He perked up though when he realized we could make it to the one event he really wanted to see. But only if we started walking immediately.
  
     So there I was miserably shuffling my feet behind Shorty as we made our trek across town. I felt like I wanted to die.
    And then something magical happened. A cute girl crossing our path looked at me and smiled. Not like in a come-hither way but in a sweet, friendly way. Now maybe it's because my time in Los Angeles has taught me that this kind of thing does not happen often, so to see it actually happen made me subconsciously give it supernatural powers. But that smile alleviated some of the pain in my head.
    Two blocks later the same thing happened, another girl smiled at me. Then it happened again. And again. By the time we had walked across town I had received ten smiles from ten different girls. I swear to God. I know some guys like to lie about how many smiles they get from women, but I'm not that kind of guy.
      Anyways, by the time we reached our destination I felt great. And you know why? Because the women of Austin are magical. And friendly. And they adore redheads, maybe.
     Shorty saw me smiling while I was thinking about all this and asked me what I was so happy about. After I told him, he smiled too. But he smiled in that way that guys with girlfriends smile when they think their single friends are clueless.
     "You can't get so enamored by a smile, Randy, otherwise you'll never get anything else."
     "There's something else after smiles?" I said with heavy sarcasm. I followed this comment with a dismissive remark.  "Let's ditch this and go back to town." 
  "Trust me dude," Shorty said. "We're not gonna want to miss out on the bat bridge, I hear it's an incredible sight."

      Here is the sight.
      Or rather, here is where the sight takes place. See, under this bridge there are thousands of sleeping bats. And, as Shorty explained it, on some nights these bats will suddenly decide that they've had enough of the bridge and fly out from under it.
     "Just imagine." He said. "Thousands and thousands of bats just hightailing it over the water."
      I had to admit that did sound pretty cool. But how long would we have to wait until we knew whether the bats would come out or not? 

    "Oh it's hard to say, really. According to my research, it could be another good two or three hours until they decide to fly, if they fly at all. "

     Two or three hours? I looked back over at the city, the city filled with fun-loving magical women who were just waiting for me. 

                                     
       I felt the pain returning to my head.

    It was at about the ninety minute mark that I became convinced that the bats were never gonna show. But I could see that Shorty was determined to see this to the end, so I held my tongue and continued to wait. 

    Fifteen minutes later, things became interesting. The bats still hadn't shown up, but she did. She was this beautiful dark haired girl who was leaning over the railing looking down at the water. She was by herself, no one around her. I never saw her walk up, I just turned away for a moment and when I turned back she was there.Like magic.

      "There's no way she's really alone. She must be waiting for someone." I told myself. But no one came to her. 

       "I must go to her." I convinced myself. "If no one comes for her in five minutes then I will go to her."  

      A minute later I realized I was being stupid.

       "This is stupid." I thought. "I'll just go to her now."  

      And so I went.

 

That guy is not her. That is a guy. But I wasn't gonna be a creep and take a picure of her, so this is all you get.

      So I walked up next to this beautiful creature, trying to appear casual yet fearless, and leaned against the railing beside her. Acting as if I was just trying to find the best place to lean and hadn't even noticed her.
     She noticed me and smiled.
    "Waiting for the bats?" I asked her.
     Not the best opening line, but it worked. It got a conversation started. Unfortunately, very soon into the conversation I realized that she might be taller than me. I couldn't be sure because she was leaning over the railing, but I knew it was something I needed to be wary of. Even if a man is only an inch shorter than a woman it cuts his chances with her in half. And considering this girl was way out of my league to begin with, that would make my chances quite small indeed.
     But no sense of worrying about that now, I thought. Just focus on making her laugh. 
     "You know," I said, " I hear that there are no actual bats, its just a rumor spread by the locals to get the tourists out of town for the evening."
     She laughed. "How do you know I'm not a local."
     "Are you a local?"
     "No, I'm actually from Los Angeles."
    
     I suppose it's pretty silly to think that girls from a certain town are magical; but I ask you this: Is it more or less silly than this thought: "Holy shit, she's from LA, that means this was meant to be. We were meant to find each other, we probably soul mates. I mean she thinks I'm funny, I think she's gorgeous, we're from the same town, and we have an awesome story of how we met on the bat bridge in Austin. It's perfect... except she still might be taller than me, which definitely outweighs the whole soulmate thing... "
     
     I don't know both are pretty stupid. In any case, I was so preoccupied by this new thought that it took me awhile to realize that I had had been rambling to this girl for sometime, and I wasn't even sure what I had been saying.
     Fortunately I was saved from myself, as the rest of the bridge dwellers let out a hushed "oooh!" as they watched the bats suddenly appear from under the bridge spew out over the river.
    It was a magnificent sight.
    And while everyone else was admiring the sight I couldn't help but wonder what had been the deciding factor for the bats to leave tonight. Perhaps, I thought,  just like I had grown sick of the two stoners' inane conversation outside my window, the bats had heard enough of my inane babble and decided to escape.
     

The sight is much more impressive in person.

      If that was indeed the reasoning behind the bats leaving the bridge, then that is too bad for them. Because they missed the part where I got the girl's number. Boom! They also missed the part where I made a hasty retreat back to town while she was still leaning over the railing, staring at the bats, never knowing which of us was taller. Boom! 

     

    After we left the bat bridge, we headed back to town for a night of fun. And this time I was ready. I had my camera, I had my self-esteem thanks to the fact that I got the girl's digits (last time, boom!), and we had all night. There was only one problem....

 

         It was a Monday night, and the town was dead. Of course, just my luck. 

         Shorty and I were far from throwing in the towel, though. Especially Shorty, which is one of the reasons I love the guy. If he's determined to do something, he's going to do it. In fact if it wasn't for him we might never have found the one place that was cracking on a Monday night. Any guesses of what kind of bar goes full speed on a monday night?

   If you guessed a strip bar than you are way off. Way, way off.

 

    That's right, a Coyote Ugly bar. I know, I thought it was just a movie too. But it's so much more than that. 

     But I'm not gonna lie; despite the aesthetic pleasure, this wasn't how I pictured my last night in Austin. But you know what? One great thing came out of it that made it all worth while. 

Something that was as high on my list as the bat bridge was on Shorty's list. 

 

I got to drink with an authentic Texas good ol' boy! That's always been on my bucket list, it just seemed like such a fun time. Sure a good ol' boy might have a reputation for being rowdy, ignorant and pigheaded but they also seemed like a type of person that would be a blast to drink with. At least to me. And let me tell you, I was right. 

 

     I can't remember who met him first, me or Shorty, but I can tell you that he was hilarious. As soon as he learned we were from California he just took us under his wing and started mocking our state with good-hearted fun. And we came back right at him with all the Texas slander we could think of. It was exactly how I thought it would be. And then it got better. 

    He challenged me to a game of Texas Shots. That's where two people both take a shot and whoever finishes their shot first gets to headbutt the other one. Unless the other one cheats and head butts first. To be honest I wasn't too clear on the rules.  But I did get to head butt him three times. And people that know me know that I love a good headbutt. It's a lovely thing to do. 

    And just when I thought my Good Ol' Boy experience couldn't get any better, he shared this little gem with me:

      "Hey California boy, ya wanna hear something that will blow yur mind? I have a gay brother. That's right, me, a Texas Republican Good Ol' Boy has a gay brother, and I love them. I love him to death. Can you wrap yur mind around that, California boy?"

      It was truly a touching moment, and one of my favorites of the whole trip. Also, he may have headbutted me right after he said this, I'm not sure, my memory is a little fuzzy. 

Going to Nawlins

      The next day we were back on the road. We only had nine more hours to go before we made it to our destination: New Orleans, Louisiana.

                              

I realized as we entered the Louisiana state that I hadn't thought much about returning to my old stomping grounds. Both my parents are from New Orleans and still have a lot of family over there, which is why I was able to spend several summers over there in my youth. 

   And yet, it wasn't until we entered the state that the memories of years past came flooding back to me. 

    "Jesus, Shorty. We're about to be in the Big Easy."

     "Yeah I know." He said. But he didn't know. He didn't really know what was in store for him. But when he did, it would be glorious. The food, the nightlife, the music, the people. Just nine more hours of driving, and we would receive a hero's welcome like only the town of Nawlins can give. 

 

 

     We didn't reach the city until late that night. We were pretty tired after two straight days of partying and nine hours of driving, and we still had to find my Cousin's house, unload our stuff and retell our adventure thus far to my relatives. 

     But before we did any of that, there was something I wanted to do. Something I wanted to do since the first day of the trip, when Shorty mentioned he bought us both a present that we could enjoy at some point along the way.

    That's when I added something new to the itinerary. Something we would do as soon as we crossed the finish line.

 

 In my hand is a big ol' fancy cigar. And behind me is the great Mississippi river. And in front of me was possibly the best five days of my life. The future was wide open. I felt giddy, just like that first day, after we escaped the sprawl. There was so much to look forward to, so much to do.  The French Quarter, Jazzfest, Arcade Fire.. the list went on and on. But for right now, in this moment, I just stood alongside the great river, savored the moment, and smoked my cigar . 

 

 Life was good.