N.O. Geaux

(Note: apologies ahead for grammatical errors. Editing has been limited as this entry is being posted in the breakfast nook of a hotel we are NOT staying at… cheers.)

After a week in the Lone Star State, we took our leave after a hearty breakfast courtesy of Todd’s Aunt Patrice. It was tough to bid farewell to beds, home-cooking and good company, but the duty to provide vicarious exploits to our adoring blog readers is always at the forefront of our thoughts. We drove through the sprawl of Houston en route to New Orleans, our next destination, when suddenly we saw it: the Joel Osteen Church. Temptations immediately arose: should we end the trip and move here? Should we become born again? Should we be baptized? Ultimately we decided not to enter the peculiar Temple of Capitalism…, I mean Christianity, for fear that we would be convinced to donate our gas funds to Joel’s “rapture-preparedness fund.” Regrettable perhaps, but what’s done is done

We exited Texas after a week of baseball and perspiration and cruised through the bayou on our way to The Big Easy. The drive was amazing. We were seemingly on bridges more often then not throughout the entire state of Louisiana, which is apparently nothing more than a series of trees and bushes sticking out of the Gulf of Mexico. Honestly, we were unable to fathom why and how people could live here. That being said, the drive was beautiful: parasitic growth everywhere and amazing marshes. We drove through these foreign environs and finally arrived in New Orleans.

We briefly cruised through downtown and headed over to Will’s friend Dane’s house in the Garden District. We were warmly greeted and our host proved to be the greatest tour guide that the city had to offer. Dane, born and raised in N.O., couldn’t have been happier to show off the city he clearly loves. After repeatedly telling us how jealous he was of our travel plans (he being an avid sports fan with a particular love for SEC football), Dane set the stage for the rest of stay, telling us: “There are no rules here. No rules. This is a different country.” We were intrigued and excited needless to say…

We headed out with Dane to Parasol’s, an authentic Cajun joint, and took part in the religious experience known as a fried shrimp po-boy. My goodness. As we savored the “dressed” po-boy and gravy fries we noticed a familiar sticker on the bar’s beer fridge: an MSU Bobcats sticker. We excitedly explained to Dane the reason for our enthusiasm and the discussion about MSU inevitably led back to the Grizzlies, who Dane recognized as an FCS stalwart (yes Cat fans, we’re bigger than you in SEC football country). The college football topic continued to be explored and Dane gave a stirring speech on SEC football. Ultimately, he reasoned that it is the only “real” conference and that it’s ridiculous to think otherwise… we were forced to agree. At this point Will mentioned our intentions to go to the Ann Arbor in September to see Notre Dame take on Michigan. After Dane scoffed, Will reminded him that it would certainly be exciting to watch a rivalry game of this magnitude in a stadium as vaunted as the Big House. Dane, apologized and nodded in agreement. “You’re right, I’ve got respect for the history and the glory days,” he stated. “I mean, those teams were great a hundred years ago.” Ahh, the South.

After filling ourselves, we briefly toured the streets of the Garden District and looked on in awe at the splendid architecture that comprises it. This city is truly an island unto its own. We met up with some of Dane’s friends and headed out to the famous French Quarter to fulfill our touristic obligations (i.e. Bourbon Street). Dane illegally parked (after traveling the streets at an average of 55 mph) and assured us not to worry, as the police there are overwhelmed. We headed to a daiquiri bar that his friend managed and hunkered down for what would be the first of several libations. We were informed to request “the drink,” which we did without hesitation. What we received was a Styrofoam cup filled with one part juice, one part ice, and something like 38 parts everclear. Miraculously, it tasted decent enough and went down rather smoothly. We headed to the bar’s upper balcony and looked on in awe at the chaotic splendor that is Bourbon St. Will even managed to shoot a short film of a drunken homeless man popin’, lockin’, and dropin’ it in the middle of the street. America at its finest.

We finished our beverages and set out to Pat O’Brien’s (a Piano bar down the street). We ordered a round of Hurricanes (a N.O. specialty) and listened to dueling piano’s play requests. Will, in typical fashion, danced with a lovely young lady of about 50 much to the chagrin of her Texan husband. Dane and Todd cooled his Lone Star temper and Will yet again exited a seemingly problematic situation unscathed. After passionately singing along to Guns N’ Roses’ November Rain (as requested by Todd), the three of us headed back to the madness outside. We opted for a quick refill at the daiquiri joint and chatted with Dane and his friends. We joined in some bar trivia (Dane insisting that the answer to every question was President Howard Taft) and eventually were stirred to head out once more. At this point I must be honest and inform you that things get spotty. Suffice it to say that we became separated and Todd, having no cell phone, ventured back to Dane’s. Upon arrival Todd prepared for some much needed sleep, but found that Will had, in fact, not returned. Dane stated that he had turned his phone off after Will repeatedly had called, saying that he had lost his phone. Clearly, logic was no longer in the cards at this point. We called Will, found his location and went to pick him up. Why didn’t he catch a cab you ask? Because at this point Will, once again, was no longer in possession of his wallet. This time, I regret to inform, it would not be recovered. N.O.: 1, Will: 0. We picked him up, headed back and grabbed a hunk of floor at about 5 am. Good Times.

We awoke at the crack of noon the next day as Dane returned from work over his lunch break. “Will, you’re a f#@ing tourist,” were the words he greeted us with. We laughed heartily as though this was a bad thing. We cleaned up, shared some laughs, scrolled through our pictures from the night before and headed out. Will managed to use his gift of gab to obtain some money from Chase, despite having no form of identification and we went for some food. Camelia’s Grill was our destination, having been recommended by Dane as the best breakfast spot in N.O. It did not disappoint. We indulged ourselves with a couple of corned beef omelets, fries and a shake. The restaurant itself was very cool: waiters yelling and performing tricks with plates and utensils. Sleepy, one of the waiters, even regaled everyone with a song (before throwing down on a can of ensure whilst working). Will also spied the busboys smoking in the kitchen. Good times.

After breakfast we headed back to the French Quarter. The architecture in this area was absolutely stunning. We strolled around the old French Market, walked the banks of the Mississippi and saw Jackson Square, where a new Archbishop was being installed. We walked back down Bourbon Street again and took in the sounds of numerous bands that had already begun playing early in the afternoon.

As five o’clock approached we headed back to Dane’s. We decided to grab some dinner and put our faith in Dane’s experience. Along the way we took a tour of the city. Dane showed us several gorgeous houses, where famous locals lived (Brad Pitt, Drew Brees, John Goodman, etc) and swung us by his old high school. This place was ridiculous. It was an old plantation house and looked more like a social club than a high school. After seeing the lighter sides of the city, we headed down to the Ninth Ward. This, I kid you not, is the most frightening place we’ve ever seen in the country. Abject poverty and horrific living conditions typify this area. The bulk of the houses that survived the flooding still have spray paint on the outside from when they were being searched for bodies. The area near the levy was completely wiped out and has still not redeveloped. Heavy stuff. We finally arrived at the restaurant, a corner seafood joint, and were treated to a fantastic meal. We shared some fried oysters and Will had stuffed mushrooms, while Todd sprung for a seafood spread: everything was amazing.

After dinner Dane took us by “the scariest street in N.O.” and promptly told Will to get out. Needless to say this demand was not given into. Dane laughingly told us he wouldn’t get out if the car was filled with vipers. We drove around a bit more, had a cocktail at a famous ritzy bar, The Columns, in the garden district (a gin fizzy which is a N.O. specialty and boasts egg whites as a constituent) and then headed down to the French Quarter. We strolled around the area, soaked in the beautiful architecture (including the famous St. Louis Cathedral) and went to the revered Café Du Monde for some French coffee and some beignets

We headed back to Dane’s where Will promptly passed out. Todd and Dane, being sufficiently wired by the coffee, remained up. Todd was privileged to witness Dane in full SEC mode. He pulled out an enormous cd case and opened it. Inside was what is most likely the largest collection of LSU Tigers and New Orleans Saints games in the world; a true Holy Grail. Dane fired up the LSU v. Florida game from ’06 and stated: “God they scare me. I know we when this game, but they scare me.” Hilarious. Football, God, Country in these parts folks. We watched some highlights and hit the hay.

We awoke well rested, and headed out for Atlanta. The drive through Alabama was gorgeous and we pulled into Atlanta with just enough time to get dinner at The Varsity, a famous fast food joint near Georgia Tech’s campus. The service there breaks down like this: you walk up to a the counter and the cashiers yell “What’ll ya Haaaaave!!??” Good stuff. We ate some greasy food and headed to Turner Field. After parking in a lot that we both assumed would be the sight of the Prizm’s first break in, Will naturally acquired us tickets and we entered the game (he also slung an extra for a free beer… the myth continues to grow). The game was nothing to exciting until the Braves started to get the bats going late and got within striking distance of the Marlins. The gods had other plans, however, and just before the top of the 9th the heavens opened up. We were treated to a Georgia downpour and after about an hour we decided to leave. We ran to our car, got soaked and headed north of the city, where we would stay the night. Will’s girlfriend’s cousin’s in-laws (Mike and Pat) and their daughter Katie were our amazing hosts for the evening and they treated us like kings. We were welcomed in from the storm with cold beer, sandwiches, chips and a brownie alamode. It’s a tough life we lead indeed. They offered their laundry facilities to us as well, and were a treat to converse with. We, still recovering from New Orleans, hit the sack and soaked in some much needed sleep.

In the morning we were greeted by folded clothes, a delicious breakfast and some welcoming conversation with our fantastic hosts. Unfortunately, we couldn’t move in with them, so we finally set out with lunch and some extra beers in our cooler. Our destination was Tampa and we prepared ourselves for a long trek. More to come…


Todd & Will