Jazzfest Chronicles - Day 2
As I started my Day 1 notes, I was sitting in a Karaoke bar called the Cat's Meow. Sure, I know, a karaoke bar? How douche-bag is that? Except that this one had 3 for 1 drinks... That was the bait that lured us in. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a few hours... we'll get back to the Cat's Meow later.
Wednesday morning, as early mornings go, was a smashing success. Up before 6:00, loaded with caffeine by 6:10, picked up RA and ET (sister and brother-in-law, for those not in the know) by 6:45, and out of Austin before 7:00 a.m. Three easy hours later we walked into Houston's Hobby airport, and one hour later we flew out of it. A glorious stack of free drink tickets were on hand to nurse us through the 50 minute jaunt to our shadowy destination.
It's important to understand that the drinks were needed.., perhaps even critical. This was the virgin visit for three of us, and getting our cherries popped was not going to be a sober experience. We intended to have our way with New Orleans, but we harbored no illusions that New Orleans was going to have its way with us as well. The drinks were the foreplay.
A quick note about New Orleans cab drivers... they're all very cool, friendly, and helpful, but if you ever find yourself in the cab of an old creole lady who's lived there her whole life, do NOT use the term "NOLA"... you will be firmly rebuked and corrected, and several rounds of 3-for-1 drinks will be required to dilute the tones of scorn and derision that are heaped upon your ignorant head.
Harrah's was the right place to stay. It's right on the river, and is close enough to most places you'll want to go that walking is always an option. The tricky part about the hotel is smuggling an extra two people into your room for four nights. When you insist on two queen beds, they ask intrusive questions.. such as if you'll have anyone joining you. At an extra $80 a night for a shared room, the obvious answer is, "no, nobody will be staying with us". However, the elevators are directly in front of the check-in counter, so sustained efforts at subterfuge will be required to pull this off and not get caught. I won't labor on this point, but it may come up again later. By mid-afternoon, that unique feeling of 'vacation decompression' was already in full swing. Granted, it could be argued that I've been decompressing for a month now, but it's different when you get out of town. Plus, if my last four weeks of mild and gradual decompression were compared to say.. a Vicodin, then the kind that hit us in the French Quarter must surely be on a par with Heroin.
It was a whirlwind afternoon. Following the river a few miles from Harrahs to the French Flea Market, we stopped in everywhere that looked worthwhile. Beignets at Cafe du Monde. Beers and Hurricanes from corner bars. Finally, when we ran out of road, a left turn toward the French Quarter.
Several blocks down, there was that famous sign... "Bourbon Street". The street didn't look like what I expected, but we were down at its nether end. No neon lights or signs with dancing crawfish here, just old worn buildings with hole-in-the wall bars... it was perfect. Two beers and two bars later, we passed through a section I can only refer to as the "Rainbow District".... this is a four block segment of Bourbon Street that has rainbow flags hanging over every bar, and gay pride disco dolls in the windows of head shops.
Finally, we found ourselves standing beneath the awning of The Cat's Meow. Someone had told us about it, but we were skeptical of a late afternoon karaoke bar visit until we zeroed in on the 3-for-1 drinks. One of us was still smarting from the "NOLA" rebuke, so it seemed the right time to actually just sit for awhile and soak in the local entertainment while imbibing heavily. A moment had come that required our attention. Inebriation was knocking loudly at the door, demanding to be let in.
My notes from the Cat's Meow are blurry, though not as blurry as the pictures. Here's what I can make out (written with tabasco sauce on a cocktail napkin): ET sang 'Ice Ice Baby'... he might have tanked it, but the ladies seemed to love it. I sang 'Just a Gigolo'... which I'm quite sure I rocked (my notes actually say "I rocked out with my cock out"). RA and Lisa put on the winning performance of 'Baby Got Back'.. my sister spanked my wife's ass... apparently we have video of this... I'm sure it'll end up on YouTube. Beyond that, I can't recall everything, except that we did make it out in time to return to Harrah's, get changed, and make it to Emeril's for a dinner reservation. (Quick sidebar... the food at Emeril's was excellent, and the 2006 Etude Pinot Noir is very good, and I'm sure it will only get better).
We made it back to Harrah's in the incipient stages of our first collective food coma, and while there may have been a quick stop at a slot machine on the way, it was a good night's sleep that beckoned.... at least for 3 of us. Let me recap briefly the relative order of drinks throughout the day: 1) beer, 2) Hurricane, 3)beer, 4)possibly tequila, 5)wine, 6)possibly more beer (somewhere in there may have been a Bloody Mary and a Screwdriver, as well). This leads to an observation I've made once before in Las Vegas, which is that when you share a hotel room with another couple, you find that you learn a lot about them that you might not otherwise have. I won't say who spent half the night puking... and I won't say who should never be allowed to sleep on their back after drinking, due to a volume of snoring that is comparable to a chainsaw (minimal exaggeration, there), but suffice it to say that neither of those individuals was me. That's the shortest version of Day 1 that I can manage, but it hits most of the high points.
~ZMF
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