Kicking About New Orleans Haphazardly
Wouldn't it be something that the week before Halloween I found myself in New Orleans again. If not the most haunted city in the US, then the most played upon in that regard. Masquerades and vampire capes, skeletons and devil's horns. It's a little Mardi Gras though probably a good deal creepier. (I can't really say, I've never really been to Mardi Gras.)
It's been awhile since I've been here. Almost a year. And it just so happened that this time I invited a friend of mine to come down with me. Russell, who is about to start installing a ballistic missile defense system in Huntsville, AL and had not exactly been hired yet and so he was waiting for that initial interview that propels one into that responsible life of adulthood.
So why not accompany me to New Orleans? I mean when going down for work the hotel room is paid for. (Which is an open invitation to many of my friends if I go anywhere. Come. Join me in some US city. Explore it with me.)
Well, for 3 nights the both of us sauntered about the French Quarter. Though there was this time that we ventured by trolley up Canal St. thinking that we were heading towards the famous Garden District, but we ended up in one of the neighborhoods that you probably didn't want to be caught during the night. And seeing how the sun was sinking we ambled over to this bar thinking to try and use their restrooms when immediately sticking our heads in the door, we were promptly invited in by some of the locals. Particularly this dark blonde who made it her theme to try and show us out of towners the real New Orleans. She liked to make observations of how pretty my hair looked and how warm my jacket seemed and asked if I thought that two people could fit in that jacket. She was good friends with the bartender, a brunette, and suffice it to say the both of us, Russell and I, were picked up very directly.
I should also point out that when I write the words blonde and brunette many people think of some calendar girl with those hair types; I hate to get hung up on physical things, but these girls were pretty ugly.
The bartender, Becky, was about to get off work and Angel the flirtatious bar fly wanted to take us to the Levee where you can watch the sun go down over the Mississippi. Russell and I were both game for the adventure of it. Not caring one bit about for what guys care for when leaving bars with females. We really wanted to see the Levee.
It was too late for the sun and had already set and it was cold. The girls had the idea to use the picnic blanket as a source of warmth...though we all had to huddle together to make it warm. I understood the cuddling as a means to keep warm...what I didn't understand was Angel's shifting hand on my backside. And later, I found that Russell had the same problem with Angel's other hand. Well, our response was very slow. I mean we didn't really encourage it our anything. And so the awkward moment where the 4 of us were drapped in the blanket thankfully came to an end. And eventually we got out of alot more awkward moments by telling them that we intended on going on a ghost tour that night.
I don't why I got into all that. I really intended on writing about jazz music. Because it is really incredible in this city. But first let me mention, that i think that it was that same night that Russell and I accidentally wandered into a gay burger joint. Yes, not a gay bar...I mean these days they're a dime a dozen...but a gay burger joint? Where on earch can you accidentally wander into a gay burger joint? But New Orleans and perhaps San Francisco. I mean we thought that it was this low key, old 50's soda pop where the waiter wears a bowtie and little paper hat...then it makes perfect sense. I mean everything hits you...the Stevie Wonder being played over the grill. -The predominance of pink on the walls -The disgusting innuendo written on a chalk board about hot dogs. -the customer or two who parade inside with all types of gesticulations and lisps. But no rainbow flag which told us you are indeed entering a gay burger joint. I didn't know they even existed.
Well...jazz...my first inspiration for writing this. It seems to be too complex and elevated a thing to write about it after all these misplaced wanderings. Perhaps, I'll get back to it in another note.
But as for today or tonight...why it's Halloween. I'm heading out to the French Quarter dressed as an angel of light. Which will be opposite of all the other costumes out there. I even plan on entering a vampires bar deck out as Gabriel just to see if I get any discrimination.
It's been awhile since I've been here. Almost a year. And it just so happened that this time I invited a friend of mine to come down with me. Russell, who is about to start installing a ballistic missile defense system in Huntsville, AL and had not exactly been hired yet and so he was waiting for that initial interview that propels one into that responsible life of adulthood.
So why not accompany me to New Orleans? I mean when going down for work the hotel room is paid for. (Which is an open invitation to many of my friends if I go anywhere. Come. Join me in some US city. Explore it with me.)
Well, for 3 nights the both of us sauntered about the French Quarter. Though there was this time that we ventured by trolley up Canal St. thinking that we were heading towards the famous Garden District, but we ended up in one of the neighborhoods that you probably didn't want to be caught during the night. And seeing how the sun was sinking we ambled over to this bar thinking to try and use their restrooms when immediately sticking our heads in the door, we were promptly invited in by some of the locals. Particularly this dark blonde who made it her theme to try and show us out of towners the real New Orleans. She liked to make observations of how pretty my hair looked and how warm my jacket seemed and asked if I thought that two people could fit in that jacket. She was good friends with the bartender, a brunette, and suffice it to say the both of us, Russell and I, were picked up very directly.
I should also point out that when I write the words blonde and brunette many people think of some calendar girl with those hair types; I hate to get hung up on physical things, but these girls were pretty ugly.
The bartender, Becky, was about to get off work and Angel the flirtatious bar fly wanted to take us to the Levee where you can watch the sun go down over the Mississippi. Russell and I were both game for the adventure of it. Not caring one bit about for what guys care for when leaving bars with females. We really wanted to see the Levee.
It was too late for the sun and had already set and it was cold. The girls had the idea to use the picnic blanket as a source of warmth...though we all had to huddle together to make it warm. I understood the cuddling as a means to keep warm...what I didn't understand was Angel's shifting hand on my backside. And later, I found that Russell had the same problem with Angel's other hand. Well, our response was very slow. I mean we didn't really encourage it our anything. And so the awkward moment where the 4 of us were drapped in the blanket thankfully came to an end. And eventually we got out of alot more awkward moments by telling them that we intended on going on a ghost tour that night.
I don't why I got into all that. I really intended on writing about jazz music. Because it is really incredible in this city. But first let me mention, that i think that it was that same night that Russell and I accidentally wandered into a gay burger joint. Yes, not a gay bar...I mean these days they're a dime a dozen...but a gay burger joint? Where on earch can you accidentally wander into a gay burger joint? But New Orleans and perhaps San Francisco. I mean we thought that it was this low key, old 50's soda pop where the waiter wears a bowtie and little paper hat...then it makes perfect sense. I mean everything hits you...the Stevie Wonder being played over the grill. -The predominance of pink on the walls -The disgusting innuendo written on a chalk board about hot dogs. -the customer or two who parade inside with all types of gesticulations and lisps. But no rainbow flag which told us you are indeed entering a gay burger joint. I didn't know they even existed.
Well...jazz...my first inspiration for writing this. It seems to be too complex and elevated a thing to write about it after all these misplaced wanderings. Perhaps, I'll get back to it in another note.
But as for today or tonight...why it's Halloween. I'm heading out to the French Quarter dressed as an angel of light. Which will be opposite of all the other costumes out there. I even plan on entering a vampires bar deck out as Gabriel just to see if I get any discrimination.
posted by Brian Harrison | 9:28 AM
3 Comments:
dude, i so ended up at a gay burger joint in New Orleans with a bunch of college guys--the Hubcap Grill. We were there for a bachelor party--during the high school football championships, mind you, which was our main reason for gathering in NO. But we were looking for a late night meal when lo and behold, we find a burger joint, where all the guys were wearing these Christmas hats, and one was singing "Backdoor Santa." I was the last to get my food, and the server said, "And who had the pork chops? Oh yeah, I thought it was you." (wink). Awkward. That was the fastest I've ever eaten pork chops.
ha ha...the gay burger joint that we accidentally went into was called the clover grill...so there is more than one? Wow.
The Clover Grill is the perfect anecdote to Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, wouldn't you say?
BTW, I am thoroughly enjoying your tales, especially those about New Orleans. She is the love of my life and you describe her magnificently.
Post a Comment
<< Home