Easy, The BigPosted on November 6th, 2007 after 11958 miles by Dean Croshere.
“Good morning,” she said. “My name’s Megan.”
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. She smiled sweetly.
I slept in her bed last night.
She was the suitemate of a friend of a friend in a dorm at Tulane University in New Orleans. When she heard that I was stopping by, she offered to let me stay in her bed, since she was going to be at her boyfriend’s place. Oh, and by “last night,” I mean Friday night, four days ago.
She had come back to the room to get ready for class. After what is likely the strangest introduction I’ve ever been party to, I went back to sleep.
A few hours later I went to breakfast with Katie, my host. She was the friend of a friend who’s suitemate’s bed I slept in last night.
If nothing else, this trip is making for some interesting relationships.
Katie had to work on a couple essays so I headed down to the French Quarter. Remember how I posted a few weeks ago about how I had lost my debit card? Well, I’ve since received a new one, but I still haven’t received my PIN. I have access to my money, but I have no method of getting cash. I also have no cash left. I actually gave my last dollar to a guy playing his Sax down by the river.
This leads to problems. Bourbon street runs on cash. There are a lot of ATMs, and nearly every place has a big cash only sign. This is probably a good thing. It kept me from spending much.
I still managed to wander around the area for a while, wandering in and out of the shops. There are four types of stores on Bourbon Street. Places you can get souvenirs, places you can get voodoo’d, and places you can see naked women (and sometimes men), and, finally, places you can get drinks,
In the first, I had no interest in the souvenirs. These fell into two categories. There was the overly gaudy stuff like shot glasses with plaster designs all over them, and there were T-Shirts with unbearable slogans. It is like there is some law that every shirt sold on bourbon street must have the word “Fuck” written somewhere. “New Fucking Orleans, Louisiana” wasn’t my favorite. “Fuck Fema” was also popular, particularly when printed on old shirts that had been stained during Katrina.
In the second, Voodoo shops are lame. I did want some incense, but I didn’t have any cash, and I wasn’t going to buy $20 worth of it, nor any voodoo dolls, nor any palm readings or tarot predictions.
In the third, I didn’t have any cash.
In the fourth, I found a way. I found a place I could get a mint julep with my card. The drink was just bad. I should have gotten a hurricane or something else that comes from the slurpee mixers behind the counter. I sipped this while walking around town looking at the other attractions in repetition. I started to get bored around the same time that I finished my drink.
This was when I hatched my plan. I was pretty close to being done with that film. I had time. I was in a beautiful place. All I needed was a cigar, a beer, and power.
The first two were easy. The beer was a German Dopplebock. The Cigar was an Onyx, rated 97 by cigar enthusiast magazine, the highest rating ever. The third was a bit more difficult, though cheaper. I wandered down the waterfront for a while until I found a power transformer on a little lawn overlooking the Mississippi River.
This is where I did the primary editing for that movie I uploaded Sunday. Sitting on a little lawn in front of the Mississippi River in New Orleans smoking a Cigar, sipping my beer, and listening to a guy playing his Sax for spare change. He's the guy that got my last dollar.
It was a wonderful afternoon.
I had just finished up when Katie gave me a call. She was hungry, so was I.
I headed back uptown to campus. We briefly discussed dinner. I really wanted gumbo. I’d never had it, and New Orleans seemed to be the place to get it.
It took some research, finding the perfect New Orleans Gumbo. We asked a few people around campus, searched the internet, and she made a couple of phone calls. We ended up at a place on frenchmen, right by the French Quarter.
The gumbo was all right. I mean, I’m sure it was great gumbo, but it’s gumbo.
Gumbo. (It’s fun to say, isn’t it?)
After dinner, we got a few drinks and played some good old fashioned drinking games in the dorm rooms, complete with an oh-shit-someone-knocked-on-the-door-quick-hide-the-booze moment.
I had planned to leave the next day, but Katie convinced me to stay and extra day. The nice thing about this trip is how easy that is to do.
The next day I got up early and worked a bit more on that movie. The voiceovers were all terrible, I guess the busy waterfront wasn’t the best background noise. Voiceovers are a pain to do. I have to find a place that is quiet, but I can talk. If there are people anywhere nearby I get incredibly self-conscious and either end up whispering or sounding as self conscious as I am. After all, I am loudly saying things like, “I didn’t want to have my skin fashioned into something unspeakable.”
After I tried a few nearby locations, I broadened my search. Katie went back to work on her papers and I headed to my car. It was in a parking structure.
A parking structure that was 7 floors tall.
I hit the stairs and climbed to the top. It was deserted save for three cars and a really big bee.
I could talk as loud as I wanted here, say whatever I wanted, and get the movie done. While I waited for various things to render, I snapped some pictures of Mr Bee. I like this one where he is in mid step. He looks so determined.
Once I finished, I briefly scouted about for a net connection. I didn’t find one, so I hopped in my car and headed out into town.
I’ll post all of that later. I’m tired.