Wayback Machine. Destination: New Orleans (Pt. 1)

New Orleans: March 15 - 19

Took a trip with the Driz down to New Orleans for to watch the first and second rounds of the NCAA tournament, men's b-ball variety, of course. Had this trip planned months in advance and was looking forward to it. Naturally, I didn't expect to recreate the joyous experience that was the 2005 Basketball tournament in Nashville. Instead, considering it was a) New Orleans b) St. Patrick's Day weekend and c) spring break, I was expecting a perfect storm of debauchery that would test the very limits of decency and dignity. Mission accomplished?

Well, no. But it was still one helluva good time.

The Driz and I touched down in NO within an hour of each other, so we were able to cab to our hotel together. Actually...I need to backtrack just a bit.

About ten days prior to my flight, I got teh sickness. An insanely sore throat, congestion, and best of all, an increasingly painful earache. I managed to get a doc appointment for to get a prescription what will make me feel better. It was nothing too serious, obviously, but the earache concerned me, because I didn't want anything to rupture while flying. Also, while alcohol and the antibiotic I was given weren't dangerous to mix, I knew alcohol would dull the effect. By the time I was to fly down, I would have had four days worth of pills to take. We were landing on Thursday, so I decided that I'd make it through half the remaining pills alcohol-free, then introduce alcohol into my system on Saturday, because what decent person celebrates St. Patrick's Day--in New Orleans, no less--without booze, right?

You know where this is going. Of course it didn't last! Within two hours of the plane landing, I had a bigass Hurricane in my hand. Oh well.

We made our way around Bourbon Street, just getting our bearings, before deciding on a bar that had a nice setup, with a dancefloor and a couple of bars up front and a large open-air drinking area with two bars in the back. It's early, so happy hour specials are just beginning. This particular one was a 3-for-the-price-of-one setup on bottles of the cheap stuff. The Driz is going up to fetch beer, and because it's Bud Light he's bringing back, I let him have 2 of the 3. Well, many hours later, he crosses that threshhold where, as I put it to him then, the booze goes from being a bargain to being a poison.

Drizzle: I need to get out of here.
Me: Where to?
Drizzle: I'm following your lead.
Me: Okay.

So we step out onto Bourbon and we start the search for a cab. As we're walking, my hazy head hears "C'mon in guys, no cover."

Me: Let's check this out. No cover.
Drizzle: *incoherent*

That's right. I dragged my buddy into a dead-on-a-Thursday-night titty bar, where there's no cover, but a minimum beer purchase, which I quickly fulfilled. The Driz may have taken a sip or two (what, you think I'm going to drink both beers myself?) between moments of clarity where he realizes where he is and then curses my name. Me, I'm just nursing mine, watching the unenthusiastic performances. Finally, I do the right thing and use "my buddy needs to get back to the hotel room, stat" excuse to turn down a lap dance, and we leave. We get to the hotel, I call Erica, and the Driz uses the bathroom in that special way someone who has been drinking cheap beer for way too long only can.

And that's Thursday.

Friday, we got up early enough to get eat the surprisingly edible complimentary breakfast the hotel offered before walking down to the arena to catch day one of the basketball games. It was weird. Not that we saw much of the city, but all the parts we did catch, save the French Quarter, were very quiet. There wasn't really anybody on the streets. Very few cars on the road, even. And this was at all times of the day, not just the morning hours. Yet, it's not like it looked abandoned. Sure, there are still signs of the disaster, but for the most part, the areas through which we walked looked lived in.

Anyway, the walk to the arena was a nice one, made notable by the fact that we came up with a brand new nickname for Carl, one that cracked us up way more than it probably should have. Got to the arena, where we had to pick up the tickets. Moment of truth time, as we were nervous about the mere existence of the tickets. See, The Drizzle tried unsuccessfully three times (?) to have those things mailed to him well before we got there, and with no success. Eventually, he made the arrangements to have them picked up onsite. Naturally, because of the runaround given with the mailing of tickets, we were understandably nervous that they would not be available. Thankfully, the tickets were there and basketball was to be had.

The first round of the NCAA tournament is always the most fun, especially from a live perspective. A lot of that, of course, has to do with there just being more games. Beyond that, though, there is the enormous amounts of energy brough by the fans in the arena, which are mostly students and alumni and fans of the participating schools, that makes for a great live experience. This year, we didn't have a Luke Schenscher to mock, so we spread the ire around, though the eventual champion Florida Gators received more than the rest. As a matter of fact, the best moment of that day was when Florida foward Al "The Traveller" Horford, a big guy by any measure, tried to back down Jackson State's much, much bigger Stanley Turner. Most guys would have been knocked back by Horford's post move, but Horford just bounced off him. It was fantastic, especially because he attempted to back him down twice, and couldn't budge him either time. (At the time this text was composed--months ago--Al Horford was not yet an Atlanta Hawk; now that he is, I will not clown him. Kings of the pre-season, baby!)

We hightailed it before the game ended, as Florida built up a rather large lead. We walked back to the hotel for a quick change of clothes, and then it was back to Bourbon Street. Fortunately, there wasn't a repeat of the previous night's drunkenness or poor decision-making, though it was close. When we started walking back to the hotel (some time after 4am), I got the munchies, and ducked into this place that seemed like a White Castle/Checkers hybrid. We're in there, and I look at the menu, and turn to the Driz and say "This is a mistake, isn't it?" After a quick nod of the affirmative, we were outta there, finally finding a diner that served the most amazing breakfast sammiches ever. (So good, in fact, that we actually went there for dinner the next night).

(Part 2 to follow...)

There's No Such Thing As Clowns

The last two weeks have been pretty swell, all told. (Little illnesses aside.) Two weeks ago, Erica came into town for a few days, which is always fun. We wound up bowling with co-workers on Friday night. I didn’t bowl this time, after I humiliated myself the last time. Erica did, and she repped the family quite well. MC and JS (my favoritest co-worker and her lady) bowled out of their minds, so my vicarious bowling needs were well met. Plus, another co-worker did a split after one of her bowling taunts. Easy highlight of the night.

The rest of that weekend was spent shopping, sleeping (boy, lots of sleep), keeping warm, and talking trash over games of Mario Party. I took that Monday off so I could spend more time with her before she had to catch the late afternoon train back home. With any luck, I won’t have to be writing phrases like “train back home” for much longer. Not that anything is imminent; just saying.

This past weekend was another road trip with the Drizzle to check out some land in Northern Alabama (aka Pennsylvania). This time, the land was in Gettysburg, and was actually a nice piece of property, even if you can’t set up a canoe business. After a thorough examination of the land—well, as thorough as you can be without leaving the car—we hit the Gettysburg Appalachian Brewing Company for a beer and a couple of hours of shooting pool and chit-chat. For the record, I lost the best of five series, 3-2, because the Drizzle is much more adept at the “let the other guy scratch on the eight ball” strategy than I. We went from there to the Gettysburg G-Man, after discovering that Hoss’s was too crowded for dinner. There we ate and drank a bit more, while working the phones trying to get local folks to join us. Sadly, there were no takers. Lazy savages. Unfortunately, our evening was cut short (due to the aforementioned illness) and we made our way back to D.C. after settling up here.

Sunday, of course, was the Super Bowl.

As gleeful as I was with the outcome, it has been tempered somewhat by something approximating pity for the Bears. Sure seemed like 52 men showed up to play that game. Unfortunately, the very key 53rd man turned into the pumpkin most people knew he was. I think Neil O’Donnell owes Turnoversaurus Rex a nice dinner, since he’s no longer the biggest goat in Super Bowl history. (You know, Troy Smith would look pretty good in a Bears uniform.)

But hey, at least they got there. There are thirty other teams who cannot say that. And many of them (including my beloved Dolphins) haven’t even sniffed the playoffs for years now. So the Bears got that going for them, which is nice.

And now, a nation turns its eyes to college basketball and the coming March Madness. Feel it! The Drizzle and I will be making the trip for the opening round games again. This year’s destination: New Orleans!