My Trip To New Orleans Pt. 2

January 1st, 2005
3:00pm - I just woke up with a mild case of paralysis, and I think Rich is dead.
4:00pm - Rich is alive, which is nice to know. I'm still on the couch.
7:00pm - Still on the couch. Rich on the chair.
8:00pm - A pizza comes. We sit up and eat it.
8:30pm - Back lying down.
10:00pm- The cab is here, and we're back to Bourbon street.

By the way, have I mentioned that the Sugar Bowl was taking place
in New Orleans that Monday? Tons of college co-eds down for the big game.
In the immortal words of our cab driver, a charming young man from a country
who's name I'm sure ends in 'Stan',
"There's so much college girl pu--y in the air you can taste it".
There's no way to follow that sentence, so this paragraph is over.

A half hour later and we're out of the cab. The bad news? I've left my wallet
in my pants from last night, all the way back at Rich's place. The good news?
We're in New Orleans, and apparently laws don't apply here.
You know how some bars have UV lights they shine on your ID,
and some bars ask you for backup ID? Nope, not New Orleans.
The guy at the first bar we went to just said "eh, come on in". Seriously.
The second bar's bouncer stared at me for about five minutes
before he decided I looked old enough. The only real problem came from
the bartender at the third place. Since I unfortunately didn't catch his name,
we'll call him "Jackass wasting Chris' time".
Jackass..: You got some ID?
Chris: Oh shit, I left it in my other pants. Can I come in anyway?
(Any other city, and that's literally the dumbest question on earth)
Jackass: Nope, sorry.
Chris: C'mon, I've got other stuff, school id, credit card.
Jackass: Nope, needs to be government issued
Chris: Okay, what else could I give?
Jackass: Passport?
Chris: Man (gives look that says "That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard"),
why would I have my passport?
Jackass: Hmm...I dunno
Chris: Yeah.
So I gave him a health insurance card with birthdate and no picture,
and my college ID, and we were in. So just to recap,
I got into every single bar I wanted to. There are some I didn't mention,
and that's because some didn't even check, or even have somebody at the door.
Once you're in the Bourbon St. area, you can go anywhere.
It's like Disneyland, with probably more sex and booze.

Now believe it or not, Jan. 1 was actually crazier than Dec 31st in New
Orleans. Everybody was out partying: A man with no arms, a man with no
legs, even a man with no face. Well, about 1/3 a face, But when you're that
close you're not really trying to do fractions. And at the same club as my
buddy without the face, I saw two guys on a double-date with two midgets.
Easily the "car-wreck" moment of the week. The whole club was staring. And not
because the guys were double dating with midgets (okay, that had a lot
to do with it) but because they were getting really nasty. And let me tell
you, it takes a LOT for a club full of people in New Orleans to be like "oh
come on, have some class". Ever heard (or made, although I'm far too high-brow
for that sort of thing) a joke about a midget girlfriend being a perfect
height? Well, rest assured it's apparently no joke. I wish I had an explanation
for you as to how this whole thing went down, but I don't. Rich and I had a
theory that they rented midget whores for the night. If you've got a
better theory I'd love to hear it. But before you chime in with something like
"Maybe they're just nice people who met nice girls who happen to be
midgets, you asshole", I'd just like to add that we ran into one of the guys
later in the night with an even smaller midget, carrying her down the street as
she hung around his neck like a chimp. So, you were saying?

I was supposed to head home on the 2nd, but my flight got cancelled.
With all the VA Tech and Auburn fans in town, all flights are booked.
So I was stuck in New Orleans for a few more days. But really, it's not
quite fair to call it "getting stuck" here. You get stuck in traffic. You get
stuck in quicksand. You don't get stuck in New Orleans.
Unfortunately Rich is back to work in his graveyard shift, so all I can do
is hang out, watch tv, and try to stay out of the way. I call Mitch to tell him
I'm not coming home for a few more days, and he says the 5 words I least needed to hear:
Scotty P's in New Orleans. When I heard that, my liver cried a little bit. Or
maybe I've got cirrhosis.  Regardless, on Tuesday night I was back on
Bourbon. And I stayed there. And drank. We drank until everything shut down. That's
very late. Rich picked me up when he got off work at 6:30 am. My only train
of thought on the ride home: "How do I get out of a jeep wrangler to puke
as quickly as possible? Open the door? I can't unzip this dumbass plastic window
on time, can I? Eh, the seat's waterproof, maybe I'll just do it in here".
Luckily I fought through, and didn't learn a single lesson from the
experience.

It's the next morning and I'm on my way home. I've got to get back to
work early tomorrow, my rent's late now, my car needs to be repaired, and
I'm completely broke. But for the past few days, none of those things mattered.
Nothing really did. Remember how when you were a kid, you didn't care about
anybody's job, income, status, etc? You just asked if they wanted to play,
and if they said yes, you guys were friends. Well that's the way things are in
New Orleans. I love the place, and can't wait to come back. In fact, I
might take another vacation and come back for Mardi Gras in 4 weeks. And
let's be honest: if I did, you couldn't blame me one bit.

My Trip To New Orleans

My Trip To New Orleans - Intro (December 27, 2005)

Almost exactly one year ago today, I flew to New Orleans to spend New Years with my college roommate Rich. I wrote an email newsletter at the time, so I decided to document the trip. Since Hurricane Katrina has (temporarily) destroyed much of my favorite city, I decided to re-print my letter a year later in it's honor. Hope you enjoy.

My Trip To New Orleans - Pt. 1 Ladies and gentlemen, once again it's on. Not only is there a new edition of The Comet gracing your computer screens, but this is a very special edition, coming to you live from New Orleans, Louisiana. Needing a change of pace from my boring old Northern Virginia lifestyle, I've decided to spend a few days down here with old college roommate and longtime Comet reader Rich Kiss. Since everyone can't be here with me, I've decided to keep a journal of whatever goes down. So without any further ado, we proudly present: The Comet - How I spent my New Years. Decermber 30th, 2004 My plane takes off at 7:30 pm. Apparently we're importing the hot people to New Orleans this year, because there's a ton of hot college girls on my flight. In the immortal words of Herman's Hermits, something tells me I'm into something good. I find my seat (which is sadly nowhere near the hot girls), sit back, and do some writing. I'm minding my business for about ten minutes, and then I hear it: screaming and crying from the three kids sitting right behind me. Their mom is across the aisle, doing her best to shut her rotten-ass kids up. Guess what? It's not working. First they scream because they're too short to see the safety presentation. Then they scream because the lights on the plane got turned off, and damnit, they want answers. But here's the highlight (?) of the flight with these kids: When the snack tray comes around, little Jack starts screaming "I want a soda!! I want a soda!!". When the cart gets to us about five minutes later, the flight attendant says to him "what would you like?" to which he responds, "I want a soda!!!". Finally he concludes that Jack is an idiot, so he asks his mom. Sprite it is. Jack gets a sprite, and then about 10 seconds later, I'm treated to this exchange: Jack: I WANTED SODA!!!!! His sister: That is! Jack: NO!!! I WANTED SODA!!!!! Mom: Do you want a coke? Jack: NO!!!! I WANT A SODA!!! Mom: Honey, what kind? Jack: SODA!!!! Needless to say, mom hadn't really taught Jack about synonyms, subcategories, and what not. Just so you know, here's the final tally. (Before soda) I WANT A SODA!! = 11 times WHAT KIND!!! = 6 (Afer soda) All-out crying = 3 I WANTED SODA!! = 16 (I'm not kidding) IT IS!!! = 6 On a certainly unrelated note, I've got a new invention: It's called the R.A.K. (Rotten-Ass Kids) card, and it should be mandatory on all flights. The card reads something like "Dear everybody, I'm sorry for my rotten-ass kids ruining your flight." and so forth. The pilot would come on and say "We've arrived in New Orleans, but nobody's going anywhere until the lady in 17D comes up to front and reads this". Anyways, that's all for today. Rich is off at work, so tomorrow the adventure really begins. I'm thinking maybe a trip to the finer libraries and museums that New Orleans has to offer. topped off with a quiet night of scrabble here at the house. Stay tuned. December 31st, 2004 New Year's Eve and it's my first time out in New Orleans. It's early in the night, but so far, the greatest part about this city is that the local men dress like 1920's street pimps, the women like whores, and nobody says a word. If I may go off-topic for a moment, Tyson's microwave chicken nuggets are the bomb. And I'm not one to throw the term "the bomb" out on just anything. We get into the heart of the French Quarter at about 11:45. First stop is a private party in some building with Rich and a bunch of his tv studio friends. It's us, about 20 people we don't know, and about 5 of their friends. I stood out on a balcony with a ton of people and made some phone calls. If you're reading this, there's a mighty fine chance you got one. The boring time did bring one highlight of the night though, Rich's first move. Now I'm not gonna get all in ALL of our business, but I really have to praise this one. Always one to make lemonade out of some stank-ass lemons that nobody wants, Rich used the recent theft of his cell phone to his advantage. Said Rich to a hot-ass weathergirl from another station: "Hey, my cell phone got stolen, let me get your number again!". The beauty? He never had the number to begin with. I don't know what this says about Rich. I definitely don't know what this says about that girl. But it worked like a charm, and with about five minutes left in 2004, we hit the streets. Having left everybody with a girlfriend or boyfriend behind at the old party, about four of us stroll down the street to the main celebration. There's a huge stage, about 800 people on it, and about half a million people dancing and screaming below. Some guy strolls up to the mic and starts singing and dancing. Drunken jackass? Somebody important? You're both right, it's the MAYOR! If anyone, other than myself, should have their own reality show, it's probably the mayor of New Orleans. Just think about it: I bet he works mon-wed, 12:00-3:00, and spends the rest of his time taking bribes, partying with random women, gambling, and eating crawfish and gumbo. But I digress. Let me get back on track. Ahem. If you're looking for a truly great ice-breaker line, there are no three-words better than "Happy New Year" (Or my patented variation, "Happy New Year, Darlin'). If you know any better ice-breaker, I'm dying to hear it. It's really a shame you can use it so rarely, but once that ball dropped, it was open season. Anybody who walked by got the greeting. Here's a 100% true re-enactment: Guy walks by. Chris: Hey, happy new year's bro! Guy: Hell yeah man, same to you. (Hand-shake/hug thing. Does this have a real name yet?) Guy: This is gonna be the year, man! We've got to come together, no more violence, it's all good. Chris: Yeah! 2005 man, it'll be all good. Guy walks away, I check my pocket to make sure my wallet's still there. Another re-enactment, this one from a club later that night. Girl walks by. Chris: Hey, happy new year's, darlin. Girl: (Like she just ate something good) Mmm...You too. (Hugs Chris, kisses him on one cheek, eh, kiss on the other, why the hell not, kisses him on lips for a while,) Chris: Duh... Girl smiles and walks away, I check my pocket to make sure my wallet's still there. After the smoke clears from the New Years stage, and after we've already made a few friends, it's time to head down to Bourbon Street, also known to me as "Heaven". Now, if you've never been there, it's no coinscidence that the most active street in New Orleans is named "Bourbon". You've got to know what you're getting into when you walk down there. Just imagine if there was a street called "Cocaine Lane". What do you think goes down there? If my car breaks down on "Asswhup Drive", I'd consider calling AAA as soon as possible. Regardless, Bourbon street is something else. I don't know where it starts, where it ends or anything, but you walk around, and all of a sudden you're on Bourbon street. On Bourbon street, it's perfectly legal to walk around with open containers of alcohol. You can even go into a bar, and then get your drink to go. Essentially it's the world's biggest block party, and we've got to make our presence felt. Now, we did way too much at way too many places for a complete run-through, so here's 5 things I learned that night: 1) In New Orleans, nobody's out of your league. This was actually a slogan a guy told me, but turned out to be 100% true. 2)In New Orleans clubs, every girl knows every word to every song by Juvenile or the Cash Money crew. I'm not exaggerating. "Back that ass up", "Slow Motion", "#1 Stunna", you name it. They must do it in schools like the Pledge of Allegiance down here. 3)In New Orleans, everybody is your friend. Call it the booze, call it the Southern hospitality, call it the Mississippi River air, call it the booze, or just call it the booze, but strangers instantly bond, and hang out together for hours. 4)In my arsenal, I have an unstoppable move simply known as "The Move". I look at a girl, and when she looks at me, I shrug my shoulders, hold out my arms, pop one eyebrow, and the deal is done. 5)Get your own move. At about 2:00am, we went to an amazing club called "Razu's", where interestingly enough, some guy was murdered the night before. And yes, we knew this before going there. It didn't matter though, because Razu's was the place to be. Somebody got shot at the Subway sandwich shop by my apartment in December, and I haven't been back since, but for some reason we had to go to Razu's. And it was well worth it. I broke out my move a few times, Rich works some nice ones of his own, and at about 6:30am, we finally headed home. That's all for this edition of the comet, but stay tuned for the sequel, featuring a stunning plot twist, and a special guest appearance.