Rabbitch: So Long, and Thanks For All the Sodomy: "I have always wanted to visit there, imagining that the streets were full of dancing, bare-breasted women, people performing all sorts of bizarre rituals involving blood and chicken bones, people actually speaking French (of a sort) in public. A big, noisy, bold and unrepentant city, full of history and culture and sin and music (and, of course the sodomy. Always with the sodomy.)"
This is the way I've always thought of New Orleans, this is what made me fantacize about going there for Mardi Gras. Even though it made me shit my pants to think about being there, amidst all that evil unrepentantness, I wanted to experience it. I guess that's the only way to put it.
My only experience in New Orleans happened this past May. On the way home from Florida (newly married and having the Time of Our Lives in the car together for more than 15 hours straight for the second time that week) Bruce took a different route than the one we'd driven down on. He wanted to show me New Orleans. What a man.
We drove through the French Quarter for about an hour. I was nervous, never having driven on streets like those before. You know, streets where you can each stick your hand out of your respective window and clothsline a sax player and a palm reader with one fell swipe. We toyed with the idea of stopping for dinner, but the streets were lined with cars, we weren't really that hungry, and we doubted we could find a place that would let me in with my shitty pants on. So instead, we got lost in the scariest suburb in the world. I can't think too much about that lost opportunity, or I start crying. I'll never get to see it.
But man, those poor people.
2 comments:
I lived in Biloxi for nearly a year, and made trips to New Orleans every few weekends or so. Very unique place. I'm sorry you didn't get to see it before the disaster, but I hold on to hope that It'll be back, just as unique as ever.
I used to go to a place in the French Quarter called Buster's. It was a hole in the wall place with a room in the back where people congregated and played random jazz. Up front there were a few old tables to plop yourself down and have a meal. My choice was always a heavy old oval shaped dinner platter filled to overflowing with red beans and rice. I always finished my plate. It was served with a loaf of fresh french bread, a stick of real butter, and a wine bottle full of ice water; all for 35c.
Yes, this was back in the 70's, but still it was cheap by any account, and the atmosphere was unbeatable.
You could have gotten in there with your shitty pants, and been right at home. Perhaps it will be back someday.
Jian
Post a Comment