I've been busy, that's why I haven't been doing much writing. Lots of interesting things have happened, no time to tell you about them. Conversely, when I have time to write, life is boring. Seldom life is boring in the Quarter. If you need some interest in your life, just walk out your front door and there will be something waiting for you. Sometimes it's a parade coming down the center of your street, sometimes it's a chalk out line and police tape.
Some weekends you walk out and find a half million strangers shitfaced in your front yard. You remind yourself that these people pay your bills, tighten your emotional seatbelt and push through the party to run an errand. I went to an art opening / birthday party for Peter O'Neill a week ago. Great art, cool people and good wine. You know, wine that come with corks, not in boxes like my art openings. Before the gallery could be closed for the night there was one loose end. Some tourist passed out on the sidewalk in front.
From what I heard he had stumbled in shitfaced earlier, wondered out and got about eight feet. At closing the gallery manager and myself searched the blocks around the gallery to find a cop. None. If I had decided to piss behind a dumpster there would have been four. NOPD was called as we tried one last time to wake the guy. "Dude, you are about to have a very bad night unless you start walking." I told him. It's amazing how a flash light shining in the face a stern demand for I.D. will sober one up usually. You couldn't get this guy's attention with an M-80.
He was tossed into an ambulance as we departed the gallery, "Geeze, it's only just after 10:00." I busted on Peter for having someone taken away in an ambulance from his show. I was jealous, the best that ever happened at one of my openings was that I was bounced out for being too drunk and trashing the place. Just once.
Monday night I came home from work of physical labor after a long weekend. I crashed and burned until about 1:00 AM, waking up to just a half a pack of remaining smokes. I swear, I just went out for cigarettes. On Bourbon Street I ran into "Disastrous Dave and Catastrophe Curt." You can tell where this story is going. Remember from High School those boys that hung out behind the shop class smoking and constantly bitch slapping one another? Now fast forward 20 years and put them on Bourbon street with a good buzz going.
"Buy the ticket and take the ride..." Hunter S. Thompson once said. The secret to having a good time in the French Quarter is not going out to have a good time. The secret is to go out and try not have fun. Rowdy but well liked every place they went, I followed behind Dave and Curt as they just pushed through the crowds with loud voices and flailing arms. Like two middle aged versions of Steve - O, bar stools were over turned, drinks spilled and at least one almost fist fight with a street hustler. I would have been there just to watch for cops.
I spoke to Curt about the meaning of New Orleans. Locals can spend hours discussing the spiritual meaning behind living here. Trying to define the undefinable, describing the unseen. Curt struck upon the notion that there has to be some sort of magnetic anomaly here. We developed the "New Orleans, the G-Spot of the Earth theory." More research is still needed.
From Molly's to Erin Rose and back to Molly's. The best was in the back bar of Erin Rose where Jacob was working. After the second time he had to speak to the muppets for rough housing Jacob barked "Why don't you two just fuck and get it over with." PBR came out of my nose.
As the sun rose over the west bank I stumbled across Toulouse to unlock my gate. "Shit, I forgot to buy smokes."
From what I heard he had stumbled in shitfaced earlier, wondered out and got about eight feet. At closing the gallery manager and myself searched the blocks around the gallery to find a cop. None. If I had decided to piss behind a dumpster there would have been four. NOPD was called as we tried one last time to wake the guy. "Dude, you are about to have a very bad night unless you start walking." I told him. It's amazing how a flash light shining in the face a stern demand for I.D. will sober one up usually. You couldn't get this guy's attention with an M-80.
He was tossed into an ambulance as we departed the gallery, "Geeze, it's only just after 10:00." I busted on Peter for having someone taken away in an ambulance from his show. I was jealous, the best that ever happened at one of my openings was that I was bounced out for being too drunk and trashing the place. Just once.
Monday night I came home from work of physical labor after a long weekend. I crashed and burned until about 1:00 AM, waking up to just a half a pack of remaining smokes. I swear, I just went out for cigarettes. On Bourbon Street I ran into "Disastrous Dave and Catastrophe Curt." You can tell where this story is going. Remember from High School those boys that hung out behind the shop class smoking and constantly bitch slapping one another? Now fast forward 20 years and put them on Bourbon street with a good buzz going.
"Buy the ticket and take the ride..." Hunter S. Thompson once said. The secret to having a good time in the French Quarter is not going out to have a good time. The secret is to go out and try not have fun. Rowdy but well liked every place they went, I followed behind Dave and Curt as they just pushed through the crowds with loud voices and flailing arms. Like two middle aged versions of Steve - O, bar stools were over turned, drinks spilled and at least one almost fist fight with a street hustler. I would have been there just to watch for cops.
I spoke to Curt about the meaning of New Orleans. Locals can spend hours discussing the spiritual meaning behind living here. Trying to define the undefinable, describing the unseen. Curt struck upon the notion that there has to be some sort of magnetic anomaly here. We developed the "New Orleans, the G-Spot of the Earth theory." More research is still needed.
From Molly's to Erin Rose and back to Molly's. The best was in the back bar of Erin Rose where Jacob was working. After the second time he had to speak to the muppets for rough housing Jacob barked "Why don't you two just fuck and get it over with." PBR came out of my nose.
As the sun rose over the west bank I stumbled across Toulouse to unlock my gate. "Shit, I forgot to buy smokes."
No comments:
Post a Comment