Tuesday, August 05, 2008

A New Orleans Scrapbook

I did not alert you to the recent blog break because that would be the electronic equivalent of saying, "Hey, Mr. Burglar, why don't you rob me blind while I'm out of town? I mentioned--ADVERTISED, practically-- in a blog entry a few short weeks ago that we have TWO color TVs. So, help yourself!" Identity theft is one thing; property theft, however, is serious business. Safety first, I say.
In recent days, the highways and byways led us to New Orleans for a working vacation and a heat index you would not believe.

For those of you not hardy enough to brave the Crescent City climate in August, I have compiled a brief glimpse into our adventure that was Too Much Fun. And lest you get all preachy about introducing four kids to Bourbon Street and the French Quarter, I will tell you to Get Over It. We didn't permit dancing on tables or overindulging in any way (except at Café du Monde--eating, not dancing). We're very Baptist that way.
Here you go ...

We had the opportunity to hang with the locals in the French Market.

I spent most of my waking hours trying to figure out how to construct a wrought-iron balcony onto the front of my house and to grow ivy without aid of ground.

Requisite pretentious shot in front of a stretch limo. This child will likely tell her friends that she rode in this stretch limo and was treated like a princess. A princess wearing a dirty t-shirt and torn capris.

If you ever wonder who has the hottest job on the face of this planet, stop. We found him, across from Café du Monde. The temperature hit about 150 that day. Coating himself in silver paint, I'm guessing, made it just seem hotter.

We versed our children in the merits of Happy Hour in the hotel lobby. They caught on quickly that a bottomless glass of Coke and unlimited visits to the trail mix bowl constitutes a full meal. The "happy" part must have come after this picture was taken.

We assessed the status of the cleanup of a July 23 oil spill in the Mississippi River.

In Parenthood, Diane Wiest's character tells her daughter, Julie, something like, "Well, when my kids want something, I want to get it for them." This is an example of such parenting policy. One of my kids wanted to walk on the field of the Superdome. So I got it for him. Because I spoil my kids that way. And I did not break any laws or windows to make it happen. It just happened. Anything else I write might be incriminating.

And then we found the Saints' locker room. It was very locked. Despite our efforts, we could not open this door. We were not entirely disappointed, as we never expected we would get this far. Neither did Superdome Security.

A footnote about food: No blog entry about New Orleans would be complete without mention of food. Yes, of course, we ate food. And a shameful amount of it. Of particular enjoyment was a sandwich as big as your head, served at Mother's. It will forever be remembered as The Meat Sandwich, though the menu refers to it as a Debris Sandwich. Debris is the stuff that falls off the roast during baking and lands smack-dab in the gravy. It's the stuff that everyone eats in their own kitchens, but would never admit it. Like the crumbs that fall off fish at Captain D's. The nice people at Mother's scoop the Debris out of the pan and stuff it between two slices of French bread. (Try doing that with Captain D's crumbs.) What I couldn't finish at the restaurant, I polished off at midnight in the hotel in the middle of my bed. It was a very New Orleans thing to do. And while I should be embarrassed, I am not.

There's more, but I shall save it for the paying gigs, which will be published later this year. I'll provide links in the fall.