Dear readers,

Some of you may have been wondering why, although our sojourn in lusty New Orleans ended weeks ago, we have yet to write about it. Maybe we've been very busy. Maybe we've been lazy. Most likely it has just taken this long for my brain cells to regroup in order to form cognitive thought patterns that I can transform into a coherent blog entry. Here is my attempt:

Our first order of business upon arrival was to locate The McKendrick-Breaux House, which was to be our restorative sanctuary during our stay. We found the B&B without incident and stepped out of the van to be greeted by Brett, our gracious host. Now, before showing us to our room, before giving us a tour of the B&B, before we even found a good parking spot for the van, Brett proudly informed us that he is the owner of the largest archive of historical yearbooks in the U.S. (and quite possibly the world). So, if your great-grandmother went to an obscure two-year vocational college in rural Kansas to study basketweaving in 1912, Brett most likely has a book with her picture in it. His collection holds over 6,000 books, mostly printed between the 1860's and 1930's. Truly amazing.

We found The McKendrick-Breaux House luxurious, comfortable, centrally-located, and safe. We highly recommend it to anyone looking for a place to stay in NOLA. In addition to providing the nicest room we've ever stayed in on our own dime, the MB House is also home to our new favorite feline, "Mr. Adventure", whose preferred activities include searching for action among the courtyard foliage, apprehending many sorts of insects and rodents, and enjoying an afternoon stretch. Here he is being stretched by yours truly; I'm apparently an excellent cat stretcher and have added it to my resume of qualifications.

On our first night out on the town we paraded through the quarter, stumbled drunkenly down Frenchman Street, and made our way to the All-Ways Lounge to check out the venue that we would be performing at in a matter of days. After walking through the door, we were treated to, lo and behold, FULL FRONTAL MALE NUDITY. That's right folks, it was naked karaoke night. And there, on stage, was a man with his trousers down singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart". During the course of the evening, G and I were the only ones to keep our clothes on. At the end of the night all of the contestants lined up, seen in the pic here. I have censored this photo in case you are at work, in a library, or are an employee working after hours at The National Science Foundation.


In the days that followed, Gillian and I enjoyed all of the obligatory touristy activities mandated by a city such as New Orleans. We soaked up all sorts of music in clubs, bars, and on the street. We stuffed ourselves full of crawfish etoufee, jambalaya, and other combinations of butter, flour, and seafood, we became fans of The Saints (who dat?), munched on hot beignets and sipped cafe Aulait at the Cafe Du Monde, we stopped at The Napoleon House for a Pimms Cup, and we checked out Voodoo Authentica for a quick study of Haitian religion. It was all relatively tame until:


Halloween in New Orleans is a sinners paradise. You can dress up as a scantily clad member of the opposite sex, drink enough booze to kill an elephant, traipse around the quarter, vomit all over yourself, and STILL not cause a scene. We realized what we were in for when we hopped on the overly packed St. Charles streetcar to catch a ride down to the quarter. Every cubic inch of space was occupied by a man dressed as a gorilla, a deflowered lady of the night, or a pervert dressed up as Peter Pan. This pic unfortunately doesn't do it much justice. It was a blast. Gillian dressed up as Dolly Parton (prior to plastic enhancement) while I donned a (much less successful) costume resembling some sort of 80's butt rock stoner. We had a great gig at the Allways Lounge, met a variety of colorful people, were treated to wonderful performances by the Panorama Jazz Band and March Fourth (old favorites from our PDX days), and eventually caught a cab ride home in which I drunkenly tried to converse with the driver in Hebrew, even though he claimed to be from Pakistan. I'm still fairly certain he was lying. Some of the night was a blur, but I clearly remember a "remove your costume contest", some heavy booty shaking, and the wildest costumes I've ever seen. Thank you New Orleans and The Allways Lounge for providing the most insane Halloween of all time.

The following days were spent relaxing, booking more gigs, and preparing for our next shows in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. We spent some time with our new friends Clara and Seth Pincus (pictured here) who took us to The Rock n' Bowl on our last night in town. The Rock n' Bowl is a New Orleans institution of sorts and Zydeco night is an exemplary display of New Orleans dancing and merrymaking. One elderly fellow named Ben was celebrating his birthday by dancing with every girl half his age. Here he is twirling an ecstatic Gillian around the dance floor; in all of the years I've known her, I've NEVER seen her dance like this. Just look at that smile. I'm not sure why Ben has a glowing orb around his prostate region in this pic. I'm guessing it's some sort of testament to his youth and virility; I probably shouldn't have mentioned it.

There are so many more stories that will go untold, and many more photos that will go un-uploaded. Of all the cities we have seen on our tour, no other place captured our hearts, satiated our appetites, and pleasantly drained our wallets like New Orleans. We absolutely can't wait to return to see all of our new friends and watch the saints go marching in.

Cheers,
TR

One of the first things we did after leaving D.C. was stop in North Carolina for some barbecue. We instantly noticed that, even though we had only driven a few hours, people were speaking very differently, and that we had finally entered the great, unfamiliar frontier known as the South.

"Well, sheeiiit Gillian, I suppose we better scrounge up some of that there Caroliner barbecue" I said, strapping on my overalls and kicking the pigs out of the van. "I reckon" Gillian replied.

So we stopped at the Piggly Wiggly, or the Mr. Pig, or whatever it was called, and were promptly served up big glasses of extremely sweet tea, a little bit o' mac and a ton of cheese, and a portion of pulled pork which was absolutely slathered in vinegar based barbecue sauce, which for the record, sucks.

We then spent an entire week lounging around an apartment in Nashville belonging to our dear friend, Libby Mundy. Libby proved to be a gracious hostess and we had a wonderful time hanging out with her and her family. We went to a delicious "Meat and 3", which basically means meat and your choice of three other heart stopping sides (that most likely also include meat). It was awesome.


While in Nashville, we played an open mic at the Bluebird cafe. 45 other performers showed up that night including a duo named "Poochie and Whisker" who were really adorable, entertaining, and easy to make fun of. Most songs that night revolved around pickup trucks, drinking beer, and jesus, so as you can imagine, we stuck out a little. One guy wrote a really creepy song from the point of view of a child who was kidnapped and very scared. I notified the authorities who have hopefully already searched the guy's basement, freezer, and backyard.

After leaving Nashville, we had a quick stopover in Memphis to see if Elvis or B.B. had settled the age old dispute of who deserves the real title of "King" (they haven't) and headed on down to New Orleans, which deserves it's own blog entirely. Stay tuned.