The Prodigal Son Returns

With a full stomach we left Austin and headed for New Orleans. We circumvented Houston and crossed through Orange, TX and into Louisiana. We stopped for the night outside of Baton Rouge and parked the car in a crop field next to an oil refinery. It was warm enough that I didn’t have to sleep in my hooded sweatshirt for once.

A one hour drive the next morning and we were in New Orleans. Our hotel was a few blocks from Canal St and the French Quarter. Check in wasn’t for a few hours so we walked down Bourbon street. The French Quarter seems like another planet. The streets are narrow, the buildings are old, and it feels like a time warp to the turn of the century except for the drunk tourists that occupy every inch of the area (us included). On advice from my parents we ate at Port of Call which only serves hamburgers and baked potatoes. Best burger of the trip by far. I also had an Abita Amber Ale which was delicious. Abita seems to be the main microbrewery in Louisiana and on the way back to the hotel I picked up a six-pack of their Red Ale and the Voodoo mini-mart (similar to how Roswell milked the alien thing, New Orleans milks the Voodoo thing…and naked chicks).

While checking in we discovered a horrifying fact. Apparently, we had come to New Orleans during “311 Weekend.” If you don’t remember or know, 311 is the band that plays crappy college rap/rock with reggae influences. They had such hits as “Come Original” and…I don’t know what else. It seems that every year on March 11th (3/11) the band plays a huge concert in New Orleans and their hemp-necklace wearing fans flock from around the country to get drunk and celebrate everything 311. Although I’m no fan of 311, the idea is a good one. Besides, the fans were nice and it felt good to know that I could beat up most of the people visiting town.

I drank five of the Abitia Red Ales and then we went out drinking and watched a few blues bands do their thing. The French Quarter is full of people all day everyday. Most of the bars are pleasantly crowded and live music pours into your ears from every direction. The booze is reasonably priced and all the tourists are so happy to just be drinking and walking down the street. We drank in a few bars and then I split off to go see a punk show.

The show was at One-Eyed Jack’s. Line-up: The Slits, Peelander-Z, This Bike is a Pipe Bomb, The Future Virgins and a band that I can’t remember. The Future Virgins played punk rock and roll in the vein of Against Me!. They were great. This Bike is a Pipe Bomb came across as the elder statesmen (and stateswoman) of punk that they were. They cracked self-deprecating jokes between blasts of simple but genuine punk rock. My heart smiled. It hurt. The band I can’t remember came on so I took the opportunity to go explore a bit and get another drink. I went down the street to Pat O’Brian’s. The entrance to the place is a fairly narrow walk with a bar along the side. As you keep walking it opens up into a huge courtyard with a fountain and lights in the middle of the city block. After the cramped streets it’s awesome to enter a place with some breathing room. Pat O’Brian’s claims to have invented the Hurricane mixed drink so I paid my seven bucks and got one. It messed me up…in a good way! I walked back towards the show and saw some street kids playing guitar in an alcove so I stopped to B.S. with them. They shared their beer, which was nice, and Nick explained to me how he lived in a house in Detroit but traveled for months at a time when he needed a break. He played a few songs and I asked him how the busking was in New Orleans. He claimed that the police had the power of Napoleonic law in the city and could make up infractions to hassle anyone they didn’t like. Apparently his friend had gotten busted for “Leaning with intent to fall.” I told him that was whack then said my goodbyes and went back to the show.

The band I can’t remember was just finishing and sounded pretty weird, but cool. I wish I had seen their whole set. Next up was Peelander-Z. They were a crazy gimmick rock band from Japan who wore crazy colorful costumes and periodically handed their instruments to audience members while they climbed around the venue. At one point they passed out a shit-load of percussion instruments and the entire audience kept time by beating on pipes and buckets as the band held up signs explaining that we, “…shouldn’t say ‘what the hell,’ but instead say, ‘what the health!’” Can’t remember their music but they were entertaining. During the set break I drank two more PBRs and talked with this girl from Milwaukee. We were both wasted and telling stories that neither of us seemed to realize were boring. She told me that she had lived in N.O. for a few months and that her mom had recently come to visit her. I told her that I was born in N.O. and had come back to bury my long lost uncle. Then the Slits took the stage and she slipped into the crowd. These ladies kept a really good groove. They were much more reggae influenced than I had expected from one of the first all female punk bands and the singer kept doing a lot of that pseudo-indian howling where you go, “Wa-wa-wa-wa!” while slapping your mouth with your hand. It seemed out of place but reminded me of Rufio and the Lost Boys from Hook.

At this point I had the drinking hunger. I spent a good long time looking for a Popeye’s Chicken and found one, but it was closed. Hungry, but still happy, I walked back to the hotel, ate some chips and went to bed.

The next day we took the trolley through the Garden District and saw all the mansions with large pillared porches. We passed throngs of Catholic schoolgirls. Saw the river and a steamboat. Ate beignets at Cafe Du Monde and ended up in an antique weapons store. They had no weapons from after 1900. I saw swords from the revolutionary war, Colts that were used in the old west, and a crazy African ax blade. They also had coins from the Roman Empire and actual buried treasure found in New Orleans!

That evening we ate at Igor’s. Igor’s is a bar/gameroom/laundromat where my parents used to drink while they did their laundry. I had the Cajun burger and a porter called something “dog.” It was good. We walked back to our hotel and a bum was following us and yelling and I thought he was going to attack us. It was cool to be in N.O. doing the same things my parents did twenty-four years ago when they were a little younger than I am now.

Ryan’s friend Chelsey drove out from Pensacola, Florida to visit and party with us. We stopped and bought beer from a storefront that was basically a guy with a keg selling cheap beer on Bourbon St. He had a sign out front that informed everyone that, “It’s okay to drink on the street in New Orleans!” So we did.

At this point I split off again to go see another show at a place called the Dragon’s Den. It was on the far side of the French Quarter so I got a Hurricane and headed out. The houses in the French Quarter come right to the sidewalk. So basically, the walls of all these people’s living rooms are right next to every drunk asshole walking by, including me. It was because of this fact that I was able to place my ear against a house and listen to this couple argue for ten minutes. Apparently this woman was angry that the man came to bed hours after her each night with the dogs. This woke her up and she can’t easily get back to sleep because of his snoring. She also mentioned his drinking problem. Fuck, look where they lived. You probably do a beer bong when you sign a lease in that neighborhood.

I found the venue, got a drink, and found a band to talk to. Being in an underappreciated, yet up-and-coming touring band myself, I knew that these guys were desperate for someone to talk with them and acknowledge their existence. I met the guys from Omega Rising and we drank and talked about the scene in N.O. and their home town of Philadelphia. Red Rockets played first and they were good. I, Octopus played next and they were also good. I can’t quite remember what I drank before I got to the venue, but after watching to bands play and drinking many bottled High Lifes I was bombed. So naturally, I called my folks and talked about the trip and N.O. I nodded off on the bar’s balcony during the set change and decided I needed to rock myself awake. My new friends Omega Rising were setting up and I meandered over all cool-style. They were a total trip. They had a keyboardist with three boards, a clarinet player, a singer/violin/guitar player and a bass player and a drummer. They were so off the wall and awesome that I perked right up. Even a zombie would stop trying to eat brains and rock out to these dudes. It helped that they all wore fur costumes and fish masks.

I left the Dragon’s Den and stumbled back towards the motel. It was after 3am at this point and there was still a mob of kids screaming 311 lyrics to each other outside of a margarita bar on Bourbon St. A girl grabbed my ass and I pretended not to notice and walked quickly in the other direction. Not only do I have an amazing girlfriend, but there is no way in hell a 311 fan is getting a piece of this ass (sorry for all the music snobbery). The “It’s okay to drink in the street” placed was closed down so I got a slice of pepperoni pizza and my final beer of the evening.

Next door to our hotel was an abandoned parking garage. I was getting my second wind and decided I had to scale the thing. I first made my way to the second floor by pressing my feet against the sides of a narrow hallway. Once on the second floor however I was trapped in a small room, so I jumped down and looked for another way. I found a crumbling brick wall and started climbing it while holding onto a chain link fence right next to it. As I grabbed the top of the wall I pulled some bricks down and they almost hit my face. Once atop the wall, I found the stairway and made my way to the top of the building (the fourth floor). At the top I found a fire extinguisher, so of course, I threw it off. No explosion or anything. I was bummed. After taking in the view of the city for a few minutes I climbed down. I found the fire extinguisher and decided to empty the motherfucker in a courtyard. After I realized that the enormous cloud of powder I was creating might draw attention to the drunk moron spraying a fire extinguisher in a courtyard in the middle of the city at 4am, I dropped the tank and ran to the hotel where I ate some chips and went to bed.