July 8-9th, 2009

New Orleans, LA

I’m in no position to comment on the recovery having been unfamiliar with the pre-Katrina city. I only visited once before, during Mardi Gras and the town that I saw was completely different. If I compared my two experiences I might remark how sad it was that Katrina washed away all those floats and brightly colored costumes. I might scorn the pickpockets and loose women for abandoning their posts. I’d take heart though that the beignets were as I remembered them. But of course the floats and costumes will return like they do every February. The pickpockets have jobs drawing tourists into theaters where the loose women dance. And not even a class 5 hurricane and the negligence of an entire administration is a match for pastry.

At any rate, I was interested to see the city and speculate as to what I thought was aftermath and what was unchanged. Shelby had never been to New Orleans before, so naturally she was excited to see Bourbon St. I had too many awkward memories of boob-crazed twenty-somethings to be excited about Bourbon St.

It seems like three type of very specific businesses are allowed on Bourbon St.; 1. Bars that specialize in giant cups of Beer to go, 2. Bars that specialize in frozen drinks that taste like cough syrup where you can also get pizza by the slice, and 3. Strip clubs.

There is an occasional souvenir shop, but mostly sex and alcohol related souvenirs.

As we were walking we happen upon a bar with Blues blaring from inside. It seemed to be a normal bar and the fellow out side, perhaps and off duty pickpocket, promised
“No cover…just buy a shot.”
A one drink minimum. Not bad. So, we went in, sat down to listen to the music, and ordered what turned out to be two eight dollar shots. Eight dollars? Do I look like Andrew Carnegie? Yikes. Maybe J. Paul Getty? Eight smackers. Yowsa.




Bourbon St. was lack luster, but we had a great room at the Lamothe House, which was beautiful and old. We biked around on the waterfront and saw the Calliope player on top of the Natchez River Boat. But the most fun we had was Zydeco dancing at the Rock’n’Bowl. A bowling alley with a live band and dance floor.

We tried our hand at it, but we kind of just made up our own steps. The regulars there were awesome and so much fun to watch, that we spent a lot of time just admiring. It was an extremely electic crowd. Black, white, young, old, experienced, novice. We made up names for them and watched as they traded partners after each song. It was impossible to tell who was “with” who, and who had come alone. We established our favorites. “Lucy” the short-haired redhead close to fifty, with cowboy boots and denim shorts. (Almost all of the women wore denim shorts.) and “The Professor” A thin, balding gentleman in his early forties with wire rim glasses.

After gracefully swinging some denim clad dance partner around the floor, The Professor would come sit down at his table near us and wipe his brow with a handkerchif, waiting sometimes only a half a song to approach someone new. He had a black felt, wide brimmed hat that he left on the table with his computer bag, no doubt full of history papers that he should be grading. Lucy on the other hand had no home base that we could discern, because she danced every song. We watched watched each of them change partners between songs. Roy. Sam. Reggie for Lucy. Sarah. Lynn. Sue for the Professor. It wasn’t long before The Professor asked Shelby to dance. I had to kick his ass.

What? You don’t think I could have? Well, we’ll never know because of course I didn’t beat him up. He and Shelby had a fun swing around the floor. He lived up to our nickname for him by teaching Shelby the basic steps. We spent the rest of the night trying to reproduce what he had taught her. (Excuse the awful quality of the photo. Maybe you can make out Shelby.)

There were tons of great dancers, but she was the hottest ticket on the floor. What was most intriguing about her is that she almost never smiled. She was all business. Her hips were having fun, but to see her face you’d think it was another day at the office. Not bored or upset. Somewhere between content and nonplussed. The Professor for his part was a little aloof too. Neither was interested in conversation or drinking, just rug cutting.

We were waiting for the main event. Lucy and the Professor. We wanted to see what we thought were the two best dancers in the room together, toe to toe, so to speak. Two forces of nature slammed together in French inspired folk rhythm. We soon got our wish. The two dancers though, were completely unaffected by this collision. Both maintained their poker faces throughout. It was great dancing, but nothing anyone else seemed to take note of. When the song ended they politely shook hands and parted ways. After a while more of practicing The Professors instructions we stopped to have a drink. We saw the professor pack up and head for the door and stop. He seemed reluctant. The night was young. He took one last look at the dance floor, hat on head and bag in hand. He seemed to be looking for someone to say goodbye to, someone who would miss him. I would not have been surprise to see him take a deep breath, march straight into the middle of the dancing crowd, and pull Sarah or Lynn or Sue off of some other guy’s hip and confess his deep long abiding love for her. But he just turned sadly toward the door and left. We left soon there after. As far as we were concerned the show was over. I’m sure Lucy kept dancing into the night with a break until the band went home.