I'm still in the wild with my child, and unable to locate WiFi.
Brilliantly, my favorite librarian in the world, Michele from It's a Dog's Life, has stepped up and is filling in for me today! Michele is truly one of my favorite bloggers, she always has something funny and fascinating to say. Please CHECK HER OUT HERE.
She is, as I type this, in New Orleans at some kind of librarians convention. That's right! 40,000 librarians on the loose in The Big Easy. Sounds like some kind of good time to me. I mean that sincerely, you know. I told Michele, I hope they all drank Sazeracs, then sat around talking about the derivation and history of its name.
The following post is clearly inspired by a few nights of wild librarian partying. Enjoy. And PLEASE leave a comment so Michele knows how much I appreciate her help!
Okay, I'm going back to my camping. Wish me luck getting all this damned gear back in the car. Why does everything always fit on the way there, but on the way home it doesn't?
Hmmm. I think there might be a decent winery on the way back to L.A. Jude wouldn't mind, would he?
Bourbon Street. Sunday. 7:30 am.
This quiet newly washed lonely street is Bourbon Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.
7 hours before this street was teeming with people. Waves of people moved through the streets as though on a mission.
7 hours before young men carried drinks in vessels shaped like curvy women. While inebriated young women hung tenuously to their arms.
7 hours before young girls in daisy duke shorts and halter tops stood in the doorways hawking multi-colored vials filled with unknown alcohol.
7 hours before large black men stood on the sidewalks barking for the gentlemen clubs where women in miniature triangles of materials swayed to music with unfocused eyes.
7 hours before older couples weaved their way through the sweat soaked drunken 20-something revelers hoping to arrive at their hotels with their persons and their possessions intact.
7 hours before raucous music poured from the open windows and gaping doors of bars, pubs and jazz clubs. This clamorous battle of sounds assaults the ears with mixture of jazz, rock and blues, yet sounds as if it were orchestrated by a master.
7 hours before the street was awash with spilt booze, food wrappers, drink containers, and vomit.
7 hours before young men stood on second story balconies entreating young women to bare their breasts for the price of a string of cheap beads.
This is Bourbon Street. All of this is what makes Bourbon Street ugly, smelly, noisy and awesome.