New Orleans Jazz Fest

I managed to make it to the Jazz Fest on Sunday as you can see by the pictures I was paying very close attention to the music. It was baking hot out. I managed to eat some crawfish bread (a glorified pizza pop), jambalaya, lamb sausage, and three strawberry snow cones, a Southern Comfort lime slushy drink, and a bottle of water. I thought I was going to see Branford Marsalis but it turns out I read the schedule wrong. I managed to see George Thorogood (didn't he die like ten years ago?) a few minutes of Jerry Lee Lewis (please retire gracefully brother) and some of Bonnie Rait who I don't care for but it was a good day out. The best part was this African band with these wacky string instruments. One of the dudes had it hooked up to some effects and it sounded like an electric guitar solo.

On Saturday I went on a graveyard/Voodoo tour. The brochure mentioned that the last stop would be a voodoo temple. It was really a glorified gift shop. The Voodoo Priestess lead us into her cluttered and insense filled room where she made us sit in a circle on the ground and rambled out some stream of consciousness weirdness that was incomprehensible. But I can say I met a Voodoo Priestess. Voodoo appears to be mostly a pagan hippie type religion in my books.

Also on saturday I ate at one of Emeril's restaurants and had probably the best meal so far. BBQ shrimp, Angel hair pasta with a wild mushrooms, sausage and cream, and another type of mystery sausage dish. Plus, I was eating at the bar and nearly got attacked by a cougar.

Tomorrow I'm off to the Harrah's in Biloxi which is right on the gulf. It's strange to think of Mississipi as being tropical but with all the palm trees and the tropical air you can tell you are close to the Caribbean. At the end of the month I'm off to Rome to photograph a cruise ship with my friend Ema. Hate me now. Yes, life is rough. It would be ten times the fun if I could always bring someone along.

New Orleans

Dean's Dinner at Deanies

Hand Grenades, Frog Legs and Drunken Whores

It turns out that drinking in New Orleans is a popular extreme sport. I do not recommend that you try the gringo slushy drink found on Bourbon Street called the hand grenade. I asked the bartender what was in it and apparently she did not even know. Imagine Red Bull with more sugar, if that is even possible.

The food here is fab. Oysters, crawfish etoufee, gumbo, blackened red fish, jambalaya, bbq shrimp, beignets and pralines to name a few have recently lined my stomach walls. I’m going to look like Fast Bastard in a week if I keep this up. I also tried some blackened frog legs. Poor Kermie. They looked like fat chicken wings with tiny feet and tasted like a strong white fish.

I had dinner at a really expensive restaurant Friday night. I sat at the bar and beside me was an attractive woman wearing a hip vintage dress. Her first course hadn't even arrived and she was quite drunk. She described herself as a functioning alcoholic and after about a half hour of chatting it turns out she is an internet escort from Kansas. I lied and told her I had a girlfriend. She said not to worry because I wouldn’t be able to afford her. She said married men treat her the best and the single guys are jerks. I asked her if it bothered her that she slept with married men. She said no, “he’ll just find some other whore.” Colourful people here in New Orleans.

Blues was spilling out onto the street Saturday night when I stepped into a shoe-box club on Frenchmen street called The Spotted Cat. The crusty old black singer was using metal thimbals to play a washing board that hung around his neck. It felt like the real deal.

Good Times in Port Canaveral

Sun. Work. Surfing. Expense Accounts. Speedy rental cars. NASA. Gummy space shuttles. Coconuts. Travelling with Ms.Jones. (real flattering photo above) Life is rough.