Headin’ East


Much has been written about New Orleans.

Recently, the falderal has been about her sainted Saints football team winning le grand-père of them all, the Super Bowl.

And before that, we all  read headlines about New Orleans because of Katrina and while that storm tried to remove the city from the map, what put her on it, is her rich history of explorers, fur trappers, gamblers, pirates and conquistadors–the Spanish kind and the others who deigned to tame her wild sultry ways.   The reality is, no one can.   But many have tried….like the Longs and their dynasty,  but they couldn’t.  

Betsy, Camille and Katrina tried to as well,  but the ‘workers’ in New Orleans would have none of that.  Gris-gris goes far if you know how to throw it.

And that’s what I’m talkin’ bout, cher.  That haunting, ‘witchiness” that translates into a languid and bittersweet heart and soul.   It’s palpable there.  You can feel it the minute you hit the Ponchartrain.   It is heart and it is soul.  

And that means, New Orleans ‘pulses’ differently than any other city.  There’s a certain pace to her slow, deliberateness.    She breathes and bleeds.

I’ve been to New Orleans several times before and in about an hour,  I’m going back, this time with family.  Why?   Well, our response to that is why not?  

I’ve been hankering to breath different air.  Getting big ol’ snoot full of a world that smells and tastes like Creole and sounds like Yat ought to be exactly what the doctor ordered.  

So, I’m going to New Orleans to order oysters and crawfish and gumbo and Etouffee and drink all kinds of things that will all combine in my lower intestine the next day to create one of the biggest voodoos the Crescent City waste water system has ever had to deal with.

I’m even thinking of trying a Sazarac.  I hear Massengil makes one…or something that tastes like one.    I’ll spend all of Friday, skiing down that ski resort/mole on Aaron Neville’s face.     There will be music and a few ghosty things, too.  

Film at 11…and we’re probably talking about that which forms on inebriated teeth.

Back Sunday PM.    

I should have PLENTY of material to write about.   

In the meantime, groove to this to get in the mood for my triumphant return,  ad nauseum…and with the way I drink, probably so.




  1. De Sazarac, she make you a diff’en woman dat be sure. I spen’ many a time in da big Easy, de las time de’re be so meny dem Cajun’s bout de place, you couln’t breath in de lungs get. You has a grea’ time an come back safe.

  2. I think the pace is slower there because they use so many letters to spell out so few sounds.

    Atchafalaya = “sha-fly.”

    It wears me out just thinkin’ about it. Makes me want to sit and drink and watch people walkin’ around. NO is good for that.

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