After getting stuck in what I was told was Final Four traffic clogging the downtown connector like rush hour at mid-day last Friday, I managed to finally escape the bumper to bumper bonds and find my way down 85 to Montgomery, 65 to Mobile and 10 into the setting sun all the way to New Orleans. I like long trips in the car, even alone. I've been blessed to live my life in a crowd and hold precious those times I'm left alone with my thoughts. After settling in I ended up in the bar of the venerable New Orleans institution where Middle Son works after hearing from him via text message that he'd been asked to stay late because they were going to stay open. Someone was coming in with a group. I've always been the worst about recognizing celebrities. I didn't recognize Paul Newman when I pulled his boarding pass and directed him to his seat on the flight to Lexington, even after the gate agent told me his wife and child would be boarding last, back in my days with MisshissippiRiverLand Airlines (not its real name). Another time, it took The Husband..., The Oldest and The Youngest forever to convince me that it really was Bobby De Niro (in character with a spectacularly bad southern accent) at the next table as we dined on the pier at The Oceanic in Wrightsville Beach our very first night in Wilmington, newly arrived for our family's first freshman orientation. It's no surprise that I didn't recognize Bette Midler last Friday when she walked right by me, not more than four feet away, accompanied by a modest entourage, as I sat on a barstool sipping an Abita, even though I was expecting a celebrity. I left, quite certain of my lameness, so Middle Son could do his job. He told me later she was nice, unbelievably tiny and grazed more than dined. I headed back to my hotel, stopping by Voodoo Bar-B-Que for my own late take-out dinner of pulled pork, slaw and greens. Yummm.
Saturday morning was for running errands (okay, I confess I slept late and hung around in my hotel room drinking coffee and enjoying the solitude until check-out time) before heading to Middle Son's house. We had a delicious lunch at Joey K's on Magazine. I especially enjoyed the corn and crab chowder. Then we ran errands. I took him home with a little time to spare before he had to go back to work and I headed out to Faux Metry and Casa del Dangerblond, thanks to refresher directions from Charlotte, also known as the Traveling Mermaid, who arrived just as I did to help with preparations (read: pre-game - Charlotte's pre-party photo here). Adrastos and the lovely Dr. A (armed with her camera) arrived soon thereafter bearing numerous goodies, including the music, and the good times and great food just rolled, and rolled and rolled from there.
It's hard to describe how much fun Geek Dinners are, how smart and engaging these people, and my, oh my, can they ever cook! The food was spectacular. The company was great and the conversation was as good as it ever gets, into the night in Dangerblond's lovely garden (this woman was born to have parties). The gang from First Draft (if you read only one political blog, make it this one) arrived, after a day of house gutting with Ray and the folks from Common Ground (correction: it was ACORN). They came from far into the heartland, including Scout Prime and Athenae, who've both been on fire lately, calling it like it is, ever so eloquently. As always, there is never enough time to talk to everyone but I had a long conversation with Cousin Pat from Jawja of Hurricane Radio, whose marinated steak and vegetables were amazing and whose blog I've only recently found. We have a home state in common, although he's a New Orleanian now. There were so many bloggers it was dizzying: Karen from Squandered Heritage, Ashe Dambala of American Zombie fame, Lisa (thank you so much for listening) and Leigh (who brought killer cake and "forgot" her purse just so she could come back, I suspect), Ernie and Ashley, with his lovely wife and spawn in tow (at one point, Dangerblond's living room was filled with an array of blogger spawn from the littlest to the almost adults, including four of Mr. Clio's). I got a chance to talk with Mrs. Wet Bank Guy, NOLAdishu, Morwen and Jeffrey (he whom Adrastos calls Mr. Gloomy Pants, but who seemed bright and witty and not at all gloomy to me). Michael Homan had the most photographed footwear, and regular commenter MAD is as charming as he is bright. Mominem and She arrived armed with wonderful red beans and rice ("by order of Dangeblond"). By the end of the evening a long and intense kitchen table discussion was had by Schroeder, Bart, Oyster and Maitri. I remember thinking they were some of the smartest folks I'd ever heard. I just can't remember what it was they said. I wish there had been more time because I didn't get much of a chance to talk with Varg, Celsus, G. Bitch, Alan or Cade and Crissie Roux, so I'll make a special effort to rectify that next time. Loki, Dale, Slate and Tim were sorely missed. Apologies in advance for anyone I might have missed completely. It'll be all the more reason to come next time.
After sleeping like a baby, waking up with a headache and enjoying a quick coffee and recap with Dangerblond, it was a reluctant good-bye and I headed Uptown to fetch Middle Son and have what was supposed to be a quick brunch with my old friend David, who's moved back home after raising his kids in Atlanta, 'cept we ran into the Palm Sunday crowd so it wasn't exactly quick. Then we headed out, Middle Son eager to get home and me wishing I could stay longer. We talked excitedly almost to Alabama, beginning with a discussion of just how desolate it seems when driving through New Orleans East, how difficult it is to see so many apartment complexes and shopping centers abandoned, like a ghost towns on either side of I-10, how long the drive was without change, the vegetation dead on either side, the mark of the salt water left there still. We talked about the Stafford Act (read Chris Cooper's WSJ article to understand), and how it seems to many observers that by not lifting the Stafford Act, which requires a matching (read: hopelessly unavailable) 10% from local governments in order to access federal disaster aid, as was done for Florida after Andrew and New York City after 9/11, that Washington, if not specifically the White House, is telling New Orleans (and, for that matter, the rest of America) that the country either doesn't care or, worse, that recovery is not the objective.
Here I go getting all long again. I'm sorry, but I haven't gotten us quite home yet. The lively repartee quieted as we entered Alabama and proceeded to begin what would end up as driving through rain from the time we entered the state until we crossed into Georgia, which is not my idea of fun. I was thankful that The Oldest had Rain-Xed the front and back glass and it made all the difference to not be blinded by sheeting water. Tired and needing a break and a potty stop as well as a bite to eat we decided to pull off and gas up for the rest of the drive home at the Greenville, Pine Apple exit off of I-65, not too far south of Montgomery (as in, the middle of nowhere, Alabama). As we pulled off the interstate, there was one little business, that, while having gas pumps outside, didn't look much like a gas station. It was called The Smokehouse. It was a surprise and a treat and we'll plan to stop there every time we possibly can, because it was wonderful. They offered pulled pork as well as beef, ribs and chicken both bar-b-qued and fried, with an array of fresh cooked veggies, southern style with a bit of a twist (the bright yellow tumeric-flavored vinegary slaw was great with the pulled pork) and a general store with their own sauces and relishes and dressings bottled for sale. It was a perfect pleasant surprise to end a wonderful weekend.
I took Monday off from the KnockingShitDownCo (thanks, bosses) to recover and enjoy Middle Son being home. Then he took off in the late afternoon with his Roommate and Roommate's Girlfriend (a NOLA girl) to head to Athens to visit his NotMyGirlfriend and celebrate a buddy's 21st birthday (pray for them). They're coming back today and he'll be here for a week's visit, which will include celebrating The Youngest's birthday at the Braves' home opener Friday night. He's taking the train back 'cause it's the only way he gets any work done on holidays (or so he says). I'm a little tired. Atlanta looks beautiful right now, covered in blooming things, and the rain seems to have knocked the pollen back a bit, although my eyes are still burning. I s'pose I'm happy to be home.
Sorry to go so long but there was much to tell. I know I'm way behind on all y'all's blogs. I promise to try and catch up. Peace, out, y'all.
No comments:
Post a Comment