An update from the “Big Easy”
Dear readers,
Today’s column has been sent in to The Statesman from the Central Time Zone, which may confuse some people – mostly me. However, rest assured that despite the transmission distance and the recent return to “standard” time, the time here now is the same as what Logan’s time was on Saturday.
This means while it gets dark too early, I don’t have any jet-lag problems. More importantly, to you, the readers, this means this letter should appear as the “Chew on this” column in the paper as scheduled on Friday in whatever time zone you decide to read it.
As I mentioned, this column comes to you from the Central Time Zone, specifically the “bayou,” at least as far as I can gather. I have yet to discover what a bayou is, how much the cover charge is and whether it’s a place that requires me to be 21.
I do know from my experiences in the last few days that New Orleans is a happenin’ place to be. It sure beats the Logan Fun Park anyway. So I decided to send you a note to let you know how my trip is going so far.
When I arrived on Sunday, my first impression of New Orleans was, “Gee this airport smells nice!”
Since then, I’ve had mixed feelings about the city ranging from, “The rest of the city sure doesn’t smell as good as the airport,” to, “That girl should not be allowed to fit all that into those tiny booty shorts.”
The real reason I came to New Orleans was to participate in an academic conference and trade show for the American Society of Agronomy. I do have enough foresight to know that relating my many “adventures” with the ASA would be rather yawn-inducing, so I may as well skip telling that part and focus on juicy details.
Bourbon Street
The ever-popular Bourbon Street, or Rue Bourbon as it also says on the street signs, is skanky at best. Within 10 minutes of arriving at my hotel in the French quarter, I was subject to a myriad of adult situations I can only describe in a student newspaper as ranging from TV-14 to TV-MA.
If you like cheap beer and cheap entertainment, this is the place to be. I prefer to abstain from the alcoholic beverages, but perhaps the best cheap entertainment is watching those who don’t.
With all of its booze, skanky women and putrid smells of stale body fluids, Bourbon Street is definitely overrated, unless you like seeing the two nearly naked guys gyrating up on a bar.
After a minutia of deliberation, I decided to endearingly rename Bourbon Street to Puke Street, or Rue Ralph, or simply The Ralph.
Really, the only good thing about The Ralph is nearby, one can find and enjoy great live music.
Jazz music
I really like jazz music, especially the old style, or at least the style that all the old musicians play. They may not be able to walk without a cane or smile and show some teeth, but they sure can blow a trumpet.
In the jazz clubs, it doesn’t take long to realize I’m a really white guy. However, since New Orleans is a tourist city, so is everyone else. The tourists’ inability to participate rhythmically during a show is comically enhanced after they’ve spent too much time on The Ralph. It’s just too hard not to laugh at intoxicated white people trying to clap, snap, stomp or bob to the music in drunken syncopation.
I’ve compiled a short list of jazz music favorites so far.
• Favorite jazz hall: Preservation Hall
• Favorite song title: “Muskrat Rambo”
• Favorite drunken moment: The umbrella, hat, street preacher guy
• Favorite bus brand I saw while jazz music was playing somewhere in the city: HOTARD
If you aren’t keeping up with the jazz scene in New Orleans, the next best pastime is stuffing your face.
Eating local cuisine
Everywhere I have eaten, the food has been excellent, and I’ll keep eating until I get a convincing argument that I should stop.
I’ve learned my new favorite word to say is jambalaya.
I just wanted to let you know that I’m alive and doing OK, and I’ll be home soon.
Sincerely,
Garrett (avoiding The Ralph) Wheeler
Comments or column ideas can be sent to Garrett Wheeler at g.wheel@aggiemail.usu.edu.