Shug on 3/2/2008 at 13:41

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I confess to looking up what a po'boy is, and the whole 'especially fried!' bit about filling makes it appear rather... unappetizing

Rug Burn Junky on 8/2/2008 at 05:44

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OK, pics will be added in at a later date, but I have to get this all down before I forget.

Last Wednesday, I got up at the crack of dawn and hit the road. OK, maybe not dawn, but at 10 am, I was crossing the Verrazano Bridge, bound for Washington, DC. As I hit the Jersey Turnpike, my GPS, we'll call her Jill, and I had our first little problem. She had me get on the commercial lane, and as I crawled along at 40 mph, I watched cars zooming along at 75+ with open road in the cars only lanes. I was not pleased.

But in spite of that, I made it down to DC in pretty good time. Stopping to send a "Maryland kinda sucks" txt to one of my best friends, who's from Bawlmer.

DC necessitated a stop at the National Portrait Gallery, to see the Stephen Colbert portrait hanging in the 2nd floor men's bathroom. Yep, it was there. Little plaque and everything.

Then, after lunch, it was on to Richmond. Here's where Jill almost got kicked out of the car. She had me get off the highway to avoid a 5 minute delay, and when she got me back on in the local lanes, I again had to watch express lanes flying by, but this time I spent hours in gridlock traffic.

Thanks to this, I was way too late to pull over at the Stonewall Jackson shrine, and headed straight to Richmond. Pulling over in a muni parking lot to book a hotel online, I look up and see a strip club straight ahead. It's like I have a naked-tit-compass or something.

After settling in to the hotel (I booked it and showed up 5 minutes later, before the front desk even knew the reservation had been made - yes, I drive faster than the internet), where I was upgraded to a giant suite, I headed out to explore Richmond's nightlife.

I was disappointed.

But somehow, I managed to find a danceclub that had a pretty respectable crowd for a Wednesday night. Met a girl there who's originally from Brooklyn, and is moving out to SF in a month. We hit it off, and, uhhh, "talked" for the rest of the night. I'll look her up next time I'm in Cali. ;)

After about 3 hours of drunken sleep, I got up at the crack of dawn and hit the road for Atlanta. For the first, and only time, I regretted the drive. I was hungover, sore and tired. My back started giving out on me, and I seriously thought I wasn't going to make it. After a few seat adjustments, and some stretching, that passed, and I settled in.

My main goal as I passed through the south was to get some good BBQ. Jill again failed me. The first two places she pointed me to were closed (one actually seemed to never have existed at all, as the spot she led me to didn't even have a dirt field where you could set up a trailer, much less a BBQ joint.

The third was passable, but it was right off the highway, way too clean, and may as well have been a TGIF.

Some girl in Gastonia, SC asked me where in NY I was from as I got out of my car to get gas. Said she was from Brooklyn originally as well, and welcomed me to Gastonia in less than enthusiastic tones.

I've mentioned to a few people that I've considered leaving NYC, and upon hearing the list of potential cities, everybody remarked that I'd hate Atlanta.

They were right.

If for no other reason than I love to drive, and that much traffic would make me postal inside of 2 weeks. Horrible city planning, bad layout.

I had really been looking to Atlanta as the other party town on my trip, since I was staying in Buckhead, not too far from the strip good for barhopping. Unfortunately, it was rainy, necessitating a cab to go anywhere, and I was exhausted from my drive, and lack of sleep from partying the night before. Buckhead will have to wait until the next lifetime that I return to Atlanta.

Friday was a marathon/sprint to New Orleans, needing to get to the airport by 5:30 to pick up my friend Amanda, who was joining me for the weekend.

Along the way, Jill let me down yet again for BBQ, with another closed establishment.

I suppose that I should mention that I think my iPod has become sentient. While in Georgia, it suddenly picked up a stream of R.E.M. and Black Crowes songs. In NC, it had played 3 Superchunk songs inside of a half an hour, and I distinctly remember Fugazi as I was looking for parking in DC. As I passed Andalusia, Alabama, it played "I wanna be your dog" by Iggy.

But the clincher is this. And it couldn't have been timed any better - as I approached New Orleans, it cranked out Louis Armstrong doing "Oh When the Saints." Could not have timed it better if I'd tried. Really an amazing coincidence.

So I get to the airport, grab Amanda and we head back to our hotel.

Or rather, 6 blocks from our hotel, where we dump the car, and proceed to finish on foot, having to cross our first parade while carrying our luggage for the weekend.

We check in, settle in to our room, and freshen up, before heading out. The parade is now running directly past our hotel. Even better, it's the last block of it as it hits Poydras, so the Krewes are just dumping whatever is left on their floats, and we clean up.

We hit Mother's for the Famous Ferdi Special po'boys, and just beat the line. after lightening some of our bead load at the hotel room, we head out to Bourbon St.

I nearly lost a thumb catching a set of beads from the balcony, and Amanda's insistence on not showing her tits (which is a shame, as they are really a fine pair ;)) meant that she didn't really have a lot of currency to get as many beads as she wanted. spent about a half anou hour watching a jazz band at Maison Bourbon, and still had fun with our drunken walk.

Catch another parade on the way back to the hotel, and retire for the evening.

In the morning, we get the first 3 of what would eventually become 2 dozen beignets for me at Cafe du Monde. They were as good as advertised. Watch a little bit more of the parades, and headed over to the French Quarter. Stopped at Louisiana Music Factory to check out their vinyl collection, and I talked her through what jazz albums she should buy from the selection. Also, bought a Meters album for her, because hell, I was upset that she didn't know them to begin with.

After a lunch which consisted of blackened Catfish, crawfish etouffe, red beans and rice, jambalaya and andouille sausage, we were good to go. Hit Pat O'Briens for Hurricanes, and caught the dueling pianos in the Piano bar. Back to the hotel to spend a little time resting up before the evening.

Had dinner at Herbsaint, one of New Orleans's two entries in the Gourmet Top 50 restaurants list. Unfortunately, it was directly on the other side of a parade, and there was no crossing it where we were. Had to take about a 15 block detour, and arrived 45 minutes late. Dinner was superb, but I was still underwhelmed. Maybe I'm just spoiled, but I can at least cross another of the 50 off my own list.

A return to the hotel to undress, and another jaunt to Bourbon St. Much more packed on Saturday night. Too much so, as you could barely walk, and the crowd seemed surlier. Finished with more parade watching.

Sunday was more of the same: beignets, hurricanes, and parades. And then, I drove Amanda to the airport, and she was gone. :(

I spent an hour trying to circumnavigate the parades to return to the hotel, but that was fruitless. Listened to the first half of the Superbowl on the car radio, and by halftime was convinced that the Jints would pull it out.

I should mention that on Friday night, the first set of beads that I bought were the Giants logo. They may be my second favorite team (Dolphins being the first - but I've always said that if Phil Simms and Mark Bavaro had played longer than Marino and Duper, I'd probably be a Giants fan today) but I'm a New Yorker, we're in the Super Bowl, and goddammit, I was going to represent. Besides, this went beyond just being the Giants. This is NY v. Boston, and as such is part of the Yanks/Sox rivalry by proxy. This is the Pats trying to join my Fins as the only undefeated team ever.

I get back to the hotel, and shower before going out at halftime. Only beads I have on are the Giants ones. Find a bar with the game on near the hotel, and settle in. Could not believe what I was watching when they won.

The sea of Patriots jerseys that had been infecting bourbon st quickly disappeared as the vanquished retreated. Giants fans were out IN FORCE. On top of which, all of the locals had been pulling hard for NY, because of Eli Manning, so it was a great vibe, and everybody wearing colors was hi fiving and screaming for the rest of the night. I can't imagine it being a better spot to celebrate anywhere, including being at the superbowl itself (which is always filled with rich pseudo/non fans, and what fans there are are split). I don't remember ever celebrating a championship harder, except maybe the Yanks in '99 when I was at the clinching game 4 at Yankee Stadium.

That made Sunday night pass pretty quickly. I also managed to meet a few girls on Bourbon St. but other than a phone number from a redhead with the most adorable southern accent, nothing much came of that. So by 2 am, drunk, exhausted, and alone, I headed back to my hotel.

Having one last drink at the overly chic bar in the lobby, I meet Mary Ann and Megan. Thank god the Giants won, otherwise I never would have been able to strike up a conversation with them....Fuck that shit, I walked in the bar, picked them out, and made a beeline. That's how I roll.

We start joking around, doing the "Jager bomb" thing from the "My New Haircut" youtube vid. Their friend Guy was doing the Captain Morgan Pose with whomever he could, and I had found my new family.

They adopted me, and kickstarted my Mardi Gras. Somehow I end up at a dingy college bar in Uptown, dancing on pool tables and having a blast with these girls (and guy... err, Guy). At 6 am or so, I get drunkdriven back to my hotel room, and crash, finally.

I sleep away most of Monday. Going for another beignet walk, and recovering for the evening ahead. The girls pick me up and we head Uptown to catch the parades there, which was really awesome. Getting off the tourist section on Canal and downtown made a huge difference in the vibe. College kids everywhere, and I had my bottle of Jack to keep me fueled.

We then make it to a bar called Howlin' Wolf, where we catch two AWESOME bands. John Cleary and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen, who played some legit New Orleans funk (hell, their version of "Hey Pocky Way," was better than any of the three time I saw the Meters play it live) and Bonerama, who played a fierce set with 4 trombones and a tuba leading the charge.

Had a scary discussion with some kid from Atlanta ("What do you think of black people?") and finished the night late when Mary Ann dropped me off at my hotel.

Tuesday itself was kinda low key. Didn't get up in time to find a parade, but did, of course, have beignets. Po'boy at Mother's once again, and then met up with Shauna, the redhead from Sunday night. Made it back to Bourbon St., but was in bed long before midnight rolled around, so I'm kinda disappointed that I didn't catch the horses.

Wednesday, guess what I had for breakfast?

One last stroll through the French Quarter, which smelled about the same as my frat house used to on the Sunday after a party. Picked up some King Cakes and pralines, and played a little blackjack at Harrah's (walked out up, making back a few hundred of the thousands I spent on this vacation).

I needed to make it to Nashville at a reasonable hour, so I hightailed it.

By the time I hit Tuscaloosa, Alabama. I was ready to stop for lunch. As a Dolphins fan, got a kick out of the "Saban Nation" t-shirts in the gas station. If only the 'bama fans could appreciate how he wrecked our team in two short years.

After another false start finding a defunct BBQ place, Jill brought me on a little adventure.

My second choice was "Dreamland BBQ." I take a few turns off the highway, up a windy road, off onto an almost dirt road flanked by trailers, and pull into the parking lot of the scariest looking rib shack ever.

I was frightened.

I knew this was the place I had been imagining in my dreams. It was perfect.

I walk in, sit down, and order a rack of ribs. I'm not lying when I say that these were the best goddamn ribs I've ever had. I look up, and there are crimson tide license plates all over the walls. The TV is playing a press conference with, lo and behold, Nick Saban, talking about recruiting season.

I was in heaven. Jill was forgiven. Hell, if she had come through earlier, I may have given up on my quest and never found this holy place.

I get to Nashville, and my buddy Sean's house, scratch that, mansion, and my jaw drops. THIS is why I'm having a meeting with a law firm down here. It may not be NYC, but fuck, this house goes for the same as a 2 BR apartment in the outer boroughs. It's dirt cheap, and it's fucking gorgeous, right down the block from where Chris Moneymaker used to live. He takes me out to dinner, and sounds disappointed when I tell him that I'd stopped for ribs already - "If I'd known, I'd have told you to stop at Dreamland" ;) Guess it was just meant to be.

Today was just spent touring Nashville, and having lunch with a partner at a law firm that Sean introduced me to (as sort of a pre-interview, for down the road in case I really do want to move here in six months, a year, whatever). Could see myself here, but there's a lot that would have to happen for me to actually come.

Tomorrow I'm heading out early, and not sure where I'm stopping on the way back. Anybody got any ideas of the nightlife in Roanoke, VA on a Friday night, or should I just skip it and head straight to DC?

Rug Burn Junky on 9/2/2008 at 16:54

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Thought better of it and skipped Roanoke, heading straight through to Baltimore, making it 721 miles from Nashville in just over 10 and a half hours (and that includes a stop for ribs for lunch in Knoxville, and two stops for gas, which means I was averaging 70 mph even when standing still).

Of course, I finally got my first speeding ticket, just before I hit the Virginia border, I was clocked at 83 in a 65. I knew there was no chance I wasn't getting a ticket on that one, I may as well have "target" painted on the side of my car. Pulling over a youngish guy in a black Mercedes with New York plates? That's a wet dream for the Tennessee highway patrol. Guy had such a hardon he could barely reach in to the car when he bent over to take my license and registration. ;) He was still pretty cool about it though, and we had a nice talk about my trip. He wished me luck, and I sped off to continue my drive.

Oh well, if he'd been a split second faster with his radar, he'd have gotten me at about 98mph, and when you consider it over the course of 3000 miles, $200 and no points is a small price to pay for the outlandish speeds I logged on this trip.

Got to my hotel, had time to shower and get a good three hours in at Power Plant Live (a stretch of bars in Baltimore's inner harbor) before last call. Alas, the only one who joined me in my hotel room for the last night of my blowout vacation was Amanda, on the phone.

Lunch in the inner harbor, a little touristy walking around, and then a 3 hour jaunt to NYC to finish the trip tonight. Pics tonight, and they run the gamut. Though no blondes: all red heads on this trip. ;)

As for Stonewall, I'd heard the last words, but forgotten them. Studied up on him quite a bit a couple of years ago when I found out that he's my great, great, great uncle. Almost stopped again, when I passed his house along Route 81 in Virginia.

the_grip on 21/2/2008 at 14:52

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RBJ,

Still planning to throw up some pics? Love to see 'em.

Nice travel log, too... sounds like a helluva fun trip.

the_grip on 21/2/2008 at 15:28

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Congrats on the new job, and hope you can catch some rest this weekend.