So we got back from New Orleans last night. We arrived at LAX at 9:40, but didn't get home till after midnight. Don't get me started on that monument to poor planning that is Los Angeles International Airport. I'd rather blog about the infamous Rue Bourbon.
Big Mike and I were there on business; we're shooting a documentary on a Catholic Priest named Father Tony, and he will be the centerpiece of a future blog o' mine. I need to get the pix developed first.
We didn't have a lot of free time because we were on location shooting for 12 hours a day, but I wasn't going to be in N'Orleans and not see what all the fuss was about.
I ate alligator, and it was good, very good, indeed.
Our first night in town, Cindy the producer took us out to dinner at a restaurant in the French Quarter on Bourbon Street. I went there with the full intent to sample the local cuisine, but was expecting some sort of jumbo-lyah gumbo or Tabasco-drenched crawdads (which I did sample the next day) but the first thing that caught my eye on the menu was alligator tail.
I said to myself, "Oh yeah. I'm getting some of that." The waitress suggested I eat the gator in the form of a po-boy, which I guess is a big thing in Louisiana. I took her advice, and I came to find out that a po-boy is no different than a hero sandwich. But I digress...
The gator meat was not unlike chicken, save a rubbery texture. Regardless, it was good eatin' and I recommend alligator meat if you have the opportunity. It is quite choice.
The next night, I was wide awake at 1 am despite a long day of work. Big Mike went to bed, but I decided to venture out on a solo mission and sample the local titty-bar. (Big Mike is happily married and I would never ask him to do that because I know he honestly does not want too.)
The door to our hotel room was not even shut when I was approached by a pretty young black girl right there in the hall.
"How you doin'" she says to me.
"All right." I replied. "And yerself?"
"I'm fine. Whatcha doin' right now?"
"I'm just going out to kill some time. How 'bout you?"
She says, "Nothing special, you want some company?"
Now at this point I really didn't think she was soliciting. She wasn't dressed all skanky-like, she wasn't made up like a clown and she didn't reek of perfume. So naturally, I think she sincerely wants some company, so I say, "You bet."
"Okay sweetie, let's go back to your room."
Damn.
A pretty young girl wants sex with me for money not four feet from my hotel room and Big Mike is sleeping.
"We can't," I say to her. "my friend is sleeping."
"Well let's wake him up and talk to him."
Damn damn damn damn."
No. He won't want to, he's married."
"Is he happily married?"
DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN!
"I'm afraid so."
"Okay then, g'nite sweetie."
"G'nite, and have fun out there." Nice comeback, Turz. Very polite, yet mushy.
After an hour at Larry Flynt's Hustler Club, I head back to the hotel. Who's coming out of the door as I saunter up? A pretty young white girl, who sees me and asks, "Where are you going sweetie?"
"To my room." I say.
Down the block is this tall, skinny black dude watching us. Her pimp, I assumed. I was right, because as I walked away, I had to know for sure. So I looked back and there they were, both standing together, looking at me, and the girl waving her finger for me to return.
I did not.
Damn.
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