Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Big Vacation: The Takeaway

For both of us, the big Rock Boat/New Orleans vacation awakened the part of our brain that says, "I could do that at home." 

For example, Gary ate some cruise ship Indian food that wasn't unpleasantly spicy. He thought he might try his hand at making Indian food at home. We bought the spices and we discovered that Tandoori is pleasant and Garam Masala is of the devil and is to be shunned. And just yesterday I made some Butter Chicken that had 1/4th the prescribed garam masala and it is excellent. I'm looking for more Indian dishes I can weaken and undermine.

In New Orleans, after hearing some classical guitar at Cafe Beignet, I decided I could do that too. The guitar player was simultaneously playing the solo and the accompaniment. He was kind enough to talk to me and he recommended some on-line resources where I could learn the classical guitar techniques he was using. I've practiced every day. It's been easy so far, since I've already fumbled my way into all the individual skills, I just need to put them together.

We passed a furniture gallery that had absurdly ABSURDLY priced home decor. I was particularly taken with a brass paper towel holder that was heavily discounted.

I stared at it so long Gary became concerned that I might think SEVEN HUNDRED AND EIGHTY FIVE DOLLARS was a reasonable price for a PAPER TOWEL HOLDER and, in a panicked voice, said, "I really like the paper towel holder we have now."

Lost in my thoughts, I murmured, "I'm trying to see how I can make that at home ..."

Seriously, look at that. A spring, a drill, some resin figures, a rod, there you are.

But to be honest, forget resin, I was thinking I could make my own out of brass, because I had visited the Rodrigue "Blue Dog" Studio and there was an explanation right there on the wall about how you cast things in brass. Plus, there's a WikiHow page.

(The people who run the art galleries in New Orleans are very very open about the techniques every artist uses. By the time I left for home I knew 1) how to use red paint, newspaper, and asphalt to create an open water effect, 2) how to make a faded effect using acrylic paint, and 3) how to use alternating layers of resin and paint to make a very effective trompe-l'oeil goldfish pond sculpture.)

Speaking of the Rodrigue Studio, if you went to the link above you know this is what the studio looks like (minus the piano, that was gone):

We were in the studio with a toddler who had learned the word "pup" that very day. That little girl was bouncing between works of art like a Roomba, and when she'd land on one she'd point and say "pup!" in complete amazement. Like, "My God, there's another one. I just saw a painting of a pup over there, and here's another right across the room. WHAT ARE THE ODDS?" Then she'd go off in a random direction and find that she was just toddling around and MY GOD THERE'S ANOTHER PUP. ("Pup!")

It was my favorite part of the entire trip.

Big Vacation: Mardi Gras Really Gets Going

After the clerk remarked on how it might "start to get a little crazy this afternoon," we decided to make a special visit to Bourbon proper. One corner of Bourbon was under our balcony and it hadn't been busy at all. 

Yes. Things had picked up one block away.

I had expected to see girls rasing their tops for beads and throws, because that's the tale you hear about Mardi Gras, but I saw none of that. What I saw was:

A middle-aged man on a balcony pantomiming to a twenty-year-old girl, "Lift your top and I'll throw you these special beads."
The girl pantomiming back, "Perch here on my middle finger, buddy. And I still want those beads."

After this exchange went on two minutes he tossed the beads in resignation. Hah! No boobs for you.

I don't know why he was so intent on seeing this young woman's breasts, because a girl could strip off her top and walk about with just a few dollars worth of glitter applied to her nipples. We saw two young women who had purchased this service, which seems much more efficient than having to get into a power struggle with some guy on a balcony.

I took in the revelry while leaning against a door out of the crowded street. When we moved, I noticed my butt was wet.

Gary asked, "Did you sit down?"
"No, I was just leaning against the door of that bar."

Yeah, in all my anticipatory imagining of men peeing in the streets I always pictured them peeing into the gutter. Gary explained it's easier to hide the peeing if you pee directly on the wall at groin height. Fun fact!

Somehow, even with the carousing horde, parades were still snaking through the crowd on Bourbon and then on to the relatively empty side streets. Even though we'd amassed all our beads in the Taxi Bead Tsunami, I wouldn't have minded some other parade trinkets. Of course I've never had the mid-air eye-hand coordination required to catch something,so when the Krewe of Prima Donnas marched past I cupped my hands and made eye contact. One of them gently tossed something at me from one foot away.

Of course I didn't catch it, and it fell into this puddle:

When I looked down it was frankly the ugliest rubber bracelet I have ever seen, but she threw it right AT me and I felt obliged.

I fished it from the puddle, and because I had to squat there was time for other revelers to shriek, "Lady get out of that puddle that's nasty!"  I felt I already had pee on my butt and that I could wash my hands more easily than my jeans and get into the spirit, uptight people. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

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Big Vacation: The Parades in NOLA

I didn't know about Mardi Gras parades before we went to Mardi Gras. For example, I didn't know they have parades two weeks before Fat Tuesday. Here are some other things I didn't know:

1) A Mardi Gras parade is sponsored by a social club called a Krewe. We don't have Krewes in St. Louis, but we have social clubs like the Elks and the Shriners. The only parallel I could draw was if the St. Louis Shriners parade became so popular that people traveled from Europe to participate in it.
2) There are two types of krewes: walking krewes, and larger krewes that hold motorized parades. A walking krewe might parade through the French Quarter, or a subset of a larger Krewe might have a walking parade before their motorized parade with giant double-decker floats.  
3) At all parades, the paraders hurl beads at the outstretched hands in the crowd.  In addition, people on balconies throw beads to any crowds below. We had to sign an agreement with the hotel that we wouldn't fling anything off our balcony.
4) Paraders also throw special things called 'throws' that have some significance to the group sponsoring the parade. They are much valued. The all-female Krewe of Nyx threw decorative shoes and handbags. The breast cancer group threw bras and soft squeeze balls that looked like breasts (NSFW).

Right before we arrived, there was not a parade but a stripper protest march. The government shut down some of the stripper bars on Bourbon. Strippers took to the streets - specifically Bourbon street -  to express their displeasure at having their livelihood taken away right before tourist season. Everyone had an opinion about it.

We saw these parades:

Parade 1 happened when we were in the taxi driving from the port to the hotel. The taxi stopped at a light while a walking Krewe parade marched in the opposing lane.

"Do you want beads?" the driver asked.

Yes please, we said, and he rolled down the windows on the parade side. He made a subtle little gesture at the paraders and a TSUNAMI OF BEADS hit the side of the taxi and poured into the back seat.

Parade 2 was also in the French Quarter - and this Krewe only does walking parades in the French Quarter, because dogs can't drive floats. It was the dog parade for the Krewe of Barkus, which is a clever play on Bacchus, one of the oldest Krewes.

Parade 3 was our first big motorized Krewe parade on Canal street: the Krewe of Ancient Druids. We got there insanely early, and it was pouring cold rain, and we got right up on the barrier. Great for photos, right? Nope, Gary spent so much time giving the crowd updates from the Parade Tracker iPhone app that the battery died after the first blurry, rainy shot.

Still, everyone appreciated Gary announcing "The parade has moved one block closer!" every five minutes.

Parade 4 was our second big Krewe parade, the Krewe of Babylon. We were well back in the crowd this time, next to drunk boys yelling, "WHERE ARE THE TITTIES." There was also a beer vendor who was an expert at giving counting out inaccurate change. At one point he pressured me into watching his cooler of beer while he took off. I protested but found myself doing it anyway. He came back and insisted I watch the parade from on top his beer cooler. I protested but found myself on top of the cooler. I got down as soon as possible. It's conceivable that this was when I lost my backup passport ID card.

Gary got some video of this one.

Parade 5 was the one I had planned for: it was a parade that was scheduled to go right under our hotel balcony, and the Krewe was the breast cancer awareness group The Krewe of Bosom Buddies.

That one was at 11:00 am on Friday. By 2:00 pm three other parades had gone below our balcony and I felt a little silly for thinking I'd worried we wouldn't see one. .

After 2:00 we went down to the front desk to get wrist bracelets that identified that we were guests of the hotel. I was surprised it would get so crazy outside that this would be needed. I'd seen three parades that day: how could things get crazier? 

More on that later.

Big Vacation: Music on the Boat

One appeal of the Rock Boat is the intimacy you feel with the artists. I had many chances to be a giggling fan-girl to the musicians, but at least once I chose to be a gracious fan-lady instead.

One evening I'd been watching a Cowboy Mouth concert on the pool deck, but Gary wanted to listen to a female group on the other side of the boat. To leave we had to walk toward -- and then past -- the stage, just as Fred, the lead drummer/singer (I know, it's unusual) was demanding the crowd "come a little closer, now." Since everyone was scooting closer to the stage anyway, I thought I'd blend right in, but I made the mistake of making eye contact with Fred and not letting go.

Fred continued demanding, "Come a little closer now, little closer now, LITTLE CLOSER NOW LADY WITH THE BLUE SHIRT LOOKING RIGHT AT ME LIKE I'M CRAZY!"

I just laughed and didn't break stride. Please. Fred's stage persona isn't as loud and bossy as Gary is in real life.

When I was having my ten-prune breakfast at seven the next morning, I walked right past Fred in the near-empty dining hall. I gave him a gracious fan-lady nod, and he gave me a big smile.

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Gary had his own chance to be called out from the stage when we were at the Choir! Choir! Choir! show. Let me recommend Choir! Choir! Choir! to anyone in Chicago or the Northern U.S/Southern Canada., where they are appearing soon. Prepare to laugh, prepare to sing, because that's their deal - the two guys coach the audience through a group harmony sing-along by using comedy and crowd-shaming.

The singers spotted Gary five rows back, scowling, his jacket draped over his crossed arms, having none of this group singing thing I'd insisted we see.

One of the duo said to Gary, "Sir, Sir .. I need your jacket."

Gary handed over his jacket to the people in front, who put it on stage.

"Thanks!" the singer said. "That's to make sure you don't leave."

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You can always spot Talent on the Rock Boat, because:

• They are generally tall.
• They are shiny. It's as if all the eyes that have looked at them have worn them shiny like a river smooths a rock.
• They all wear badges that say TALENT in large letters. They don't wear them all the time, though, I never saw anyone wear their badge in the buffet line, for example.

This is not the criterion Gary uses to identify talent. We were on the bus for our shore excursion to Chichen Itza, and Gary remarked, "There are EIGHT musicians with us on this bus." I quizzed him and it became clear he thinks any man with high-quality, ornate tattoo work is a musician.

However, there WAS one actual artist on our bus: Matt, the guitarist from Cowboy Mouth. (If you look at the photos on the Cowboy Mouth photo site, Matt's the one with the high-quality, ornate tattoo work.)

Matt came in very handy when this happened:

When we heard the unmistakable sound of the bus tire going flat on the way back to port, Gary promptly said, "We're going to miss the boat. It took two and a half hours to get to Chichen Itza, and we've been driving back for - "

I said confidently, "They'll hold the boat. The Cowboy Mouth guitarist's on our bus, and the boat's not leaving without him."

A new "rescue" bus arrived sooner than expected and we made it back with five minutes to spare --  I imagine Matt the Ornately Tattooed Guitarist gets the credit for that. 

Big Vacation: The Food Part 2: Food in NOLA

Everything we ate in New Orleans was the best, each in its own way. (And was appropriately ... mobile, in case you were wondering.)

The Most Color Coordinated: When we ate at the hotel buffet, I noticed my root vegetables were Yukon Gold potatoes, trendy purple potatoes, and green peppers - or purple, green and gold, the Mardi Gras colors.

The Most Versatile: Grits. Most of my meals were grit-based. The best of all was the Barbecued Shrimp and Grits at Tujague's Restaurant. The "Barbecue" sauce was delicious - not a BBQ at all, but a very complex brown gravy. The grits were of the same durable consistency as the cheese and bacon grits at Stanley, not creamy like the grits at the Old Coffee Pot.

The Most Decadent: Monty's is across the street from the Cafe Du Monde, where they serve the most well-known beignets - a pastry that is too sweet even for my palate. Evidently Monty's looked at Cafe Du Monde's deep-fried pastry dough covered in powdered sugar and said "Hold My Chicory Coffee."

They took the puffy square of raw pastry, sliced it into french-fry shapes, and then deep fried those. So, instead of a deep-fried puffy square, they multiplied the available surface area of crispy deep-fried goodness and then put powdered sugar over that. It knocked back the sweetness quite a bit since it bumped up the fried bread surface exponentially. I say that without shame.

I suppose in a few years a place will open next door and they'll take the beignet fries and enrobe them in dark chocolate or something even more decadent.

Best Restaurant Overall: Muriel's, where we had gumbo, and chowder, and feta and crawdad crepes, and crabcakes, and bread pudding, and King Cake with the obligatory baby - only the baby was just perched on the outside and it was painted gold.

I pocketed it and dropped it into Gary's Baileys later that night. He claims the alcohol ate off some of the gold on the baby's scalp.

In the right light you can see that there's a deliberate hole. I say it's the hole you have to leave so you don't suffer "skin suffocation" like in Goldfinger. Or, since there's another hole he's sitting on, he might be a bead.

Anyway, Gold King Cake Baby came home with us and has been perched on every meal, including tonight's frozen pizza.

 

Big Vacation: The Food Part 1: Food on the Boat

Boats are interesting, with the constant motion of the ocean. In my body the motion of the ocean is countered by the stillness ... of ... well, of the lower intestinal tract. I am usually quite comfortable when things shut down in Bowelville, even if it's a week. But usually when nothing is moving down there, I'm not on a boat with unlimited food.

Every meal I allowed myself one tablespoon of everything at the buffet, which filled up my plate, then I went back for seconds of what I liked. For days and days I ate like this, one "tasting" course and then an entire meal on top of that.

Three days in I stopped being comfortable. I added a breakfast of apples and oatmeal instead of grits and bacon.

The next day I kicked it up to muesli and prunes. Ten prunes.

The next day I considered the nuclear option: Eggs Benedict.

I didn't do it, though. I have finally learned my lesson. In fact, in New Orleans a man was at the hotel restaurant complimenting the server on "the best eggs Benedict" he'd ever had. I was tempted to order them for a moment, then thought better of it.

Eventually, the prospect of dry land and a day with three cappuccinos straightened things out.

Big Vacation

Ten years at TeddyJ has earned me four weeks of vacation, starting in January. I didn't even wait a full month before I embarked on a two-week visit: one week on the Rock Boat and the next in New Orleans for the start of the Mardi Gras.

(Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't visit Antarctica, like Dave on a research ship and Big Dot on a luxury liner. I don't think I'll visit Antarctica until it becomes touristy, because I defiantly love tourist traps. I can see it now: I could get off the boat and there's a spot where I could feed the tame penguins, next to a Margaritaville if I need wifi and artificial light, and then I would hole up in a boutique rehabbed research station.)

We spent recklessly. We almost made it to the last day before we had an argument how to pack the objet d'art we got at Skull Paradise in the French Quarter. (Skull and anatomy posters for the medical bathroom - one in French). We also got this years New Orleans 2018 print from Mousie to go in our Mucha-themed bedroom.

This time we actually visited the Voodoo and pharmacy museums.

Surprisingly, we stayed healthy the whole time, despite these risks:

• It was freaking cold in New Orleans the night we sailed out on the Rock Boat ("The Big Freezy," quipped Tyler, the BNL drummer).
• Similarly, when we sailed back to New Orleans it was raining during the return BNL concert.
• This horse tried to bite Gary when he made kissy noises, as you do with a horse.

• I then made kissy noises and it tried to bite me as well.
• One woman on the flight home was so obviously sick the pilot came back and checked on her. Her fiancee lied and said she was fine.
• The weather, now that we are back, has been insultingly cold. I can think of no other term for it. I go outside and I grow indignant.

There are many more things to post, about the weather and the food and the little girls and the beads and the beer man. But right now I have a headache from working all day, which also makes me indignant. What is this world in which I work instead of idling about the southern shores?