Saturday, January 03, 2004

Sugar Bowl Saturday Night

(*note: The Wife here. I'm proxy-blogging for the Cap'n, who is drunk on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, and is calling periodically with updates for me to add to his blog. It may be a very long night. All times Central unless otherwise noted.)

8:07 p.m. We were thrown out of our first bar. TCL was talking about the bartender's big boobs. Now we're uptown ... something about beer specials...

(TCL was yelling in the background. From what I heard, he's pretty drunk too. I gave the Cap'n two instructions before sending him off this a.m. "No smooching" and "Don't get arrested." It's only 8 p.m. in New Orleans. I better go charge my cellphone and find an all night Western Union. Damn, what does it take to be the guys that get kicked out of a bar on Bourbon Street on Sugar Bowl weekend? Did I mention it's only 8 p.m.?)

9:54 p.m. TCL makes time with singer at Bourbon Street Blues Co. to no avail. We head back to Bourbon Street.

(There was some woohooing in the background, and something about a 50-year-old woman. I have no idea. I do take great comfort in the fact that the Cap'n is finding time to call his wife every hour. But we'll see how much comfort I'm taking in it when he calls at 4 a.m. from the Orleans Parish Prison. Next time he calls I'm giving him instructions for the audioblog.)

10:20 p.m. We find ourselves on a balcony on Bourbon Street, thanks to J's friend from St. Petersburg, who we spotted from the street.

(J is TCL's sister. She and her husband live in New Orleans, and they were gracious enough to house the Cap'n this weekend. Apparently they didn't realize her friend was in town. The spotting was a random coincidence. Astronomically random, judging from the webcam shots below. No yelling in the background this time. The Cap'n was calling from the bathroom. And turns out the free audioblog trial isn't working.)

10:40 p.m. We're asked to leave the balcony because we're not wanted here (translation: they're out of booze, so they OBVIOUSLY don't want us to stick around). TCL and I are branching out on our own.

(I have a sinking feeling the next call will be from jail.)

11:06 p.m. (I called the Cap'n to tell him that I'm crashing, and to leave any further drunken rants on my voicemail.)

We're at Mr B's* on Bourbon and Iberville. It's quite cool. I endorse it.

(*May have been Mr. P's or Mr. C's. It was a bit loud, especially with TCL shouting "this place fucking ROCKS!" in the background.)

12:02 a.m. Midnight in N.O. Our search for a bad strip bar unfulfilled. Lucky dogs at Bourbon and [unintelligible].

(That was the message waiting for me when I woke up this morning. But he didn't call the house line - our "in case of emergency, jail time, etc." plan - so I'm hoping that no news is good news.)

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