I could feel the crisp frozen air of Minneapolis on the nape of my neck as I walked through the jet way and into the plane. The floor of each did not line up and I had to step up to board the plane.

”This never happens,” I thought as I stood inside the airplane
door and waited patiently for the herd to find their seats and
step aside. I glanced at my ticket and read my seat number out loud: ”21-E.” Was this plane long enough to have a 21st row? I soon found out upon reaching the last row. 21-E was the middle seat. I tossed my copy of WIRED magazine into the seat and decided to stuff my computer bag into the overhead bin. My camera bag would be staying with me. In retrospect, I don’t see the difference between losing two cameras or one computer to a stealthy seated-in-the-back-of-the-plane bag snatcher.

My mind lingered on the chance that I’d get stuck between two football players on their way to sample the hedonistic pleasures of Mardi Gras. Instead, I was soon surrounded by two Vegas cocktail waitresses. I remember them as Mindy and The Other Chick That Didn’t Talk. They were go-go dancing at the Harrah’s on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights every hour starting at 8:30 PM. I considered stopping by to see them, but only if one of my friends wanted to gamble so I could mooch free drinks. As it turns out, Shawn already gambled the morning before my arrival and was down $60. We would not be visiting Harrah’s.

Shawn was in Harrah’s that morning because I was in Minneapolis desperately calling my travel agency (ORBITZ) and hotel (Holiday-Inn). As it turns out, the Holiday Inn on Royal St. had canceled the reservations I’d made back on November 23, 2005. They did so by sending a fax to ORBITZ. ORBITZ, in turn, had not received the fax, so they were unaware of the change in plans. FEMA evacuees were still living in the Holiday-Inn and as such would not be leaving before my arrival. The Holiday-Inn people I spoke to on the phone suffered from a mix of short-term memory loss and We’re Sorry But There’s Nothing We Can Do. The ORBITZ people, however, were more on the ball. They refunded my money and then set up a new hotel reservation for me at the four-star hotel Omni Royal Orleans off St. Louis St. and Royal St. Nice! I text messaged Shawn and instant-messaged Katherine (see her photo album of our trip) about our new lodging details. I was then off into the UHaul-Mobile to take Chew Chew to the kennel and procure more Waltham S/O canine diet food for his stay.

Mindy revealed that she had a pit bull and a five year old son — both of which got along quite well. I call this the Commitment Reveal when a moment like this comes during a conversation. You realize that you could only ever hope to be friends with this person and that he or she is not available for further extra-curricular activity. We continued the small talk until we hit a lull whereupon I returned to my copy of WIRED and she returned to her Book Whose Title I Didn’t Notice. Our only other interruption came when the beverage service finally reached our row and I requested milk. The stewardess responded with an obnoxious, ”OHHHHHHH! Isn’t that so cute! You’re so healthy!” ”Yes, I am,” was my monotone response. ”Everyone else is getting sh*t faced,” she assured me. ”The pilot, too?” I asked.

Upon landing and departing the aircraft, I quickly focused on the succession of baggage claim arrows that would lead me back to my luggage. Aside from some guy tossing a bag that he thought was his but wasn’t on top of my bag, the retrieval process was uneventful. I soon snagged my own private taxi after waiting in a gi-normous line. The trip into town was a combination of freeway driving mixed with back road travel through some of the more decimated parts of town. I noticed many other cars were also traveling this route. I briefly wondered where all this traffic was going considering almost no one was living in the area anymore. As it turns out, *all* of the traffic was heading into the French Quarter. Six months after Katrina, the desire to party had not dissipated.

The OMNI Royal Orleans hotel is located midway between Canal and St. Anne street and only one block over from Bourbon St. This makes it ideal for returning for more beads, returning to pee, returning to rest, and returning just for the sake of returning. My room was a single queen bed. This would pose a sleeping challenge the next day as Katherine was due in town from Prague.

Summarizing the next few days can be done quickly by listing the activities that took place.

• Sunbathing on the roof
• Getting sunburned when I forgot to put sunscreen on my chest
• Constantly scratching my belly
• Getting to know Aiden The Kid Actor
• Drinking hand grenades (a New Orleans specialty drink in a hand grenade shaped cup) with a long neck attached)
• Wondering where Shawn went
• Finding out Shawn got kicked out of the place that sold hand grenades
• Sneaking hand grenades to Shawn from the now off-limits hand grenade place
• Exchanging blinking beads
• Working on my Mardi Gras podcast and attempting humor
• Procrastinating
• Eating coffee and beignets at Cafe Du Mond
• Wondering what ”chicory” is — find out here
• Walking past hundreds of shops that closed six months ago which have yet to reopen
• Wondering what that smell was in the bathroom
• Wondering how to force the painted-shut windows to open
• Slipping on beads in the street
• Watching a policeman on horseback fall off his horse when it slipped on beads in the street
• Working for 8 hours on Tuesday (Mardi Gras) when a project that I manage had unexpected problems
• Wishing Daniel was back from The Sabbatical
• Begging the concierge for an additional rollaway bed
• Not getting a rollaway bed and sleeping with three people on a queen mattress
• Being glad that Katherine slept between me and Shawn

I will eventually snip together a short video podcast when I get back to Minneapolis on Monday. If I don’t, feel free to email me and complain. You can also send me some money via PayPal while you’re feeling ambitious.