I’m sitting at the Riverwalk Internet Cafe in New Orleans, LA. There’s another internet place off Toulouse but they’re closed today. Mardi Gras is an official holiday here, so shops are either closed or will close at 6 P.M. Bizarro. I figured I’d catch you up on what the Super Genius has been up to for the last few days.


Took Continental Airlines here through Cleveland, Ohio. It’s boring there. I had some stuffed grape leaves and a Coke. I think that’s the highlight of my visit there. The towel dispenser in the airport was cool. You wave your hand in front of it and it gives you some towel. They’ve just about figured out how to avoid using your hands altogether in bathrooms these days. I shudder to think when they come up with something to automatically undo your shorts. I came in on one of those small jets with two seats, an aisle and a single seat. Claustraphobia city. You can actually get away with towing three full suitcases when you’re on one of these. Two in baggage and the third, while you do get to lob it around, also gets stored in the cargo because there’s no room for baggage in the cabin. Nice! Did I mention that I was carrying 70 pounds of freakin’ beads with me?


I made the mistake of sharing a cab with three other people who ended up getting to their destinations before I got to mine. The cab driver wasn’t happy that we’d all stowed away claiming that we’d need to go to the same place. I ended up having to tow my three suitcases a few blocks. I had a few collisons with people who didn’t realize that when I said ”Excuse me” that I meant it. Seriously. The Alexa Hotel is connected to the Astor Crowne Plaza so I had some minor confusion at first about how the hell to get inside of the place. My two friends from Houston had already arrived and were chowing down at the TGI Fridays while I was trying to get in. I eventually discovered that both hotels were one in the same. I had to deal with some moron managing the Alexa Lobby who tried to tell me that I’d have to pay $25 extra per person who was staying in the room. Knucklehead was confused and wasn’t about to be corrected, either. He eventually decided to escort us all walk to the Astor Lobby where everyone was properly checked in and tagged like wild animals. You can’t return without your wrist tag. I feel slightly cheapened. Slightly.



The next few days are a bit of a blur. There was time spent at the Harrah’s Casino where I learned how to lose playing Blackjack at the $15 table. Good times! I discovered the drinks were free, however. That’s good for me. If you divide how much money I lost with how many drinks I had, I’d say each drink cost me around $30 each. I need to get back in there and drink more drinks. The parades — I pretty much ignored them. I was done with parades back in 2001. Bourbon Street was well lit, fairly clean compared to previous Mardi Gras experiences, and relatively safe. And yes… I have video.


I got into a bit of a philosophical debate with one of those shady bible beaters that pretend to start off a conversation as if they’re there having a good time. They motion to the balcony across the street and say, ”You know, a girl fell off the balcony last night and fell on her head and died. It could happen to any one of us. Unless you’re saved…” bla bla bla. Jesus! Exactly. I made a few attempts at getting this guy to recognize that his witnessing was akin to marketing and that his religion was akin to a brand. He didn’t get it. It’s not that I don’t believe in any of it all, but the method often used to increase your market share of followers isn’t any different that what some companies are doing with undercover advertising. It’s hilarious, really. I tried to get the guy to watch the Matrix films and perhaps broaden his mind to what will ultimately happen to him at the time of reckoning. He wasn’t interested. He saw Matrix as an action flick with guns and girls in tight spandex. I asked him about other religions and he had taken the ”those are false followers and they’re goin’ to hell” position. Riiiight. So, yeah, good times. Nothing better than arguing with a rotten toothed redneck on Bourbon Street about whether or not I’m going to heaven when I die. Bleah. I want to go wherever Tara Reid is going, okay?


My success with the girlies went astronomic last night. I’m slightly modest and probably won’t share my escapes here on my site. Nothing too bad and certainly nothing that wouldn’t have been PG rated if I’d done it in a major motion picture. Still, I’m no longer concerned about if I’ll ever hook up again. Oh, there is one tiny story I’ll share. I made out with this girl who’d made out with Elijah Wood the day before. See? I can get the same girls as Elijah Wood. Tell your friends.