O.K. the trip planning was turning out much better than expected. I would be in New
Orleans for three nights and each one was surely going to offer something interesting.
Friday night would be spent at a private party at the House of Blues
in the French Quarter watching white trash queen Juliette Lewis and her
band the Licks. Saturday was going to spent at an all day musical experience called
Voodoo Fest. Sunday was going to be spent inside of the Superdome watching
the Saints get trashed as usual.
After touching down in New Orleans,
my friend Chris and I headed outside the airport to look for a ride to our hotel.
A mysterious middle aged woman in a flannel shirt, baseball cap and
dark glasses approached and said to follow her. Immediately I realized we were
headed to the crappiest looking cab on the street.
We loaded our bags inside
and took off for the downtown area. Having never been to New Orleans before,
I was fascinated by the sights flying by at 70 miles an hour.
When
Chris jokingly brought up the topic of voodoo, the driver slowed and warned
us to never underestimate or worse poke fun at voodoo. She explained some of the
many weird occurrences that she had witnessed over the last 15 years. Starting
to get a bit creeped out, we changed the subject.
Our lodging for
the three nights was at a bargain rate Ramada located in ten story building. The
rooms were under $100 a night and were huge. Party time was upon us as we decided
to walk a few blocks over to the fringes of the French Quarter for
dinner at Cajun Mike’s. It is here that I had my first Po’ boy experience.
A
Po’ boy should be defined as a huge and messy sandwich. 10 napkins isn’t enough
for this oozing gusher sandwiched between two slices of bread. A side of red
beans and rice seemed to keep things in check. After sampling three of the local
micro brews, I realized it was time for the VIP party at the House of Blues.
We were on the VIP list thanks to the Blackboard and my travel site
Travel Invasion. Once inside the venue, I realized that these VIP’s didn’t
look very VIP to me. Oh well excessive free beer could probably change all that.
After an hour or so Juliette hit the stage. Backed by a three piece, her band
came out blazing. The only problem was that things began to sound a bit redundant
by song 3. Juliette finished the last two songs grabbing her crotch in manner
that made me think she either had to pee or was really horny.
The
show ended and we headed for Bourbon Street. I have seen so many blurred out
boobs on the television show Cops during the Mardi Gras episodes, that I wasn’t
sure what to expect. Once on Bourbon Street, I was shocked to see that the crowd
that night resembled Mardi Gras proportions. Beads, boobs, liquor, voodoo, sex
shows and drunk stumbling people made for a good evening.
Saturday
we headed to the main city park for Voodoo Fest 04. I had VIP passes for the
show and would be receiving a photo pass as well. Today was the reason I had planned
this whole trip around. Seeing the Pixies and Sonic Youth back to back was
going to serve as my dream bill. Five stages were spread around a massive site.
We watched a cool set from an Irish band called Snow Patrol. Then it was over
to another stage to watch the Killers. Next up was Sonic Youth and I headed
for the photo pit. This is where it gets really weird.
Sonic Youth
hit the stage and I couldn’t have been any closer to the action. During the second
song Thurston Moore walked out onto the runway and looked at the crowd in a
dazed manner. He then jumped into the photo pit and began pushing people around.
I was watching from the other side of the photo pit when I saw him break free
from the photographers and head towards the side I was standing on. Within about
two seconds I realized he was heading directly at me. Thurston Moore stands
6’6". He body slammed me into the side of the stage and we both fell to the ground.
I looked up and could see myself being mauled on the big screen. He then
climbed onto the stage and tried to pull me up with him. After losing his grip
he pulled my camera from my hand and headed for the end of the stage, while holding
the camera above his head to the delight of the roaring crowd. Eventually
he worked his way back to the main stage while handing my camera back to me. Security
rushed up to ask if I was O.K. Photographers came over to tell me they had
never seen anything like it. Still dazed and slightly cut on one arm, I was
just happy to have been the whipping boy.
The Pixies came
on next and blew me away. Thirteen long years since I had last seen this band
. It was like hearing a dream juke box which just kept going and going. Their
set ended and we decided to split. Passing on Green Day and the Beastie Boys,
we made our way back to the hotel and then to the casinos.
Sunday morning
disaster struck as I realized my backpack had been left behind in a taxi.
Franticly calling every cab company in town it became clearer and clearer, I
would never be getting it back. This backpack contained my digital camera with
about 100 Pulitzer winning shots on the memory card. My 35mm camera was gone as
well. I was sick, I was pissed and if I was a woman I would have probably cried.
That evening we walked two blocks from our hotel to watch
the Saints get beaten by the Vikings as predicted. The crowd had more Viking
jerseys than Saints jerseys. It looked the town had given up on their team.
Cheap beer and Jambalaya stands lined the Superdome.
Monday morning
we were up by 5:00 and headed back Los Angeles. New Orleans proved to be better
than expected. Barring the loss of my cameras, I would have to say this was
probably the best party town in the United States.
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