Sonnet, Upon It, Whatever
Looks like a Jiffy Lube supporter didn't like what the cabby from my previous post said. Sorry buddy, I just report what people say. I don't make it up. If you'd like to take it up with the guy who said it he drives a large white United Cab van on the day shift, you could probably find him in the Quarter near one of the hotels.
Easter parades. Never been to one in New York, checked out two in New Orleans and was going for a trifecta but the third parade never materialized at the time and location noted in the paper. Too bad too, it was the gay Easter parade which would've likely been all kinds of fun.
The first parade we went to before brunch was a relatively staid affair. No music, just ladies of a certain age in giant hats riding in convertibles and horse drawn carriages doing a lap in the quarter before church, though it bears noting that they were served either a sizable cup of wine, a cocktail or a shot before heading into church. Why not? Easter is a day of celebration.
The second was more of what I expected, a live jazz band in the back of a truck, some seasonally-themed floats and beads flying around. They also tossed stuffed toys and candy to the kids. Some of those folks were able to nail a stroller from 20 feet while standing on a moving float. Years of practice I guess.
Easter night things began to slow down. Steamboat Willie, who said he used to do 7 nights a week in the quarter notes that he's still "unemployed" Monday through Wednesday. The crowds are not back full time. Whole streets of the Quarter were dark, bars closed or if they were open they would have just a few clusters of patrons at a table. The hellish neon-daquiri -slurpee shops, dance music echoing off their empty walls surrounding sullen-faced teenagers and college kids mopping God-knows-what off the floor from the day's festivities. We were under a tornado warning and the wind blasted through courtyards and almost knocked us over as we wandered back from dinner. It was the end of another great trip to a beautiful city.
I left the Mrs. off at a hotel and took a quick wander toward Bourbon where hardcore revelers and early-arrivers for the following week's French Quarter fest lurched from bar to bar. Still alive, I thought, this place is still alive despite all that's tried to kill it. I hooked a left into a brightly lit "grocery" store, the kind that specializes in liquor, beer, wine, cigarettes and oh yeah, a few shelves of junk food. I bought a half-pint of green label Jack and two small bottles of Schweppes ginger ale for a nightcap (the cost being about 20% of what I'd pay if I bought from the minibar) and headed back up the street to the hotel dodging a rather large cockroach that scuttled out from under a trash bin and a stray Lucky Dog wrapper that almost blew into my face. Time to pack and get back to the real world.
Easter parades. Never been to one in New York, checked out two in New Orleans and was going for a trifecta but the third parade never materialized at the time and location noted in the paper. Too bad too, it was the gay Easter parade which would've likely been all kinds of fun.
The first parade we went to before brunch was a relatively staid affair. No music, just ladies of a certain age in giant hats riding in convertibles and horse drawn carriages doing a lap in the quarter before church, though it bears noting that they were served either a sizable cup of wine, a cocktail or a shot before heading into church. Why not? Easter is a day of celebration.
The second was more of what I expected, a live jazz band in the back of a truck, some seasonally-themed floats and beads flying around. They also tossed stuffed toys and candy to the kids. Some of those folks were able to nail a stroller from 20 feet while standing on a moving float. Years of practice I guess.
Easter night things began to slow down. Steamboat Willie, who said he used to do 7 nights a week in the quarter notes that he's still "unemployed" Monday through Wednesday. The crowds are not back full time. Whole streets of the Quarter were dark, bars closed or if they were open they would have just a few clusters of patrons at a table. The hellish neon-daquiri -slurpee shops, dance music echoing off their empty walls surrounding sullen-faced teenagers and college kids mopping God-knows-what off the floor from the day's festivities. We were under a tornado warning and the wind blasted through courtyards and almost knocked us over as we wandered back from dinner. It was the end of another great trip to a beautiful city.
I left the Mrs. off at a hotel and took a quick wander toward Bourbon where hardcore revelers and early-arrivers for the following week's French Quarter fest lurched from bar to bar. Still alive, I thought, this place is still alive despite all that's tried to kill it. I hooked a left into a brightly lit "grocery" store, the kind that specializes in liquor, beer, wine, cigarettes and oh yeah, a few shelves of junk food. I bought a half-pint of green label Jack and two small bottles of Schweppes ginger ale for a nightcap (the cost being about 20% of what I'd pay if I bought from the minibar) and headed back up the street to the hotel dodging a rather large cockroach that scuttled out from under a trash bin and a stray Lucky Dog wrapper that almost blew into my face. Time to pack and get back to the real world.
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