EPIC N'awlins/Hotlanta trip tribute

(this blog entry is NOT the EPIC N'awlins/Hotlanta trip -- this is just a tribute)

WARNING: this is long as fuck. A shorter, more lucid, and flat out better version can be found here. And if you aren't one for the written word, here are some pictures. There are some duplicates below this post, because I was too stupid to figure out how to use Hello/Picasa to integrate them into the body of this post. Oh well.

It's been awhile since I let my song out in verse, but what better time to release the creativity contained within (some would say to "drop it 'cane' style") than the experience of a lifetime...

And so it begins,
With a tale of friends,
Chris, Alex and Dan,
Setting off for lands
unknown but dreamed --
motherfucking New Orleans.

The initial depart,
comes to a halt,
a car won't start (or at least won't idle),
until Phipps works his art,
and from Chapel hill we do part.

The road is quick and fast,
In Atlanta by half-past (midnight)
Swallowed by a sudden monsoon,
We rush to Adam's room (soaking).
We're at GaTech,
Ready to get wrecked,
With my friend from old,
GJ represent,
And some Busch and Coors Lights,
For our consumption meant.

Stories are told,
stories of old.
"asshole," "red or black,"
and "fuck the dealer" ensue,
and my friend from old
meets my friends of new.
As well happened things,
things you don't want to hear,
about the social misfortune
of EVERY damn engineer (they suck at hanging out or even being semi-normal).

Late bed prevents super-early rise,
but we get on our way,
with eager eyes (shout out to the Killers, Mr. Brightside, a song that was played during this stretch of road)
A quick trip to see
the campus of the bees,
then, Taco Bell stop #2 occurred,
and a speedy trip to New Orleans was spurred.
A gleeful Butts shout,
along the way ("Look at how many BOYS are in there!")
was, we hope, not gay,
though there is some doubt.

We arrive to never-conjured sights:
shit roads, a complete absence of signs,
potholes and falling-down street lights,
beads everywhere and streets mal-aligned.
Luckily we make it to Stuart's humble abode,
a quaint little house on Soniat St.,
which everywhere else,
wouldn't pass as a road,
but in New Orleans
easily passes the code.

Off to a delicious dinner and
first authentic po-boy (where I met someone from Fruita because I was wearing my Warrior Challenge shirt),
learned about New Orleans history,
which I did truly enjoy (remember, I'm the ultimate nerd).
In the mood to try it all,
we sought desert in the form of a snowball.

Then a night of bar hopping,
started by strong-ass drinks,
and in N.O. there's no stopping (because bars don't close unless they want to)
until the sky is pink
or your head's in the sink. (which we thankfully avoided)
We went from Teach-for-America kids (Ms. May's)
To cool porch/Abita place,
Then to girls won't dance with Chris and I,
before settling on balcony space (and drunkenly arguing about shit or listening to rich fucks "discuss" politics)

The next day saw no action
until afternoon,
when we sought the attractions,
of the French Quarter rues.
We took a streetcar (named desire)
down St. Charles --
After a lunch sans par (I almost forgot):
white beans, rice, and hot sausage.
Canal St. and Bourbon St.
occupied our day,
we trouped through Jackson Square,
and trekked through Area Gay (to Chris' oblivion).
We drank hand grenades,
and walked in the streets,
wolfed down some beignets (Cafe du Monde what what),
the tasty Crescent City treat. (named after the curve of the Mississippi).
A street performance of lore,
was also seen,
after a half hour of bore(dom),
and only by me.
A brief stop on the River Walk,
before a money pasta dinner,
filled with talk and planning
of how to best be a sinner.

The conclusion involved:
for each some diet coke,
a heavy dosage of SoCo,
and a trip to Bourbon St.
to behave like drunken folk.

The night, it will live
in glorious half-remembrance.
Highlighted by a penniless
trip to the strip club,
and an infamous dance. (Chris asked permission to dance with another man's wife -- and received it).

The next day brought news
of tropical storm Arlene,
as well as the stories
of two rolling shooting sprees (the one weekend we were there!).
A quick, but painful, decision was made,
Let's jet for Atlanta,
and thereby Arlene evade (and by evade I mean drive through hours of rain).
A sad farewell to New Orleans,
but an extra party night in Atlanta,
is what it means.

My first grub at Krystal
the only journey fact of note
That and a two-minute-too-late realization,
that Georgia sells no bear after midnight,
and we'd missed the boat.

So a trip to Central City Taverne
became the remedy,
because for some fucking reason,
you can drink there till three.

After Doritos and Totinos,
it was time for bed.
The morning saw a trip
to Moe's, and home we sped. (Speaking of Moe's -- in what had to be one of the highlights of the trip, I discovered a napkin dispenser, that get this -- was effortless, efficient, and simply beautiful. I can't explain it or my jubilation sufficiently, but it comes as no surprise that it would take little thought for fucking GaTech engineers to come up with such an EASY dispenser to prevent the maddening, ubiquitous alternative and then stash it away for themselves)

In sum, the trip was
completely without parallel.
Phipps was a man behind the wheel,
and -- the WHOLE trip -- drove Blue well. (seriously, I don't bestow the title of good driver lightly, but Alex is without a doubt one of the best on the road).
Friendships were strengthened,
and memories formed,
sights were seen,
GaTech was dormed.
And now when a Big Easy reference
happens to cross someone's lip
I shall forever remember Chris and Alex (and Stuart and Adam)
and our epic road trip.


wow, that was long. And bad. But it is done. Rejoice.