| Week One |
| The pick-up: Hilton Hotel lobby, after walking ½ mile with my luggage down 34th St in Gville. Mencher arrives with the 15 passenger van with a monster luggage rack the length of the van. Day 1: Ichnetuckee Springs for tubing where I flipped my tube over right away, almost losing my sunglasses and visor…temperature of water – a brisk 72. We then drove up the Panhandle coast toward Panana City which took longer than anticipated. I also got my first does of really bad music played on the van. We ended up having Hungry Howie’s pizza on the beach. That night after pitching tent in a mosquito ridden camp site, I bought a super-size Bud Light and sat on the beach drinking it with my German speaking comrades. Nothing like a little open container, complete with brown paper bag. Nobody threw me any spare change. WWSD (What would Seth do?) The summer teen Florida Baptist convention was at the HoJo’s on the beach – there were over a thousand kiddies running around…none of which are likely future Fishman disciples. Drink some Manishevitz, kiddies. Night #1. My tentmate, Jung-Ho (I got to say Ho a lot) pitched my first tent pitching and celebrating this by drinking some warm beer. The temperature was about 80 all night. I kept wondering where the A/C was in this place! # of hours of sleep that night: 2. Time we got up? 630AM! 630AM! Snooze button not optional. Mencher would say “sleep in the van” # of times I actually slept on the van: 1. Days 2-3 destination: New Orleans. We were also staying 2 nights at a hotel! Extra bonus – I wasn’t sure what I was looking forward to more! Our hotel was called the Olde Inn. (“The Old Zoo…not the new zoo” – Police Academy 2). This place was one of the little cool places that you’d never know about – I’m sure it was featured on a second rate Home and Garden channel program somewhere. Our room was straight out of the 1900s. I slept on an old day bed with cast iron siding – it was very cool and comfy but I think sex would have proved challenging, though you could easily use those side boards for acts of borderline deviance. That night we decided to go to a traditional place for dinner for the N.O. dining experience. That’s right – Jambalaya, crawdads, red beans and rice (“did miss her” – Sir Mixalot, British Royal Rapper). And I don’t eat any of that shit. My dinner was not good – I’m not sure what it was, except overpriced. Egon (yes that’s his name, another I got to say a lot!) from Germany wasn’t digging dinner. Actually I don’t think any of the German/Austrian contingency did. We then stayed for Bourbon Street times, going first to a bar that had a dead ringer for James Brown and he screamed a lot like him. Free Cover in N.O. means you have to buy a drink like every hour! The shady bartenders swoom you with overpriced crap – 5 bucks for a Bud Light! I could have drank a 6er in the parking lot and had 50 cents left over to get 2 packs of gum. Bastards. The bartenders weren’t coming around so fast after round one because our international group members weren’t exactly implementing the “tip” system. Good for them. They can plead ignorance and it works. I decided maybe I should change my name to Fritz the rest of the trip and pull off a phony accent. I hate to say this, but New Orleans is a dump – I felt like I needed a delousal bath and tetanus shot each night. We did go to some cool places and as always I found the cheap beer – at this pseudo gift store where 2 castbacks from Springer worked. I did like walking in the streets with beers in my hand – that was great. Reminded me of Vegas except most of the women here I didn’t wanna see naked and nobody passed out flyers with naked hoochs you could rent by the hour. 80 bucks for Suzy. Not that I’d know this. “Sexy MoFo” – Frank was this older German guy who’s English wasn’t so good. He’s a high school gym teacher back home and I should look this good when Im 38, but regardless, this skanky (and dare I say, “Hoss”) of a woman comes up to him and grabs his rack! She says “Hey its Bourbon Street, I can do that!” Of course he’s clueless. She says to me – “Youre friend is a Sexy Muthafucker!” and repeats this a few times! She then says, “Doesn’t he think Im a sexy bitch?” so I told Frank to tell her, in deadpan English with his accent “Yes, you are a fine lady!” – the rest of the trip we called Frank a Sexy MoFo. Welcome to America! Both nights back we walked home in true Fishman fashion (Cab? F- That) – Of course after drinks, I think anything within 4-5 miles is walking distance. Our hotel was in one of those areas of the city where you don’t walk at night alone. Our second night I came home with random posters off street poles. Always a sign of a good time. Get a compass, you fool: The second day at New Orleans was a free day so we were on our own. My adventuresome self decided I needed to venture out alone. After about 2 miles, I realized that I was not heading in to the French Quarter but to downtown New Orleans. So I ended up going about 5 miles out of my initial plans and walking in a few seedy areas to see some homies. I did get to see some things that nobody else did so that was cool. COPS Nah'awwwwleans style. After getting back on track and resisting a temptation to spend the day at the New Orleans Art Museum, I went to take a ferry ride across the Mississippi. After that, I went to the French Quarter where I ended up accidently at the “Satchmo Summer Jazzfest” aka Louis Armstrong fest, nationally known. There I got to see real jazz on a lawn, get lots of free crap I don’t need, and relax. It was very cool – I felt uber-hip for a bit. Of course then I get caught in a rain storm so I was standing in an alley for 20 minutes while it passed over. I ended up walking over 8 miles that day. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy: Mencher and I went to some Voodoo store and signs there said that if take pictures bad bad things will happen to you. I’m not in that voodoo shiz, (“Yamayamayama Yaaaaama” – Police Academy 2, again!) but I believed that warning. Even Mencher didn’t buy anything from the store and he always likes Ripleys Believe or Not type things. # of times I got clawed by a hotel cat: 1 # of times I got clawed by Carrie Freund in 8th grade Science lab: 3 |
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