8:15 AM |
Maison Perrier is a very nice B&B. It looks just like the pictures (most do not) and is not at all creepy. I get my choice of a few rooms. Because I am staying during the week and three nights, he cuts me a break. A really nice break. This is really welcome because I stayed at Monmouth and plantation-who-shall-not-be named, upping my average daily spend. People usually ask me a few questions. Aren't you scared to be alone? is one. How can you afford it? is another. Here's the deal. I spend about $105 a night for room, $25 for meals (because I usually eat candy instead of either lunch and dinner, and the kind of places I stay give you free breakfast, and I don't buy junk food at the gas station convenience store), $50 for gas (I know that's low, but Woody is carbureted and not fuel-injected (and injecting is expensive) and I only drive for 4 or 5 hours a day), and maybe $15 for attractions. That totals $195 a day. Now, I own the car outright and so I don't have any cost there. If you had better fiscal restraint, you'd own your car too. In any case, you'd have the payment whether you went or not. If I go for one month, that's under $6.000. Maybe another $500 for unforeseen mechanical difficulties, and $100 for books. You can get tons of free brochures at visitors centers. That's $6,600. Have you ever tried to take your kids to Disney World? There you have it. Plus, two people can do this for just $40 or $50 (accounting for the fact that he will eat more than you do) more a day, or $1,500. That's $8,100 if he doesn't buy any t-shirts or baseball caps. $4,000 for a month of traveling. This is something you can do. Especially if you have one of those great banking jobs where they make you take two weeks of vacation in a row so that they can make sure you're not stealing.
Went to dinner at Ignatius. It is the nice neighborhood trying to be funky old neighborhood but without the discomfort restaurant. This is what it was like in the city on Columbus Boulevard in the '80s. There were little clots of young professionals (I hate that term) checking it out, talking, trying to see if they could get a table, discussing it and walking on. The restaurant has shelves on the wall filled with Tony Chachere's and Old Bay (what the heck do they do with Old Bay? I live in Maryland sometimes, and we only use Old Bay for crabs that we throw on the table and beat with mallets for hours at a time, and the old bay is the Chesapeake), Zatarain's (what are they doing making red beans and rice from a box?) and hot sauce. They have saint candles on the tables and two kinds of hot sauce. I think if you eat dinner with a lit saint candle on it, your great-aunt will develop leprosy or something like that. Tabasco I know. It has no ingredients listed and no nutritional information. I think that's illegal, unless maybe there is an exemption for the industrial size packages that restaurants buy at Costco. I think Crystal is a pretty common brand here, but I don't know it very well. Checked the label. Aged red jalapenos, vinegar and salt. I think they all are, but that tricky Tabasco isn't telling.
Ignatius serves root beer. This is because they lost their liquor license. It was a combination of things. The government wants them to pay for the sidewalk space they use. Landlord's not gonna do it. Plus, there was an undercover girl they did not check the i.d. of. It is, however, good root beer. Barq's. You know how when you drink your soda (ok, pop) from the bottle with a straw and the level goes down and your straw falls in and then you can't get it out? I forgot about that and neglected to hold the straw against the side of the neck of the bottle. I picked up my knife to fish it out, but it was full of meatloaf, so I picked up my spoon and stuck the handle in. Except it didn't fit. So I tried my pen. Nope, still didn't fit. Resorted to drinking root beer by actually putting mouth on bottle, half hoping the straw would slip down and I could pull it out. Really hoping I wouldn't choke on it. Enjoyed my meatloaf on the horseradish stuff. I need to figure out how to make that. I'm a good cook. Not sure if I am a maque choux kind of girl, but I'm not sure if this is what all maque choux are supposed to be. Had the bread pudding. Scorching hot. Noted that in the good food places I had all through Mississippi, all the desserts were room temperature. And yummy. No blueberry lemonade here.
I felt kind of odd in my white tee and light jeans. Yesterday, I felt so clean and fresh (that's because I was clean and fresh), and now I think I stand out, and not in a good way. Everyone is wearing dark clothing, even here in the warm weather. It is so generically urban. I just couldn't get a bead on anyone to engage with. And then I met my beauty. Busy, busy, busy, but I just had to grab her. Let me see your hair. It looks like Holly Hunter's in Saving Grace except a little dread-ier. She has yarn and beads and stuff in it. It is magnificent. It's from basically living in the woods, she said. Rainbow Gathering. This is the group for peace and love on earth, sort of a hippy thing in the best sense. I love her. She is Anne.
Back to the Maison Perrier. My room is huge, has a ceiling fan and those floor to ceiling windows you get in plantations. I have a balcony I can go on to by opening the window. Tom is a very nice innkeeper who shows me the important stuff like how to jiggle the toilet handle, which hairdryer works best, and where the thermostat is. He also tells me I can turn the hall lights off if they bother me. This is the mark of an excellent host. Take that plantation-who-shall-not-be-named and your infernal Coke machine and exit sign. I bet Tom won't be sanding my balcony when I wake up. I also have a whirlpool tub. I love deep tubs, but I hate whirlpools. This is a hygiene thing. Who wants other people's crap being shot at them? Usually I can deal with just having a regular bath in the whirlpool, but sometimes the jets are kind of gross, as in this case. I pretended not to see it and had a good shampoo. Hopefully some of that hideous color will come out of my hair.
Go down to front porch. Two of the people who helped me figure out why the lock on the front door wouldn't turn (they couldn't do it either, then it just turned) are sitting absolutely still in the rockers. You would think they would be rocking. One has D.A.D.D. t-shirt on. Dads Against Daughters Dating. Wife is very cool looking. She has short platinum hair and a floaty short black dress with some poofy things on the hem. And black leather boots, but not the cougar kind. The flat heels kind. Her diamond earrings are something else. It's not because they're big but because they really twinkle. I keep on thinking she has sparkles on her face. But then again maybe she does. They are here with a bunch of his high school friends from Cleveland. They are from Chicago. The used-to-be-Cleavelanders are all very close. One of them used to be a newspaper reporter. He does marketing communications now. It doesn't seem like he is very proud of that. He should go back to reporting. On the other hand, I love marketing. I love communications. Maybe he loves it too, but is just cranky from being tired. It's hard partying when you're over 50. I should know. The ex-Cleavlanders have been here a few days so they know a bunch of good restaurants. They have also seen the Krewe De Vieux parade in the French Quarter, known for it "wild satirical and adult themes." The Krewe du Vieux’s seventeen subkrewes each did what they wanted related to the theme "25 Years Wasted". Here are my favorite subkrewes:
- Krewe of Space Age Love
- Krewe of Underwear
- Seeds of Decline
- Krewe of Mama Roux
- Krewe of Drips and Dis- charges
- Mystic Krewe of Spermes
- Mystic Krewe of Comatose
- Mystic Krewe of Inane
I wish I could have seen the Drips and Dis-charges as I want to know the symbolic/ironic/funny/clever meaning behind the - charges. According to the site, "Showcasing the local brass band talent is one of many Krewe du Vieux traditions not eligible for coverage under the health care reform bill." Gotta love anything health care related these days, even if you have a copay. Maybe someone can come up with something clever for co- pay.
The parade was yesterday, just like my king cake festival. A day late, a dollar short. I really would have liked to have gone to the festival and the parade. If I had worked it right, I wouldn't have attempted to stay at Cajun Village shack and been chased through the refineries, and instead come straight here. I bet the B&B would be booked, though. I had forgotten it is a long weekend, for Presidents' Day. I gave my cards to cool platinum woman. Never shared with anyone I'm writing about before.
Went to dinner at Ignatius. It is the nice neighborhood trying to be funky old neighborhood but without the discomfort restaurant. This is what it was like in the city on Columbus Boulevard in the '80s. There were little clots of young professionals (I hate that term) checking it out, talking, trying to see if they could get a table, discussing it and walking on. The restaurant has shelves on the wall filled with Tony Chachere's and Old Bay (what the heck do they do with Old Bay? I live in Maryland sometimes, and we only use Old Bay for crabs that we throw on the table and beat with mallets for hours at a time, and the old bay is the Chesapeake), Zatarain's (what are they doing making red beans and rice from a box?) and hot sauce. They have saint candles on the tables and two kinds of hot sauce. I think if you eat dinner with a lit saint candle on it, your great-aunt will develop leprosy or something like that. Tabasco I know. It has no ingredients listed and no nutritional information. I think that's illegal, unless maybe there is an exemption for the industrial size packages that restaurants buy at Costco. I think Crystal is a pretty common brand here, but I don't know it very well. Checked the label. Aged red jalapenos, vinegar and salt. I think they all are, but that tricky Tabasco isn't telling. 
Ignatius serves root beer. This is because they lost their liquor license. It was a combination of things. The government wants them to pay for the sidewalk space they use. Landlord's not gonna do it. Plus, there was an undercover girl they did not check the i.d. of. It is, however, good root beer. Barq's. You know how when you drink your soda (ok, pop) from the bottle with a straw and the level goes down and your straw falls in and then you can't get it out? I forgot about that and neglected to hold the straw against the side of the neck of the bottle. I picked up my knife to fish it out, but it was full of meatloaf, so I picked up my spoon and stuck the handle in. Except it didn't fit. So I tried my pen. Nope, still didn't fit. Resorted to drinking root beer by actually putting mouth on bottle, half hoping the straw would slip down and I could pull it out. Really hoping I wouldn't choke on it. Enjoyed my meatloaf on the horseradish stuff. I need to figure out how to make that. I'm a good cook. Not sure if I am a maque choux kind of girl, but I'm not sure if this is what all maque choux are supposed to be. Had the bread pudding. Scorching hot. Noted that in the good food places I had all through Mississippi, all the desserts were room temperature. And yummy. No blueberry lemonade here.
I felt kind of odd in my white tee and light jeans. Yesterday, I felt so clean and fresh (that's because I was clean and fresh), and now I think I stand out, and not in a good way. Everyone is wearing dark clothing, even here in the warm weather. It is so generically urban. I just couldn't get a bead on anyone to engage with. And then I met my beauty. Busy, busy, busy, but I just had to grab her. Let me see your hair. It looks like Holly Hunter's in Saving Grace except a little dread-ier. She has yarn and beads and stuff in it. It is magnificent. It's from basically living in the woods, she said. Rainbow Gathering. This is the group for peace and love on earth, sort of a hippy thing in the best sense. I love her. She is Anne. I have not felt particularly alone in a long time. Here in the city, everybody is so busy doing something that they aren't doing nothing. When they aren't doing nothing, they don't have time to talk, and I have no one to listen to. At dinner, there were an older couple not speaking to each other, not because they were mad but just because they'd already said what they have to say for the rest of their lives. Another table was full of young adults (I hate that term) laughing about everything and nothing. In between were a group of tourists, but not the icky kind. They had cool glasses. And a single woman reading through her meal. Across the street were young black men in shiny, tinted, modified cars and trucks. I saw a great old truck around the corner and took a picture. I usually turn the flash off, but I didn't this time. I had just passed a drug deal, and the men were startled. I walked very quickly, watching the sidewalk as recommended by cool platinum chick. The sidewalk here isn't cracked or disturbed, but it is heaving in great chunks from the tree roots. The piles are twelve inches deep, with each piece about a foot and a half square. It is not a sidewalk. It is an obstacle course. In fact, good green beret training ground. When I got to the B&B, I worked with the infernal lock on the door, and heard voices in the alley. Woody is there, so I needed to peek to make sure the noise was coming from the neighbors. Nope, it was the Cleavelanders, reminiscing in the garden. Do you remember that? It was on the something show? I do that. I do that a lot. I wonder if you go from laughing to reminiscing to not talking at all. I do all three. I do them alone. Thank heavens for my imaginary boyfriend.
I realized that I am in a city and back to the land of overachieving people when I selected my wifi. These are the choices I had:
I realized that I am in a city and back to the land of overachieving people when I selected my wifi. These are the choices I had:
- MaisonPerrier
- Diego Loves Rover
- 2WIRE022
- GALAS
- Kevin
- Lauren's Network
- TouroWiFi
- The End
- Roygen2
- MasionPerrier2
I would like to meet Kevin, Lauren, Roy and Diego. I never will. Note to self: No more cities, how many times do I have to tell you, you moron?