N'awlins

New Orleans, Louisiana.

Okay, a hilarious, fun city. Problem is, it's disgusting:

Go to Bourbon street and you'll see signs like “Huge Ass Beers To Go!” or “Beer, Sports, and Titties!” that draw crowds of tourists off Bourbon street to go spend way too much money on beer. I went into a bar that was one of like 5 different bar that claimed to have the most taps in New Orleans. Not to say that that's impossible (They could all have the same number of taps), just a gimmicky little thing that gets people (like me, evidently) off the street and into the bar. Another thing that they advertised that got me in there was “2 for 1 beers!” Bullshit. It's not “2 for 1” if the price of one is the price of two anywhere else. Fuck you.

I paid $10.50 for a beer that I got to refill. That's not 2 for 1, that's 2 for 2, or simplified, 1 for 1. Just like anywhere else. They had a lot of amazing beers, and about 400 bras hanging from the ceiling which were both pluses. Sadly, I think these bras were all from Mardis Gras. While I saw some beads being thrown off balconies at women on the street, I saw no public flashing. Bummer.

I did, however, have many slimey/swarthy (you know the type) bouncers try to get me into their strip clubs, and a few (more convincing) strippers on the street trying to get me into their strip club (strippers wearing nothing but a G-string and tassels shaking their asses and titties at the crowds of tourists walking by their strip club to try to make a dollar). All of these things, these bullshit sales tactics that I experienced, make me hate this city. It's like I'm in New York's slutty younger sister (that came out wrong...) The people on the street will literally grab your arm and start pulling you towards the establishment at which they work to try to move you towards going into their place of work, so you'll spend money. It's gross.

Although, this was night 1. Night 1 after a long, long, boring drive. Perhaps tonight I'll have a little more fun, but I'll certainly be avoiding Bourbon street. That place is a black hole for tourists' money, much as I had predicted.

Re-evaluation:

Okay, so the next morning, I walked around and did some things in New Orleans that WASN'T on Bourbon street. Here's the deal. Only go to Bourbon street if it's a bachelor party, or if you're blackout drunk and filthy, filthy rich. (Addendum: Dueling Pianos was kinda rad, but that's IT. And only kinda rad. And I said “rad” instead of less colloquial adjective on purpose.)

I went down Decatur street and checked out a brewery called Crescent City Brewery. Don't do that either. I drank the Red Stallion. It was pretty good. It was $7.50. You're a brewery. Have some respect for your advocates (not that I'm one of them...)

I also bought the “Gourmet Chicken Sandwich” for a “gourmet” price. It was just a fried chicken sandwich. It had two (very, very thin) slices of apple, and teeny tiny amount of cranberry coleslaw on it. It was pretty much untasteable. It was an average fried chicken sandwich for about $13. On top of this, despite my casual efforts, the bartender wanted nothing to do with anybody in the way of conversation. Guess what bartenders, that's like 80% of your job. Filling glasses is the easy part. Fail to respond to engagements in casual conversation with a guy who is at the bar by himself will earn you a shit review for your restaurant. Like I said, don't go here.

I walked around a bit, and found a place someone had told me to go called Cafe Du Monde. The service here was also horrible. This whole city is just a bunch of people trying to wring money out of your wallet. They don't care about your satisfaction. Maybe it has to do with Katrina? I don't know. That was too long ago for me to play along with the sympathy money card. Bullshit, shit reviews. Although, their Beignets were pretty tasty. I guess that's cool, but certainly not worth going to New Orleans over.

Now, as it turns out, the whole Bourbon street, French Quarter, touristy area blows. That's where to never go if you go to New Orleans (see aforementioned stipulations on necessary intoxication levels and monetary endowments for exceptions to this rule). My dad told me to go to a bar away from this area called Maple Leaf. It was pretty awesome. Kind of a divey neighborhood, but met some really cool people there. It wasn't overcrowded, people weren't slimeballs there. It was nice. The service however, was still absurdly terrible. I had about 4 beers in 5 hours. They were 12 oz plastic cups for pint glass prices. This amount of time had nothing to do with the rate at which I drank these tiny little fuckers, but the mind-curdling rate at which the bartender would get around to refilling them.

Dear bartenders everywhere: Talk to your patrons. Ask them if they need anything when they have nothing in front of them. Those are the ONLY two things you need to do to do your job right. Get a fucking clue.

Anyways, the crowd there was really cool. Ended up hanging out with a girl named Liz for awhile and then we went around the corner and got some pretty amazing Thai food. Nice call, Liz.