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redneckgaijinSo, I wasn't able to get a table at Anime Weekend Atlanta, due to not having the cash prior to A-Kon.
This weekend, which was AWA weekend, was also the date (Friday) of the Consortium of Genius's 100th live performance. I budgeted $200 for the trip (which I estimate actually cost $250), looking forward to a very rare time: going someplace without worrying about making a profit, 'cause it wasn't going to happen.
The trip almost got aborted three times: first by the threat of Gustav, which threw parts of New Orleans out of power for a while; by Ike, which nocked out power at my home until two days before the trip; and then by my cousin's husband, who called Thursday evening to say he'd be up "in the morning" with all six kids to work on cleaning up the yard after the hurricane.
Well, the cousin-in-law didn't show up until afternoon, by which point I was well on the way to New Orleans. I left home about 11 AM, wanting to make sure I had plenty of time to get to NO in case of car trouble, traffic, etc., check into hotel, bathe, eat, look around the French Quarter, and get to the venue for the concert quite early to get ahead of the crowd.
Driving to New Orleans was generally uneventful, aside from the usual horrible traffic getting through Baton Rouge. I lost nearly an hour in Baton Rouge alone, getting into my hotel after five o'clock. (While in Baton Rouge, though, I heard WWL 870-AM mention the concert.) That annoyance made me decide to try the alternate route home- south along US 90 past Houma and through Morgan City, through the heart of Gustav damage.
Anyway, checked into the hotel, and did something I haven't done in AGES- took an actual BATH, not a shower but a lie-down soaker. As it was in my youth, though, the tub just wasn't big enough for me... although when I was young it was my knees that stuck up, not my gut. That killed only about twenty minutes before the novelty faded along with the heat of the water. I got up to use the shower to rinse off... and discovered that this hotel, which was charging me $18 for parking for the night, three blocks away from the convention center, had bathrooms where the faucet-to-shower knob was broken. Feh. Next time I go to New Orleans, I get my hotel room in Metarie, like I used to do.
Oh, that's right- I forgot to mention, I haven't been to New Orleans since before Katrina. I never went to the Ninth Ward or to the eastern suburbs, and what I saw from the freeways and in downtown seemed, if anything, even more vibrant than before. This was, moreover, my first actual foray into the French Quarter...
... which turned out to be, well, your standard beach resort town with streets too narrow for cars and with added titty bars to go with the overpriced restaurants. Bourbon Street marinates in a slightly alcoholic haze, which you can smell at least a block to either side of that narrow roadway. The galleries, specialty shops, pretty much everything that isn't tourist-trap garbage, food, booze or sex was closed by the time I got there. About the only good things were:
(1) I saw two ladies dressed as pirates walking into Bourbon Street as I got there, a few minutes before the cops closed the street to cars for the evening. I decided that I could therefore put on my "redneck scientist" outfit without being absolutely ridiculous. (I feel self-conscious about that outfit- and I need to get a photo of me in it. I'm just attention-whorish and COG-fannish enough to assemble and wear it, but not enough to feel comfortable in it except during the actual concert.)
(2) I have very little interest in lingerie- strange, I know, considering my business, but I'm much more interested in the contents than the wrapper. Both of the related shops I saw on Bourbon Street caught my attention, however- not because of the stock, but because of the mannequins, some of whom could be used as models for WLP characters.
(3) I wanted to eat at a restaurant, but I'm not overly fond of seafood restaurants, and I didn't feel like Cajun. (In New Orleans. Right. I know.) That narrowed down my choices a LOT more than I'd expected, and the prices did it even more ($40 for a meal? Fuck THAT). I ended up finding a grill on the eastern edge of the tourist-y part of Bourbon Street, a diner that, aside from the prices and a plasma-screen TV, could have been dropped in right from the 1950s. I had a very nice omlette and some grits which were a bit runny for my taste, but I was generally satisfied.
(4) The only busker I actually took an interest in was an old man who had a set of harmonicas... and could do truly amazing things with them. I've never been able to get a harmonica to play only one note, so I'm always in wonder seeing anyone play an actual tune. What's more, he wasn't actually on Bourbon Street- he was on Toulouse, about halfway between Bourbon and the venue for the concert. (On the other hand, that might actually help him- where he was, you could hear him play for a couple blocks in any direction. On Bourbon he'd be drowned out.) I dropped a buck into his lunch bin- he was the only busker who entertained me.
Anyway, I kept walking past One Eyed Jack's, the venue, trying to kill time until I could go in and sit down. The front bar is open straight along, but in the outfit- with a COG patch stiched onto the front of the lab coat- I knew I'd catch "You with the band?" questions I didn't feel like at the time. Finally, shortly before 8 PM, I just plain ran out of stuff to do- and, with a long sleeve shirt, bib overalls, and polyester lab coat, I was sweating a ton. I ordered a Sprite at the bar, sat around, said hello to people I'd met that I knew on sight, and mostly waited idly for nearly an hour and a half.
I had plenty of time to take the above pictures. One Eyed Jack's is a tiny venue, with a tiny bar in front and a cramped stage with circle bar in back. The bathrooms definitely haven't been mopped since Gustav, and might not have been since Katrina. I was reminded a bit of the old Hole in the Wall on the drag in Austin.
At length the hall finally opened, sound checks all complete (although![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
doctorpinkerton kept adjusting things up to the very last minute), and I was the second paying customer to get in. I spent the hour which followed talking to people of very casual acquaintance indeed (and, a few times, explaining that no I was only a very VERY enthusiastic fan). The conversations tended to be "how much are you suffering from the hurricanes?" related.
When the opening band- Clockwork Elvis- began, I got cold feet about cameras. In high school I covered sports for the county newspaper, and I got complaints aplenty from athletes who didn't like camera flashes. Ever since I've been a bit chary of taking photos during live performances, even where there's no prohibition against it. I didn't even take photos during the Billion Dollar Babies Burlesque show during halftime. (Note to the MC: Chad is NOT funny. He's crude and annoying. He's Adam Sandler minus the wit, Jay minus the charm and people skills. The show would be vastly improved without him.)
Anyway, Clockwork Elvis was quite good, and in the abstract the Burlesque was quite interesting. (Sexually on me striptease is a lost cause; the knowledge that it IS a tease is more than sufficient to kill any possible arousal.) I'd come to see the COG, though, and for me the fun truly began when they finally took the stage.
About three-quarters of the way through the concert, I took the below photos. The COG's shows usually have a plot (their Babelcon show being a notable exception), and this time the COG was going to rewrite musical history by replacing Elvis Presley with a certain violent maniac from the future (Clockwork Elvis, who likes Beethoven and drinks milk). Despite the bumbling interference of the descendants of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, the plan was going swimmingly... until Clockwork Elvis turned the tables on Pinkerton and, apparently, killed him.
Of course Pinkerton's death didn't take, and some encore stuff was performed, including some goofy antics by Filbert (he's the one destroying the keyboard):
I'd hoped to talk to Pinkerton afterwards, but it was late and I figured I couldn't wait around until after the band was done packing up their stuff. (With the COG, this is NOT a small job. They have a LOT of props and electronics to deal with.) At about 1:30 AM I went back to the hotel, and woke up to the alarm at 8 stiff, sore and very sleepy still.
US 90 through the west-bank suburbs of New Orleans is freeway for a few miles... and then very, VERY congested four-lane divided highway for about thirty slow, grinding miles. Once you get out of that, you're on the "future I-49 Corridor", which is mapped as interstate grade for the sole reason that there's little or no solid land to turn off onto most of that distance. The road was in poor condition- NOT hurricane caused, but just a natural consequence of a road not being maintained since Christ was in diapers. All in all, I figure going from NOLA to Lafayette via US 90 is a good hour longer than I-10, even taking Baton Rouge into account.
What else needs be said? I got home a bit after 3 PM, with no serious auto problems (or, at least, no problems I didn't have already, and no worsening of existing problems). I was gone from home 28 hours- that's close to $10 per hour spent for my mini-vacation. As much as I love the COG's work, I probably wouldn't have gone except for the 100th live performance, unless I was specifically invited for some purpose. I gave out a few business cards during the performance, though, enough to justify the business deduction of the expenses. It was fun, and worth the money I think, but it won't happen again for a good LONG time.
And Wednesday I go in for the first round of dental work- after two delays, it's about time.
This weekend, which was AWA weekend, was also the date (Friday) of the Consortium of Genius's 100th live performance. I budgeted $200 for the trip (which I estimate actually cost $250), looking forward to a very rare time: going someplace without worrying about making a profit, 'cause it wasn't going to happen.
The trip almost got aborted three times: first by the threat of Gustav, which threw parts of New Orleans out of power for a while; by Ike, which nocked out power at my home until two days before the trip; and then by my cousin's husband, who called Thursday evening to say he'd be up "in the morning" with all six kids to work on cleaning up the yard after the hurricane.
Well, the cousin-in-law didn't show up until afternoon, by which point I was well on the way to New Orleans. I left home about 11 AM, wanting to make sure I had plenty of time to get to NO in case of car trouble, traffic, etc., check into hotel, bathe, eat, look around the French Quarter, and get to the venue for the concert quite early to get ahead of the crowd.
Driving to New Orleans was generally uneventful, aside from the usual horrible traffic getting through Baton Rouge. I lost nearly an hour in Baton Rouge alone, getting into my hotel after five o'clock. (While in Baton Rouge, though, I heard WWL 870-AM mention the concert.) That annoyance made me decide to try the alternate route home- south along US 90 past Houma and through Morgan City, through the heart of Gustav damage.
Anyway, checked into the hotel, and did something I haven't done in AGES- took an actual BATH, not a shower but a lie-down soaker. As it was in my youth, though, the tub just wasn't big enough for me... although when I was young it was my knees that stuck up, not my gut. That killed only about twenty minutes before the novelty faded along with the heat of the water. I got up to use the shower to rinse off... and discovered that this hotel, which was charging me $18 for parking for the night, three blocks away from the convention center, had bathrooms where the faucet-to-shower knob was broken. Feh. Next time I go to New Orleans, I get my hotel room in Metarie, like I used to do.
Oh, that's right- I forgot to mention, I haven't been to New Orleans since before Katrina. I never went to the Ninth Ward or to the eastern suburbs, and what I saw from the freeways and in downtown seemed, if anything, even more vibrant than before. This was, moreover, my first actual foray into the French Quarter...
... which turned out to be, well, your standard beach resort town with streets too narrow for cars and with added titty bars to go with the overpriced restaurants. Bourbon Street marinates in a slightly alcoholic haze, which you can smell at least a block to either side of that narrow roadway. The galleries, specialty shops, pretty much everything that isn't tourist-trap garbage, food, booze or sex was closed by the time I got there. About the only good things were:
(1) I saw two ladies dressed as pirates walking into Bourbon Street as I got there, a few minutes before the cops closed the street to cars for the evening. I decided that I could therefore put on my "redneck scientist" outfit without being absolutely ridiculous. (I feel self-conscious about that outfit- and I need to get a photo of me in it. I'm just attention-whorish and COG-fannish enough to assemble and wear it, but not enough to feel comfortable in it except during the actual concert.)
(2) I have very little interest in lingerie- strange, I know, considering my business, but I'm much more interested in the contents than the wrapper. Both of the related shops I saw on Bourbon Street caught my attention, however- not because of the stock, but because of the mannequins, some of whom could be used as models for WLP characters.
(3) I wanted to eat at a restaurant, but I'm not overly fond of seafood restaurants, and I didn't feel like Cajun. (In New Orleans. Right. I know.) That narrowed down my choices a LOT more than I'd expected, and the prices did it even more ($40 for a meal? Fuck THAT). I ended up finding a grill on the eastern edge of the tourist-y part of Bourbon Street, a diner that, aside from the prices and a plasma-screen TV, could have been dropped in right from the 1950s. I had a very nice omlette and some grits which were a bit runny for my taste, but I was generally satisfied.
(4) The only busker I actually took an interest in was an old man who had a set of harmonicas... and could do truly amazing things with them. I've never been able to get a harmonica to play only one note, so I'm always in wonder seeing anyone play an actual tune. What's more, he wasn't actually on Bourbon Street- he was on Toulouse, about halfway between Bourbon and the venue for the concert. (On the other hand, that might actually help him- where he was, you could hear him play for a couple blocks in any direction. On Bourbon he'd be drowned out.) I dropped a buck into his lunch bin- he was the only busker who entertained me.
Anyway, I kept walking past One Eyed Jack's, the venue, trying to kill time until I could go in and sit down. The front bar is open straight along, but in the outfit- with a COG patch stiched onto the front of the lab coat- I knew I'd catch "You with the band?" questions I didn't feel like at the time. Finally, shortly before 8 PM, I just plain ran out of stuff to do- and, with a long sleeve shirt, bib overalls, and polyester lab coat, I was sweating a ton. I ordered a Sprite at the bar, sat around, said hello to people I'd met that I knew on sight, and mostly waited idly for nearly an hour and a half.
I had plenty of time to take the above pictures. One Eyed Jack's is a tiny venue, with a tiny bar in front and a cramped stage with circle bar in back. The bathrooms definitely haven't been mopped since Gustav, and might not have been since Katrina. I was reminded a bit of the old Hole in the Wall on the drag in Austin.
At length the hall finally opened, sound checks all complete (although
doctorpinkerton kept adjusting things up to the very last minute), and I was the second paying customer to get in. I spent the hour which followed talking to people of very casual acquaintance indeed (and, a few times, explaining that no I was only a very VERY enthusiastic fan). The conversations tended to be "how much are you suffering from the hurricanes?" related. When the opening band- Clockwork Elvis- began, I got cold feet about cameras. In high school I covered sports for the county newspaper, and I got complaints aplenty from athletes who didn't like camera flashes. Ever since I've been a bit chary of taking photos during live performances, even where there's no prohibition against it. I didn't even take photos during the Billion Dollar Babies Burlesque show during halftime. (Note to the MC: Chad is NOT funny. He's crude and annoying. He's Adam Sandler minus the wit, Jay minus the charm and people skills. The show would be vastly improved without him.)
Anyway, Clockwork Elvis was quite good, and in the abstract the Burlesque was quite interesting. (Sexually on me striptease is a lost cause; the knowledge that it IS a tease is more than sufficient to kill any possible arousal.) I'd come to see the COG, though, and for me the fun truly began when they finally took the stage.
About three-quarters of the way through the concert, I took the below photos. The COG's shows usually have a plot (their Babelcon show being a notable exception), and this time the COG was going to rewrite musical history by replacing Elvis Presley with a certain violent maniac from the future (Clockwork Elvis, who likes Beethoven and drinks milk). Despite the bumbling interference of the descendants of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, the plan was going swimmingly... until Clockwork Elvis turned the tables on Pinkerton and, apparently, killed him.
Of course Pinkerton's death didn't take, and some encore stuff was performed, including some goofy antics by Filbert (he's the one destroying the keyboard):
I'd hoped to talk to Pinkerton afterwards, but it was late and I figured I couldn't wait around until after the band was done packing up their stuff. (With the COG, this is NOT a small job. They have a LOT of props and electronics to deal with.) At about 1:30 AM I went back to the hotel, and woke up to the alarm at 8 stiff, sore and very sleepy still.
US 90 through the west-bank suburbs of New Orleans is freeway for a few miles... and then very, VERY congested four-lane divided highway for about thirty slow, grinding miles. Once you get out of that, you're on the "future I-49 Corridor", which is mapped as interstate grade for the sole reason that there's little or no solid land to turn off onto most of that distance. The road was in poor condition- NOT hurricane caused, but just a natural consequence of a road not being maintained since Christ was in diapers. All in all, I figure going from NOLA to Lafayette via US 90 is a good hour longer than I-10, even taking Baton Rouge into account.
What else needs be said? I got home a bit after 3 PM, with no serious auto problems (or, at least, no problems I didn't have already, and no worsening of existing problems). I was gone from home 28 hours- that's close to $10 per hour spent for my mini-vacation. As much as I love the COG's work, I probably wouldn't have gone except for the 100th live performance, unless I was specifically invited for some purpose. I gave out a few business cards during the performance, though, enough to justify the business deduction of the expenses. It was fun, and worth the money I think, but it won't happen again for a good LONG time.
And Wednesday I go in for the first round of dental work- after two delays, it's about time.
