Part 3: Missouri hick goes alone to Mardi Gras New Orleans!

NEW ORLEANS, LA — I went to New Orleans alone. Solo. During Mardi Gras season.

Some of my observations:

Some of the side streets have been removed and not replaced. No asphalt, just a deep gravel pit with manholes sticking out like urban land mines. (Urban Land Mines is a decent name for a band, but “Urban Prairie Dogs” would sell more tickets!)

Potholes and cracks are exacerbated by a plethora of one-way streets and divided one way streets. Look both ways, then again, then hit the accelerator fast and hard. Hit the brakes hard. You may be rear ended if you don’t. And use your horn frequently. My buddy Justin Cheney in Sparta installed me a loud horn. One decibel under a freight train. I threw a local off his game. I was taking a picture of a pretty lady on the street at an intersection when the light turned green and he hit his horn. I hit mine back, for extra emphasis. He steered clear from my Missouri plates.

New Orleans is drunk on it’s own stink.

NOLA forgot what clean looks and smells like. Prolonged poor politics pulverized proper planning permanently. (Alliteration is my thang!)

NOLA isn’t interested in drivers in the French Quarter. The streets are labeled on the sidewalks, for pedestrians, not drivers.

There’s a lot of gay, but not as open as in the late 90s.

NOLA is gay, for sure, but not as gay as it was before Hurricane Katrina, which Riki Sasaki and I visited for a convention in ’98. Back then there were dudes in dresses being led by chains and targets on their butts. Not making that up.

NOLA has a lot of cool history, but homeless people arguing and cursing at night kind of shatters the nostalgia and patriotism of it all.

Jackson Square in midday (free campsite?)

Where’s the suggestion box for New Orleans?

I didn’t find a suggestion box for NOLA, but if I did, I’d add the following:

Remember the good old days? Jazz, Dixieland, blues, the stuff that made New Orleans famous? How about getting a group of black dudes together, all dressed up, and doing stuff like that? Strictly from the early and mid 1900s.

It would be a hit (even 60 and 80 years later).

Clean up the thug fest and ghetto rage and slut factories hovering around scaring older tourists with money. Keep it fun for everyone.

Girls on Bourbon Street try to get you to buy them drinks and one even offered me a $500 massage. What a bargain, eh?

If that were my daughter, I’d cry into my pillow asking God what I did wrong.

My trip home

So far, my total expenses were $117.04. Income $305. Time to go home after a wild night on Bourbon Street Feb. 15.

I saw two black girls drop their drawers. Apparently, flashing boobs for beads has given way to mooning the crowd on the balcony.

I slept in my car on the French Quarter on Burgandy near Ursulines. Once you find parking, it’s hard to relocate. Plus, at 1 a.m. I was too zonked to drive to the Garden District.

By 6 a.m. I was back on the road home. I took a different route through Arkansas, skipping Jackson and Memphis. More of a backroads experience. I even saw a Bear Crossing sign.

Expenses for gas on the way home:

$15.03

$34.05

$20.77

Instead of buying food, I ate the last apples and a naked flour tortilla. Yum.

I talked to friends on the phone as I drove. I told my mom where I had been. I told another friend.

I got to Ozark, MO about 6 p.m. and did a Doordash for old times’ sake. Got $15.50 before I headed home.