Assassination Vacation

So I survived my first official vacation with Lukas -- or should I say, "He survived?" -- and I've got lots to discuss.



First of all, we started our trip to New Orleans with a performance by Nellie McKay at the House of Blues. It actually took place in "The Parish," which is a considerably smaller venue in the same building. There were maybe 100 people there, and we were in the fourth row of folding chairs.



I guess I should just list a few of the crazy things Ms. McKay said in between (and sometimes just during) her songs:

"Mel Gibson should just admit he killed Jon Benet Ramsey."

"Here's a song I did with K.D. Lang. She's sooooo bossy. But I liked it."

"I tried to serenade Anderson Cooper earlier today, but he was too busy looting the Walgreens."

"I saw Harry Connick Jr. today, and I punched him in the face."

"Get these motherfucking koala bears off this motherfucking plane!"

It was the best concert I've ever attended. After the show, I met Nellie and told her that I drove from St. Louis just to see her. Somehow we started talking about Justin Timberlake. And even though I told her I wasn't going to buy a copy of her debut CD (I explained that I already own a regular copy AND the DualDisc version), she agreed to take a picture with me.



Tuesday:

I recently discovered that I enjoy White Russians. Even more recently, I've discovered that I like White Russian Slushies, which I started calling White Rushies.

In the evening, Lukas and I stood outside the House of Blues, this time hoping to score some tickets to the sold-out Sufjan Stevens show. After about an hour, we were ready to throw in the towel. Suddenly, I spotted Sufjan on the sidewalk about three feet in front of us.



That green blur is him, I promise. I thought he looked smaller in person, while Lukas (always the contrarian, no matter what he might tell you) thought he looked bigger. While we debated the build of indie-rock's number-one heartthrob, Sufjan and his two friends walked down the block to Starbucks. We, of course, followed.



Ten minutes passed, and the group emerged. No one had coffee in their hands, now that I think about it. We waited for them to walk by us, and Lukas said, "Hey, guys."

Sufjan didn't even turn his head. I guess it was silly to think he'd give us tickets for the show.

Wednesday:

Annette's Cafe for brunch.



Annette talked to us pretty much the whole time. She told us how much money she spent just to get the smell out of her restaurant after Katrina. She also mentioned that she used to make 200 hundred omelets a day, before the flood. Lukas and I were her only two customers. It was the most depressing breakfast ever, and that includes the bowl of Lucky Charms I was eating when my dad told me he was moving out.

Annette was quite proud of her picture with Alec Baldwin. "He love Cajun Omelet," she said. "He gets it every time he come to town. I told him last time I saw him, 'You getting fat from omelet. I use Egg Beaters from now on.' "

The Gumbo Shop used the exact same Bloody Mary mix that Lukas and I love.



Thursday:

More pool time.



Shopping on Magazine Street. I bought a t-shirt with an owl, a jacket, and some black cowboy boots.



It was the perfect last night of vacation: we got to the Louisiana Bistro right before it got busy. Then we arrived at the Preservation Hall when the doors opened and sat in the very front. And we made it to the gay bar right as the cute go-go boys started dancing on the bars.

I was planning on writing about the audiobook we listened to on the drive to and from New Orleans, but I don't have the energy. That's a post all in itself. Maybe tomorrow.