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August 28, 2005

New Orleans

October, 2000. I was working in the outer spiral of the dot-com-madness universe, making way too much money for my (admittedly-kickass) HTML table-designing skills. I had an eye doctor appointment one morning and got in late. My boss' boss ran up to me and said that no one else could go, but they wanted to send one web-monkey to New Orleans to "work" at our company's booth at the Voodoo Music Festival.

It took me 0.000004 seconds to decide. And it was the best "business trip" ever. I arrived in New Orleans on Friday afternoon, met up with the rest of my party, went to dinner at the Napoleon House restaurant (company expense) and then hit Bourbon Street for the first time. Beer, booze, beads - everything you've heard about it is true. My friend Chris stumbled over me at one point and said, "Dude...we're getting paid to look at [the nightlife]."

Saturday we had to work. By "work", I mean hand out glowsticks and stickers to teenaged Southern girls while Ben Harper, Live, Counting Crows and Blues Traveler played 100 yards away from us. Occasionally, we'd take a well-earned break to wander over to the other stage. We saw Eminem. We saw Cypress Hill backstage. While we were cleaning up after our stage's show ended, the sounds of Stone Temple Pilots drifted over the fairgrounds. A long, hot day, but we left with the satisfaction of a tough job well done.

On Sunday morning, most of my party headed back to Boston, but I had decided to spend an extra day down there, on my own nickel. Sunday morning was the obligatory beignets and coffee at Cafe du Monde (actually, I took my breakfast up to the riverbank and watched the barges go up and down the river). Then I wandered up through Jackson Square and back to Bourbon Street for a little souvenir-shopping. I have never in my life smelled a smell like Bourbon Street on Sunday morning, and I never hope to again. I survived long enough to go into a couple of shops (including the singular Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo), then prepared for my solo assault on the French Quarter that night.

Frankly, that Sunday night's a bit hazy. I remember settling on the Olde Absinthe House, 'cause I liked the name. I remember that the Raiders game was on TV, and I remember insouciantly nodding when the waitress asked me if I wanted another Sazerac. I remember getting into a long discussion about God-knows-what with some middle-aged ladies from Indiana or someplace. I remember pretending to be somebody's boyfriend so some guys from Illinois or someplace would leave her alone (actually, now I'm pretty sure that that was on Friday night, and that may be a story for another day). And I don't remember getting back to my hotel, but I must have, since all my luggage and I made it home safely Monday morning.

So.

All of this reminscing, of course, since every indication is that the city of New Orleans may not exist in 24 hours. It's just amazing to think about. I can only think of two other instances - Chicago 1876 and San Francisco 1906 - when a major U.S. city has actually been destroyed. And they rebuilt; if the worst-case scenario happens, I can't imagine New Orleans being rebuilt in any resemblance of its current location or configuration.

Apart from the horrific tales of damage and devastation we're certain to hear over the next few days, which might be too much to even think about, a city that's unique and precious and just awesome is in mortal peril. And there's nothing anyone can do, except hope for the best.

Hang in there, New Orleans.

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Posted by: MDC | September 8, 2005 02:49 PM