What is it about the summer months that just shuts my brain off? Ever since that first day on vacation back on Island City, I feel like I've been moving in slow motion. Well, I gotta get back in the saddle somehow and keep this thing moving, so I guess a small recap would be nice. Here's what went down.
Before I go on, I will preface this by saying that, in the past ten months, I have developed a theory that New Orleanians get sick less because of the spicy food they eat on a constant basis. Keep that in mind.
Additional golf and beach blogging was postponed by rain. For two days, it was dreary and wet and not conducive to doing things outside. This is one of the only atmospheric conditions that can make Island life unbearable, and I slipped into that old routine of sitting on the porch drinking coffee, reading and chain smoking. I got absolutely nothing done that I wanted to get done. No writing, no tanning, no driving range.
I did go out to a fantastic restaurant called Tramici, and there was that party for two good friends on their way to Ohio. Many pictures were taken with my camera, with or without my invovlement, but nothing got really out of hand the way it could have...
Aside from that, I pretty much avoided human contact for whatever reason, and read books, smoked cigarettes, and watched online episodes of Jericho.
Then it was on to the ATL, where dinner was procured at the SAWB (and AccessAtlanta) reviewed -What the Pho'-, and MARTA was taken down to the Hi-Fi Buys Ampitheatre. Who was on the bill but Rush. Yes, that Rush, the Canadian ones.
It was awesome. They help provide the proof in the puddin that I will theoretically be able to kick ass on an instrument well past retirement age. That gives me hope.
The next day was all Athens: waking up late, procuring tasty K-bap sandwiches at Uncle Ottos, dropping off some trade mission grade coffee and chicory to Jmac of Safe As Houses fame (now ranked the 17th most influential political blog in the state of Georgia.), and bumming around town trying to herd all the frens to the appropriate dinner locations at the appropriate times.
Some number of beverages were consumed.
The next day's drive back to the Island was rather uneventful, some lunch in Macon and some dinner on the Island. Followed by another day of doing nothing important. I really wanted to get more done on this 'vacation' but apparently all I did was turn off my brain. I decided, since I got up late on Sunday, that I would stay another day and drive back to New Orleans on Monday. There was a band to practice with, and floors to stain and paint, and it was time to leave the mythical haze of laziness I was in and get back to the world.
Woke up early Monday, got my stuff packed and ready to go, walked into the restroom, and didn't walk out again for 48 hours. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to everything between my neck and my knees, and not in a good way. For the first three hours, I maintained that this was something I had eaten and that I would be able to leave as soon as whatever it was got gone. I told myself "I haven't felt this bad since the Sunday before Mardi Gras." Three hours later, I'm thinking it might be something more serious, like something I had eaten gone very, very wrong. At this point I'm thinking, "I haven't felt this bad since my 25th birthday." Two hours after that, my temperature hit the triple digits, and I was relegated to the 'quarantine couch.' I don't think I'd ever felt worse. Probably, but I couldn't recall. A rat terrier barking at me from time to time did not help much, either.
I didn't get back to New Orleans until Wednesday, and let me tell you it was not a pleasant drive. But I'm back, now. Job training, now. Eating po' boys again, now. So things are returning to normal.
Next time, I'm taking a bottle of Crystal Hot Sauce with me. Apparently 7 days without 'New Orleans spicy' weakens one's immune system to the point that viral activity becomes equally as effective as sniper fire.