What a weekend.
I don't usually have a lot of time these days, because I work hard for the money and all, but this week is a week at school without the kids around, so I've been able to do something I really haven't been able to do recently: enjoy living in the City of New Orleans.
That's right, I spent most of this weekend falling in love with New Orleans again, remembering how much fun it is to live in a city like this, eating spectacular food and partaking of tasty beverages.
As of 3:23pm CST on Friday afternoon, the last busload of beautiful children was leaving the school where I work, and 15 teachers were standing around, screaming and high-fiving like we had just won the Super Bowl.
(This does not bode well for whatever is going to happen on the last day of school in June, but I digress...)
Out of Gentilly and into downtown we wandered, many of us making our way to Mimi's in the Mariny at the corner of Royal and Franklin. This has become our usual Friday night haunt, and this Friday was no exception. Frosty beverages all around, some talk of the week gone by and of plans for the week ahead. Or plans for the weekend, and every song included a variation of the same refrain: drinking. Down the street (and really, only like 150 feet down Royal Street) we went for what has got to be some of the tastiest restaurant served fried catfish in the world (thrice have I partaken of this meal, as I eat only fish on Fridays, but I cannot, for the life of me, remember the name of this place). But it had been a long week, and while it was not late, it was far, far past my bedtime. And I had an early game to watch tomorrow Uptown, so I was away.
Back to Octavia Street, where I sleep, and where the SWAT team had my block cordoned off in a hunt for an armed suspect. They were gone by the time I got back, however, which was good. And I mean that in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary definition of good kind of way. I got to get the tale from the neighbors in the street. The suspect was apprehended with superbly appropriate force, so the story goes. Because no night is complete in this town without a manhunt.
The next day, rising at the late hour of 6am (I slept in), I laid in bed for a while and hit the snooze button. This is one of life's great luxuries, and while obnoxious, can be catharsis for someone who usually cannot. I ran some errands, and ended up down at Carrolton Station. This is where the Georgia Alumni gather to watch the Bulldawgs play on the plasma screen televisions. Shockingly enough, not every bar in New Orleans is open 24 hours, and the door proclaimed that the Station would not be open until noon. Since the kickoff was at 11:30 CST, this was somewhat bothersome, but not too much, for the day was bright, the weather was a fine 75 degrees, and there is a coffee shop down the block.
Did I mention it was fine weather? What ends up being even better about this place is how nice the young ladies look in this kind of weather. Seriously. Beautiful day, about to watch football, coffee and chicory (caffeine on the black wings of death) in my cup cut proudly by deep spoonfuls of brown sugar, and wonderfully appointed specimens of New Orleans' fairer sex out for a morning stroll. It is a good thing I grew up on Island City and came of age in Athens, for less prepared men may have died just looking at the heavenly setting.
Oh, yeah, there's football back down the street. I guess, if the bar doesn't open till noon, I'll just go read the paper and wait.
The excellent owner of the fine establishment that is Carrolton Station saw me walking by in Georgia Red and bade me enter. He hadn't really opened the place yet, but the television was on, the kickoff was poised, and the roar of the Sanford Stadium crowd could be heard rumbling the long held "Goooooooooooooooo......"
"...Dawgs." I watched the kickoff and the migthy return.
Do days get any better than this?