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This is kind of turning into a travel blog, but that's usually the only thing of note going on lately. I'll try to come up with a few different topics here after this. But, we just got back from New Orleans. It was technically my second time there, but first time since I started forming and retaining memories.

The main reason we decided to go now was for Ben's 40th birthday party, which happened to coincide with a big gay festival, Southern Decadence and some big late night party called the Horsemeat Disco. Getting to NOLA is beyond easy. We took Southwest out of Love because Daniel had a leftover flight credit from his short lived stint at the startup and we needed to use it or lose it. We normally will only fly American because we're holding onto gold status by our fingernails these days, but it made sense to this time not to. And boy does that eliminate a lot of stress. Love is down the street, we could practically walk there. And the flight was barely an hour long, so easy.

We really had a nice time in the city. The food is great everywhere we went. Great drinks, good nightlife. The night of Horsemeat Disco we took a little disco nap and made it out. We had purchased new clothes just for the event so we would be ever so slightly appropriately dressed. Turned out we were almost the only ones wearing clothes. Lots of butts hanging out everywhere. It was crowded. It was stinky. You could hardly move much less dance, could hardly talk. All in all, I'd have to say not my scene. But I did my best to hang and have a good time, mostly by imbibing.

The next day we went to the Southern Decadence parade. It was so hot. It was so crowded. It was impossible to do anything, so when our friend Ashley had to head for the airport to get back to her kids, we took it as an excuse to escort her back to our hotel where she'd stashed her bag and then we went to the pool. All in all, I'd have to say not my scene. My scene gets more and more specificity added to it every year. Luckily Daniel agrees.

Our last night we went out to dinner in the French Quarter, had a lovely meal, and then strolled down Bourbon Street on our way back to the hotel. At the end of the street a complete nut job had set up an amplifier with a microphone and had dip shits on either side holding big placard signs letting us all know that we were going to hell. When he saw Daniel and me, he singled us out and started harassing us. Daniel grabbed my hand and we told them to fuck off as we walked by. What a downer at the end of the trip.

It did get me thinking though. The analogous opposite of that just truly doesn't exist. Nobody ever sits outside of churches on Sunday morning with big signs saying "None of this is real!" or "You're all morons!" while someone screams at them in a microphone, "You're not going to heaven when you die dipshit!" So ... looking for volunteers for next Sunday. Let's liberate a few minds from the clutches of Idiocracy!