things to do: new orleans

I’m flying to New Orleans for work. It will be my first time there. My complimentary Airplane Magazine tells me I should go to Mid City Lanes Rock and Bowl. Wow. “Rock and Bowl” sounds like “Kill me now please” when I say it in my head.

Things to do instead:.
1. Have a layover in Atlanta. Stop at the Popeye’s Fried Chicken and Biscuit Restaurant.
2. Walk around some.
3. Have dinner with people you have to be nice to for professional reasons, when what you really want to do is go from person to person, providing brief summaries. Example: “pompous and bossy”
Next
“Repetitive but charming”
Next
“Self-important”
pause, don’t go on yet
“also, you wast my time”
Next
“33 year old virgin” (really)
Next
“I like you, baldy”
Next
“Sycophant, and you still travel with your teddy bear from when you were a little girl. Really?”

4. Cringe at dinner when your co-worker asks for the Famous Chef’s autograph at dinner. Refrain from lecturing the table on how you find it undignified, fawning, and pathetic. Do the same the next night when a different person waits for the autograph of the very unfamous Jazz Drummer with a much more famous brother.
5. Treadmill.
6. Eat some kind of dried food that you can’t pronounce. Find some fried pickles after that.
7. Go home.

Travel Guide: Tennessee

I felt bad for having fun at the expense of the South the other day. It was like that line about t-shirts as formal wear was beneath me. Perhaps not beneath Jeff Foxworthy, but beneath me. Then, I was driving across Tennessee, and I saw a billboard for a lawyer. It was one of those, “Need help? Call Jeff Sims!” type of deals. I did a double take, you know, because Jeff Sims was wearing a black t-shirt in his lawyering add. So, my little formal wear joke: Not funny. Not clever. But true.

Then I forgot about being nice as my obvious superiority to everyone around me became evident to myself. I drove a portion of the ride with my sister. As I came out of a rest area in Oklahoma, it was like,
Marcel Parcells: You know, we’re the most attractive people in this state.
Marcy Parcells: (laughs) It’s true. Actually, its been true since we entered Virginia. What made you say that right now?
Marcel Parcells: Oh, there was this old lady in the rest area. She only had one arm, and her nub was nasty.
Marcy Parcells: . . .

Ten minutes pass.

Marcy Parcells is watching a couple in an adjoining car. I can’t see what they’re doing, but she turns to me, “We’re also the coolest people in the state.”
Marcel Parcells: Yup.

Re: Travel Guide Portland

Apparently, Jamie has some fans. I myself am more into Still Not Jamie.

I can't believe Jamie is still cocktailing at Portland City Grill. Does this girl have nothing better in life than to suck men out of their dough? She uses her looks to enhance her tips. My gosh it's been 3 plus years since I've been to PCG and I knew exactly which cocktailer you were speaking off! And I did appreciate at the time her ability to flirt like I mattered but then I realized she's a tux wearing whore who insinuates she'd be more than happy to sleep with you...to be young and dumb again.

Oh, Jaime where art thou my sweet whorish waitress??? I find that I'm not the only one.

To Jaime, what are you going to be doing in 5 more years????

Travel Guide: Portland, OR

Last week, I visited Portland, which is a city in the state of Oregon.

In Portland, a giant pink tower thrusts itself into the sky. I don’t know the name of the tower, but I consider it to be an architectural wonder. You know, because it’s pink, and doesn’t look at all gay. How do they do that? You can take an elevator up the pink tower, and then get off the elevator and go to a restaurant/ bar, with tuxedo clad greeters and look-alike waitresses and old men in thick glasses playing the piano. I drank martinis with a bunch of doctors. Twice, I thought this other waitress was Jamie, my waitress. The second time I did it, I asked her for “the bill, please, Jamie?” She said, “Still not Jamie!” And then she walked away. I didn’t like the service, so I took it out on the real Jamie, shorting her on the tip.

In Portland, you can sleep in a tent in your friends’ backyard. This is not necessarily advised, but if you’re in a house with sex as loud as the house I was in, you’re going to want to bring a sleeping bag. I mean, it wasn’t just the usual bed/floor creaking with an occasional moan. There were grunts, and swears, and then some slaps. I couldn’t figure out what was slapping what, so I slept in the tent.

In Portland, you can drink a lot lot lot of great coffee. Drink it until your head aches and you believe you may vomit and you’re vibrating so hard that you feel like a tuning fork that’s just been struck. Then drink more. It will be worth it when you return to Boston with its Dunkin’ Donuts monopoly and its Starbucks for backup.

In Portland, the microbreweries rule. I have heard this. Also, everyone seems to have arm tattoos.

In Portland, you can go to a great bookstore called Powell’s. It’s enormous and fun, if you’re still into print media. I picked up a lot of books, and then decided I didn’t want to pay for any of them, so I put them back in the wrong place.

In Portland, you will be driving late at night, and you may see a scary man in a Mexican wrestling mask, leaning out of his camper van and shouting incoherencies. If you’re like me, you will tell him he is ugly, and then hope you don’t get beat up.

Also, I recommend bicycling around town. It’s quite pleasant.