New Orleans

Trip Start May 29, 2007
Trip End Jul 02, 2007

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Flag of United States  , Louisiana
Tuesday, June 12, 2007

This is Josh Mitchell, Dan's Quincy roommate and current travel companion. 

There's an old saying about Bourbon Street by Lee Hazelwood:  "You won't find it on any map, but take a step in any direction and you're in trouble."

The French Quarter has been dubbed "The Amsterdam of America" and after  witnessing its electric vibe, nocturnal revelery, spicy and succulent seafood-infused cusine, we can confirm that, even for decorated Boston party people

With Dan ditching his humanity and hammer, he met up with the two Bourbon buzzed bees - me and our other roommate, Dave, a.k.a Mr. Koresh.

We drank potent cocktails called Hand Grenades and Hurricanes and, after a handful, swore we saw Whitey Bulger tossing beads off of the balcony of The Cat's Meow.

We went to a cool Seafood festival and ate a diversity of cajun cooking:  crab balls, oysters, shrimp 'po boy submarine sandwiches, jambalaya, seafood gumbo. 

After walking around Jackson Square to digest and to observe the most photographed section of the city, we headed over to Frenchman Street to hear some down and dirty southern rock.

Here is a snapshot of some of the other action that unfolded:

-Dan danced more in three days than he has in his whole life.

-Koresh saw more boobs in three days than he has in his whole life.

-I called over 100 local Louisiana girls "cajun chicken nuggets"

We drank like the prohibition era was going to make a comeback, ate like we were taking a Marlon Brando speed-eating course, socialized like ambitious democratic candidates, and danced like John Travolta's
weird scientology offsprings.

It is a bohemian city that is rich with eclectic individuals - one nicknamed "Billy The Kid" that can balance a PBR on his head while he does the one-step.

It is infused with a survival spirit that you can feel permeating through the air if the stale stench does not overbear it.  The streets of Bourbon smell like The Little Mermaid died and crawled up Free Willy's ass.

It was an action-packed three days full of bead-tossing, beer-popping, feet-stomping, and roommate-bonding.

We sent Koresh on his way, tossed back a few green apples that we took from our hotel, and warmed up our vocal chords for the streets of Memphis.

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