(Don't be fooled by this posting time, it's just formatting. It's really 8:30 on Friday morning by the time I drag myself out of bed and come down to sample the breakfast buffet.)
By mid-morning I've got everything packed (well, The Reet did help out a tad) and I'm waiting to be picked up by the Pool Hall Studs for our trip to Bradley International Airport for our flight to New Orleans. We're flying out at noon on Northwest (the airline, not necessarily the direction) with a short layover in Detroit, arriving in the Crescent City around five o'clock. This schedule will not allow us to get out to the Fairgrounds for the festival, but there is the serious matter of the annual grudge pool matches at Ryan's Irish Pub in the French Quarter with the Pool Hall Studs to address (for those who are new to this, Johnny Gumbo and I have been kicking their asses annually and we intend to continue to do so).
Long flight. We depart from the plane in rainy Detroit and look for our connecting flight, only to find out we are flying out on the SAME PLANE! Smooth. We finally arrive at Louis Armstrong Airport about five o'clock Central. A quick call to Johnny Gumbo finds him down in the Quarter with some devastating news - THEY TOOK OUT THE POOL TABLE AT RYAN'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He'll fill us in when we get there. Meanwhile, Mark connects with Garland, our transportation guy at the Fest. Garland has his own business in Houston, but comes to New Orleans each year, rents a van and does his thing. All his customers are by word of mouth. He supplies the ride, the cold beer and some of the greatest spicy fried chicken wings you'll ever taste. You pay him what you think it's worth. Garland arrives in short order. He's also picked up Joe and Patty, a couple of New Yorkers down for the Fest. Joe, who is a five year veteran of Jazz Fest, has been here for a couple days already, leaving the family responsibilities to wifey to attend to. That done, Jazz Fest virgin Patty is in town and ready to kick some ass (possibly Joe's). Good people. We drop them at the Hotel Monteleone and proceed over to the Staybridge, located on Tchoupitoulas at Poydras just across the street from Mother's.
Quick drop off of my shit and I'm downstairs sampling the reception fare (plastic glass of wine and a little chicken gumbo) as the Celtics/Bulls get under way. We walk the six blocks down to Ryan's where we find Johnny Gumbo in full festival mode. Hugs/kisses all around (not full on the mouth, though, swine flu and all). Big crowd. Gumbo explains that they are filming a street scene for a movie set in New York! Celtics down two at the half. We pick our way around the film crew (seems to be set in the 1930's) down the street to the Old Absinthe House for a quick Abita. Celtics in a battle. Walter Ray! Off wandering about, occasionally peeking in to catch the score, when EUREKA! pool tables! Rake 'em up, studs, and take your medicine. It wasn't pretty, let me tell you. Better luck next time, boys. Celtics blow a chance to win. Overtime. Ray is lighting it up.
Over to Nola for dinner. At the bar, watching the game. The BEST stuffed chicken wings. Pork tenderloin. Duck (look out, duck!). Quail. Abitas. Oh, and maybe we didn't win at pool, because we ended up with the tab! Celts lose, too! Oh well, it's off to Frenchman Street to finish the night off at some bar with an excellent band. Didn't catch the name of either. It's getting late, so Gumbo and I leave the young studs and grab a cab 'home.' Night y'all.
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