A brief review of my travels between the Texan gulf coast and the city of New Orleans.

After leaving my aunt and cousin in Rockport, TX, I drove to Houston.  Along the way I marveled at the sunset and the flatness of the place.  Got to Houston, stayed with a fellow named Tyler.  Good man, peculiar city.  Supposedly, they’ve got more strip clubs and more churches than any other place.  They’ve also got a house thatched with old beer cans.  We watched the Saints wreck the Colts.  At this point, I knew already about my New Orleans future, and so we celebrated thoroughly.

From Houston, I drove to back to Austin.  Spent several days entirely alone there, staying in an apartment I found on craigslist.  Ate good BBQ.  Did my laundry.  Got my suit dry-cleaned.  On the evening of Friday the twelfth, I drove to the Austin airport and picked up Sam West and David Gerson.  They were to stay with me through the weekend.  Together, we were to attend Abby Broberg’s wedding on Saturday.   The wedding was just wonderful.  First wedding of one of my college friends.  Isn’t that a milestone?  Am I now an adult?  I caught the garter and was forced to dance with the girl who caught the bouquet.  Yippee!  The next day we went to a Cathedral of Junk.

Then Sam and David left, and I drove to New Orleans.  Got here, celebrated Mardis Gras.  Caught a billion beads (No, I didn’t have to flash anybody.  That Mardis Gras tradition is certainly exaggerated.  Mardis Gras is, at least in part, somewhat of a family holiday.  It largely occurs during the daytime, particularly on Fat Tuesday itself.  There are lots of parents with kids on their shoulders.  And parades.  And New Orleans pride.  And the joys of catching things.)  And then I settled into my new home and prepared for my new job.  See next post.

Forgotten photos:

Alexi at Stone Ridge.  Just like home.

Alexi at 1120: the Alabama version of a venerable Columbia establishment.

William Faulkner’s grave.  I swear to you, the bottles of booze were found on site.

Deep-fried pickles. Ew.


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