Every New Beginning...

I am not going to finish that line because I really hate that song, but I think you get my drift. Jazzfest has come and gone, and what a wild and debaucherous time it was. Lots of friends, some old, some new, lots of music, lots of good food and a whole hell of a lot of booze.

Doug Buckmaster (yes, the original Buckmaster - whom you may know from some other debacherous times such as "CJ's goodbye party" or "The entirety of middle school") arrived in town with a fellow flight attendant in tow, whom I was able to scoop up at the airport and take a leisurely top-down ride into town. We parked the car in a spot oozing with destiny. I was getting a little worried that I couldn't get in touch with the landlord of the apartment I secured, when he showed up taking a stroll down the street next us as we unpacked the car. He let us in the apartment and we were off like Paris Hilton's nighties.

A rather quirky coincidence, Doug's fellow traveler - Stephen - has the same birthday as I - April 24th - and that also happened to be the day these shenanigans all began. We even ended the night by picking up some birthday cake from a street vendor, the memory of which had to be extracted from my brain two days later.

The next day led me to a little morning work, then some afternoon stoop-time in the French Quarter in front of the apartment. Some of you may be familiar with the phrase "The stoop is not a place, but a state of mind" - like how we used to burn 'em down with Whitney, Phil, Ralph and the rest. We just leisurely enjoyed the normal ebb and flow that is the French Quarter during the Jazz Fest - the occasional lost tourist, 5 inch pink eyelashes, Crocodile Dundee, 3 for $10 wine deals across the street, and boobs hanging out of every nook and cranny. Relaxation to the max.

All of the nights kind of run together, there was the gratuitous Bourbon St. outings, bounced around a bit on Frenchman St., some dancing on the ceilings, my lovely lady shakin her thang, hurricanes and kamikazes, my mom jumping in the air and screaming out "DON'T STOP! BELIEVIN!..." just burning, burning, burning that midnight oil, capturing the flames and the fires and running a general muck in the streets.

We also had an appearance by the great TimDini, I call Tim that because he was pulling some crazy shit out of his ass all weekend. He belly-flopped into a mudpit and starting doing the worm during the Billy Joel show, he dropped that he was dating someone, and he pulled this monster lump of crap out of his ass that he calls the "Serbian Man Kiss" story (thats just what I call it - he may reference it otherwise). Doug might even have that last one on film - which should immediately go to Sundance and become an instant classic. We will try to extract it out of Doug in due time, but in the meantime you should check out some of the pics and see the Great TimDini in rare form.

So this weekend was real amazing, one I will not soon forget. We blew it up and blew it out, and rocked on and rocked hard. My mom came in and had a total blast and some friends and I got to catch up and create some brand new memories .

Let this be a lesson to all of you who procrastinate and create excuses to delay your New Orleans visit - you will always have responsibilities and a plethora of excuses if you let them get in your way - the decision to make a difference can be made at any time and you just need to do it once. I say this to my friends who have yet to visit and to anyone who hasn't come through or hasn't come back. It is time, and we are coming back better than ever.

Do it.
Jazz Fest Pics