Return to New Orleans, or Meeting MIKE ROWE!

That's right. I met MIKE ROWE.

MIKE ROWE!

 This guy! :D

 

However, I didn't meet him right away, so I'm not starting there...just keep that in mind...because I did, and it was awesome.

Where I am starting is around 11:55 AM, June 5th, 2010. At this particular moment in time, I was sitting in the back of my father's car as he and my mother drove me to the Amtrak station to meet my train to NOLA. I'd never truly traveled by train before, just taken one for a short sight-seeing trip in Colorado, and I don't think the train at the zoo really counts. I mean, the engineer rides ON the engine. It doesn't ring of authenticity.

My train was scheduled to leave at 12:30, and with fifteen minutes of driving yet ahead of us, I was cutting it close, which for me, is fairly standard operating procedure. Still, you only have to arrive thirty minutes beforehand, so I wasn't that worried.

Until...

I looked at my ticket again, and then once more, and saw that 12:30 was actually 12:03. Thank you, random moment of dyscalculia! This of course, brought about my loud exclamation of "OH CRAP!" After explaining my moment of retardation. 1.21 gigawatts and 88 mph later, I was there at 12:01. I grabbed my bags, kissed the folks goodbye and ran for the platform. Thankfully, Amtrak was keeping it real by running late as well. Mom had followed me and after another frantic goodbye, I was left standing by my train, a frantic, disheveled mess, suitcase and ticket in hand when I heard from behind me, "Elizabeth?" Turns out, my friend Brannon, who I hadn't seen since college, now lives in New Orleans as a tattoo artist. It was nice to catch up, and a reminder of how funny life can be.

And now, time for some pictures:

I just thought this was a gorgeous scene.

Flying into New Orleans last time, I wasn't treated to a view of one of the "Cities of The Dead." I was amazed by this. Yes, I know that due to the water table, folks are placed in mausoleums instead of buried, but WOW, at the size and scope of these cemeteries.

Why aren't more Zombie movies centered in New Orleans?

I was really enjoying the train ride. I had a huge window, an entire row to myself, and having dinner in the dining car was a novel experience. I read. I wrote. I drew. I took a nap. All was going smoothly until we hit Slidell, and then, things got strange.
A gentleman who I have affectionately named "The Crackhead from Slidell," and his lady-friend boarded the train, lawn and leaf bag luggage in tow, and settled into their seats. A couple of minutes later, I'm minding my own business, leafing through the book I brought, when I hear from behind me, "I gonna keel ya" (phonetics for your pleasure!) "I gonna crack ya skull, cause you a n-word, bit**! I'm a man, a mother fu**ing man! I am Naw Awlans, ninth ward, born n' raised!" (on the playground where he spent most of his days...) He repeated this roughly thirty to fifty times, standing up and pointing at his lady-friend, who sat in her seat, doing nothing, as if this was par for the course.

Everyone else in the car was obviously uncomfortable, except for one old lady, God bless her, who actually berated him for his callous and casual use of the n-word and profanity. As I watched, ducked down, between the crack in my seat, I assumed he was about to kill her, but instead, he apologized and acted humbled. Then, he turned to his lady again, looked at her lovingly and said "gonna bash ya skull in."

Anyway, security eventually, forcibly, removed him to his own compartment, where I'm sure he had a wonderful time, because when he returned, as we reached New Orleans, he was in a fantastic mood.

Now, instead of focusing his crack filled rage on his lady, he enlightened us all to his evening plans. "I gonna take on all a Bou'bon street tonight, all a Bou'bon street wit mah man, Reggie Bush! We tight, we tight, me and Reggie Bush, me and Reggie Bush! Tonight, we gon' git all the p(meow!)y on Bou'bon street. Me an' Reggie Bush..." We, the other passengers, let him leave first.

And that, my friends, was my first train ride.

After this, I was glad I wasn't venturing out in the Big Easy alone, (and certainly not to Bourbon Street...not with Reggie Bush and the Gentleman Crackhead were on the prowl.) I was again meeting up with my good friend Cindi! After dinner and a restful night at our hotel, we hit the town. We shopped, toured the city, and ate wherever the locals said was good. I snagged a new book and a Mardi Gras mask at the French Market and lusted after a dress a couldn't afford. That afternoon, we were meeting up with Captain Keith,  Florence, and Monte at a local oyster festival, but first, some pics:

Not Reggie Bush.

Saint Jeanne d' Arc, The Maid of Orléans.

 Jackson Square

After downing a quick lunch of a shrimp po'boy and a drink of the frozen persuasion, we headed down to the oyster fest for the main event. The Captains and crews from Deadliest Catch were in town for the After The Catch Filming and several of the guys, including Monte, were participating in the oyster eating contest. 

Jake and Edgar were representing the F/V Northwestern.

Monte was standing up for the F/V Wizard. Mike Fourtner was ready to chow down for the F/V Time Bandit, and Wild Bill of the F/V Kodiak was also willing to put down his beer for a round of oysters.

I'm just going to say that Mike Fourtner is a beastly beast of a man. Everyone was fighting their way through the plates of the slimy, wriggly oysters. Some even gave up, but he was downing them like his life depended on it.

Welcome to Monte experiencing oysters for the first time. We later informed him that you aren't supposed to chew them. I think he finished with a grand total of four. Mike there, yeah, still going.

Edgar put up a pretty good fight, but I think he's about to blow out a vein in his forehead. 

Unsurprisingly, Mike walked away with the championship boot and the admiration of at least four other crab fishermen. I can't recall how many he actually ate, but it seems as if it was something along the lines of 38 in a minute...

After that, the guys headed off to do some filming and Cindi and I headed back to the hotel for a little relaxation and swimming. I met up with my friend Brannon and we took a tour of the wax museum, talked about art on the steps of his house, and grabbed a beverage at a local coffee shop. 

A night at the wax museum. Can't you feel the history come alive?

Later that night, Cindi, Travis, Keith, Florence, Monte, and I all ended up at the Spotted cat for a little live jazz. Live music is always a good thing, and at one point, there must have been ten or more musicians all playing at once in this tiny venue. It was loud, it was packed, it was awesome!

One of the musicians playing a solo.

Cindi, Florence, and me enjoying the music.

Keith and Monte with the rockin' trumpet player.

(all spotted cat pics thanks to Cindi!)

And so went the night. The next day the 'round table' portion of the filming was taking place and Cindi and I were really hoping we'd be able to sit in on the actual shoot. However, that was not to be. The set was completely closed during filming so we made our way to the back lot and watched the live feed from the trailer with Florence.

Thanks Cindi!

The filming was fun to watch. Of course, you see more than what makes it to the final cut, and let me just say, some of my favorite moments were left in the editing room.

Thanks Cindi!

Between takes or while another group was being filmed, the guys would come out to the lot to talk, hang out, or watch the filming as well. Judging by my face, Monte is telling a story that I obviously don't believe. ;)

I think I caught Trav in the middle of a sentence.

Post filming, we were allowed in for the after party.

Jeff Conroy, Andy Hillstrand, MIKE ROWE, unsure, unsure, Trav.

Now, let me just say that Cindi and I don't often get starstruck. The guys we work with are just our friends. The other guys are just the other guys that happen to be on the show. However...I will not lie about this, meeting MIKE ROWE was a dazzling, starstruck, act like a stupid fangirl moment. Cindi was all but shaking and I was pretty sure my face was cracking from my smile. Coherent thought and for that matter, basic tact and manners were...well, it just wasn't going to happen.

Andy Hillstrand saw Cindi and I standing off to ourselves giggling like retards and he asked us what the deal was. We told him we wanted to meet MIKE ROWE.

"MIKE ROWE? You want to meet MIKE ROWE?" he says, "Well, come on!" 

He proceeds to grab Cindi by the arm and I follow in hot pursuit. He then tells MIKE ROWE that "these ladies here want to meet you and get a picture," or something like that...it's all a blur.

MIKE ROWE! and me!

MIKE ROWE! and Cindi!

Thanks Cindi! 

The following is the conversation that took place upon meeting MIKE ROWE! 

Cindi: "You're MIKE ROWE!"

MIKE ROWE: "Eh, everybody's gotta be somebody."

Cindi: "But you're MIKE ROWE!"

MIKE ROWE: *laughter, classic MIKE ROWE sigh,  "Doesn't anyone introduce themselves anymore?"

Me: "Hi MIKE ROWE, I'm Liz, and you'll have to forgive our inability to be anything but raging fangirls right now."

Cindi: "I'm Cindi, and I'm sorry, but MIKE ROWE!"

MIKE ROWE: *smirks, laughs, continues to be awesome.

(not verbatim, but pretty darn close.)

 Thanks Cindi!

MIKE ROWE and Monte enjoying a big plate of crawfish, cold beer, and a laugh. Cindi and I shamelessly photographed him the entire time.

"Oh, hi MIKE ROWE. Uh...no, no, I'm not sneaking candid photos of you like a rabid, tabloid paparazzi...I'm just...uh...aiming my camera in your general direction...constantly. Stop looking at me."

...click!

He actually wasn't even looking at me here. Someone was beside me was calling his name and I snapped this just as he looked in my direction.

Thanks Cindi!

MIKE ROWE signed autographs for us on the only thing we could find, drink coasters. I'm just glad that as an artist, I always have a sharpie with me.

"Keep it dirty Liz" -MIKE ROWE

Of course, not everything centered around meeting MIKE ROWE. Here, Sig takes command of the bar mixing up, if I recall, a vodka cran.

Russell Newberry showed up which was a real treat. I was not expecting to see him, and it had been a while since we last talked. Russ is a total goofball...and I mean that in the best possible way.

Travis takes over for Sig.

On a more somber note, Phil was remembered and given an honored spot on the wall by the round table. The table itself had been made specifically for the show and had the image of Phil's necklace, a king crab in gold, painted onto the top.

The lovely Florence with Chef Kevin Belton of The New Orleans School of Cooking. Kevin was on ATC showing the guys how to make gumbo. He also gave a very interesting talk about the history of gumbo and how its name is a derivative of West African word for Okra, "ki ngombo."

Speaking of Kevin, cooking, and gumbo, that brings me to this:

After the party, Kevin took us to the famous K Paul's, the restaurant of Chef Paul Prudhomme. Kevin is a regular there and we got top notch service and excellent food. Since I'd never had it before, I ordered the rabbit, and it was spectacular...along with everything else. Still, nothing topped the company. It was a great finish to a great trip. After dinner,we roamed the quarter for a while, were treated to an impromptu concert by a large street band, and surprised a fan or two. To close the night, we dropped by one last party where Cindi and I bid our farewells to all in attendance. I've been to New Orleans twice now and it has yet to disappoint. I'm looking forward to the next time I sway on down to the Big Easy.

I do believe this is the longest post I've ever written. I hope someone out there enjoyed it.

The Big Easy

First of all, let me just say, I'm exhausted. After work, most days, I head to the new casa and paint or clean until around midnight.I usually don't make it to bed until around two in the morning. The weekends, I'm there till three am. This has been going on for weeks now, and honestly, I really need a nap...and I'm not talking about a couple of hours. No, I mean, something of Rip Van Winkle proportions. However, I want to catch up on this stupid blog for my own satisfaction, so, instead of falling asleep on my desk and drooling like a sugar-crashed toddler, I'm going to write about New Orleans...because I went there.

Proof!

(OH! That bit I wrote in my last post about wanting a little extra money to appear in my life, when I checked my mail, I found a bonus, two rebates, and a check for six hundred bucks. However, the six hundred bucks, as it turns out, is an insurance snafu and has to be returned...so let me be a bit more specific: "I really wish a large sum of money that I don't have to return to or share with anyone or give away in any form or fashion would fall into my lap today!")

Anyway, on with the show.

Right, so, at last blogging, I'd left Texas, headed home, and spent a day at the office. I came home after work, repacked my suitcase, and printed out my boarding passes for New Orleans.  I was heading down to NOLA to meet up with Capt. Keith, his wife Florence, and his Marketing Manager at the time. I was going to do a little work, take some pics at the meet and greet, sell shirts, merch, chat it up with fans, but really, for me, it was mostly a pleasure trip to the Big Easy. Can't hate that.

The flight was probably uneventful as, like always, I slept most of the way. After landing, I grabbed my bags, jumped on the shuttle and made my way to my hotel. 

The Pelham Hotel. My room.

Basically, the reason I chose this place was because it was close to the casino, and it was within the required budgeting. Still, it had a certain old N'awlins charm. The ceiling was super tall, the staff was great, and I had an excellent view of the alley dumpster.

Speaking of the casino, that's where the first event was being held, so I headed that way. It was a little early yet and nothing was really happening so I moseyed on over to "A Miracle on Fulton Street."

First it's blue...

Then, it's pink! ...It's a miracle!

Every year, apparently, Fulton Street is decked out in white Christmas trees, sparkling, color-changing lights, shining Fleurs-De-Lis, and a mess of fake snow. I like it. It reminds me of being a child and attending the local 'Festival of Trees,' an event I really wish the city would reinstate. However, I'm not talking about my dysfunctional town right now. Besides, there's still more to Fulton Street...

I'd say this tree is at least thirty feet tall...and each of those ornaments is larger than a basketball.

Be good or Santa will EAT YOU!

Which is the perfect size for GIGANTIC METAL SANTA! Color me crazy, but I bet this is why kids start screaming and crying when Mom puts them on Santa's knee in the mall. Perspective is everything.

Time to head back to Harrah's.

You win again, 'need to blink just as the pic is taken'...you win again.

Everything was set up in the Casino right between the slots and the buffet. Here's Keith with a couple of people that I don't know. There was a pretty big crowd and many autograph cards were signed, shirts sold, and pictures snapped.

Can I be a deckhand?

If I recall, these folks didn't even know anything was happening but the dude was a big fan of the show so he was pretty pumped to meet Keith and get an autograph. That's pretty much what this first event consisted of, meeting...and greeting. After that, there was business to be done with Cat Marine...which didn't concern me. So, I found a place that served up a good alligator po'boy and called it a night.

I spent the next day wandering around the city while Keith and the gang were off on more business calls.

Went down to the Riverwalk...saw this guy...

and his girlfriend.

Sweet Jambalaya! My retinas! 

I went down to the Steamboat Natchez and thought about taking the river cruise, but really that's something I'd rather do when I'm with someone. I did however try to take a pic of myself with it in the background. However, the eye killing brightness of the searing December sun created the above squinty expression.

The steam on top of the boat is coming from the Calliope...which is really cool, but ear-splittingly loud when it hits a really sharp note. I took a few vids of the guy playing, and planned to upload them, but apparently my camera had a different idea, as they are nowhere to be found.

Cafe du Monde? Cafe de MORTE!

Anyway, I was getting hungry so I ambled on down to the Cafe Du Monde for a plate of beignets. I took one bite and nearly choked to death on the powdered sugar. It's quite hard to act as if you're not strangling to death when you're...strangling...to death. After assuring a wide-eyed server and various staring patrons that I was fine, and leaving my plate and my dignity at the table, I headed off to do some more sightseeing.

So here are some sights I saw:

St. Louis Cathedral.

The ceiling.

A stained glass window.

An obligatory artsy shot of candles.

Some of the statuary on the Riverwalk. 

These guys are immigrants. They look really happy to be here in the US. Really...happy. 

 The Holocaust memorial sculpture.

On a more somber note, the park also has a sculpture dedicated to the six million Jews who lost their lives under the terror of the Third Reich. The image changes depending upon the direction which you approach, a technique in 'Kenetic Art.' I believe there are ten images in all. Yaacov Agam is the artist.  

I had lunch at the Court of Two Sisters, a very famous Nola establishment. It was still early, so I think it was actually brunch, but I don't know. A Mimosa in the hand, good food, and a quiet courtyard never hurt anyone.  Then, I did some more wandering...

 The carousel bar at the Hotel Monteleone. The bar itself actually rotates, so if you say, go to the bathroom and come back...as a friend of mine did, you might find that you're sitting in a completely different part of the room. I figure it really messes with the drunks. 

 I ended up at the aquarium, where there are lots of fish...and fish type creatures...like this eel.

And even a few non fish creatures...like these Macaws.

"I'm a big, fat, white alligator and I'm awesome!"

And of course, this guy...the albino alligator. He looks extremely content and not just a little smug.  I took a lot of pictures at the aquarium, but I'm not going to post them all...it'd be like finding Nemo without the humor or heartwarming storyline.

At some point that night, after a taxi ride with a cab driver who thought it'd be fun to 'get lost' and charge me extra (how wrong he turned out to be,) I ended up at the function for the night. The Louisiana Shrimpers Association Fundraiser in Belle Chasse. These were just hard working fishermen and women who had been through some tough times thanks to Katrina...and this was before the oil spill that tried to eat the Gulf. Having Capt. Keith there was really encouraging to them, letting them know that their fellow fishermen supported them. There was camaraderie, beer, shrimp, and some money raised for a struggling industry...so all in all, a good time for those in attendance. 

By the end of the night, we found ourselves on Bourbon Street.  Karaoke was preformed, Hurricanes were consumed, and Mike Fourtner was there. After a round of shenanigans, I said my goodbyes to the gang, hit the hotel, and attempted to catch a little sleep. Come some unholy hour of the morning, I dragged myself out of bed, stumbled onto a plane, and made for home. Thus ended my first trip to the grand old city of New Orleans. 

This blog is too long and poorly written. I apologize to all none of you who actually read this. I promise to sleep more...eventually.