Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Taking a Pass on Decadence

All you Googlers out there, don't come looking here for any pictures of this year's Southern Decadence. I sat this one out. Never left the homestead. Stayed inside.

In fact, the last day I went out (not night, mind you, but day) was Friday. I found the music too loud and the crowds too tense and entirely too intent on having a Good Time with a capital G and T. I decided then and there that after I win the lottery (and after using some of the money to build myself a concrete home outside the city of New Orleans—but not too far—and my own personal theatre) I would open a French Quarter bar, with only show-tunes on the jukebox and a single television set for the occasional TCM feature and the annual Oscar-Emmy-Tony Awards broadcast.

My idea of a good time (lowercase g and t) has mellowed considerably. Constricted, even.

I am officially and irrevocably an old man now. A pawpaw. A codger. An old coot. A wizened wizard.

Who pooted?

Damn. I gotta get me an old hound to start blaming for that.


  1. When you get the bar open, let me know. That sounds like my kind of place. I used to pretty much live in the Good Time ! bars *back in the day* - just the thought of it now makes my old withered skin crawl.

  2. that's very decadent of you to stay home.

  3. You know, I think you might be right. The ultimate decadent act of Southern Decadence may be to turn away. Speaking of which, most of my friends are pretty peeved about the arrests of the preachers on Bourbon Street this year. We all may be marching with them, shoulder to shoulder, next year ;-)


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