New Orleans



There’s a crawfish festival held at NOLA Brewing Company in the Spring.  This is an awesome brewery in the crescent city.  It’s also a great event.  They have a large tasting room and outdoor drinking and dining. They also provide live music for this event.


I was hanging out with a friend and enjoying the scene.  The legendary George Porter Jr was providing musical treats.  We enjoyed a big basket of crawfish.  But we wanted to sit down at a table inside to relax a moment.  There was an empty table with a bomber of a NOLA beer called Sauvage. This is a Belgian pale ale style brewed with Brettanomyces yeast.  This is a unique yeast that imparts some very distinct and funky flavors to the beer.


We sit down with our own beers.  We figure we can always move if someone comes back to claim the table.  We just look at the Sauvage beer sitting there.  The beer was opened but it was barely touched.  We determined that we wouldn’t touch the beer in case the rightful owner returned.  It was strange to find a nearly full beer on an open table.


“Maybe, it was abandoned.” I offer.


“It could be.  Do you think we should drink it?”


“Maybe we should wait a little while.  I could see someone not liking it.  It’s a funky style.  It might be over the top for a lot of drinkers.”


We have our own beers to drink anyway but it starts to become obvious that the beer was abandoned.  It’s been nearly 40 minutes.  It starts to become clear that we have a duty to greater honor of beer to consume this neglected beverage.


We make the decision to drink it.  It would be tragic to let this artisanal beer go to waste.  I get a couple plastic cups from the watercooler.  I begin to pour the beer.  We tell ourselves that we’re not stealing the beer.  We are heroically making sure this beer gets the chance to become somebody’s urine.  It should be okay as long as nobody poisoned the beer.


“Maybe they dropped a Mickey in it.” I mockingly suggest.


“It should be okay,” my friend states, “as long as they didn’t piss in it or anything.”


“It’s a brett beer.”  I answer, “We wouldn’t know if they peed in it.”


We both laugh heartily at the comment. We’re also amused because only a hardcore beer geek would get that joke.  Most people would just be looking at you like “What?”


And like true beer geeks, we continued to drink the beer.  We couldn’t be sure if it was peed in but we were damn sure  going to guarantee that it would be peed out.




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When I'm in New Orleans, I find it’s generally desirable to get a hotel room near Canal ST or St. Charles ST.  These are well located and it is easy to walk over to a streetcar stop.  These are two main thoroughfares and will connect with  with most of the city.


The old trolleys are painfully slow and generally not air conditioned but it's still nice from the historical perspective.  And when you’re in New Orleans, you will be expected to remember to call it a streetcar.  In most other cities, you would be catching a trolley.  In Los Angeles or Memphis or Philadelphia, you are simply jumping on the trolley and it gets you to your location.


In New Orleans, you ride a streetcar not a trolley. The locals will take offense if you call it a trolley.  You’ll be adamantly corrected and then shunned as a foolish tourist.  They won’t even accept the notion that the two words are synonyms.


It may seem strange to an outsider but I guess it does make some sense.  Imagine if Tennessee Williams wrote a play called “A Trolley Called Desire.”  His editor would have been like, “Get the fuck out of here!  You can’t expect anyone to show up for a play or a movie called “ A Trolley Called Desire.”  Marlon Brando might have ended up with a completely different career trajectory.  


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How to explain yelling @ Rain?

A moment of fright?

Quatrain of pain?


Angels refrain.

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A Gambit is thrown,

A stone,

Before the beholder.

Maybe it works,

Maybe it lasts…

Though no stone’s bolder.

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