Well, Something was Big and Easy!

- New Orleans, as viewed through the eyes of The Boy Toy


It’s probably a bad thing when you have to look at your credit card statement to figure out just where you were or what you were doing. That said…

I love New Orleans. And my friends. And Cazwell’s “Ice Cream Truck”. And the 21st Amendment. And the incredibly trusting boyfriend who said, “No, really, I don’t mind if you act like a moron with old and new friends in a city that’s over 1200 miles away.” And Five-Hour Energy, beads, Pub passes, turtles, Sandra Lee, flight upgrades, and strippers of all varieties. So, without further ado, an assortment of blind items and a few “dirty deets” for Cali-Boi.

(You know what? This might go better if you open up iTunes or what have you and play anything jazz-related or with a throbbing dance beat. Go ahead; I’ll wait. Minimize it…okay, now you’re in New Orleans.)

The first rule of Southern Decadence, as explained to me when I entered our self-proclaimed “Frat Pad”:


Oh, wait, as an aside to the gorgeous flight attendant – that’s right, you know who you are, Mr. Flight 971 from Philly to Miami, don’t think I didn’t see you put extra blueberries in my bowl, so what if everyone else got them, and you’re married, but I still felt special in your presence…so HI! Oh, and American Airlines – HI and THANK YOU for getting us everywhere we needed to be without stark disaster. And the TSA Agents who left me on the plane despite my drunk idiosyncrasies – I appreciate the fact that you know the difference between terrorists and someone with a little too much “Stoli O” in their system.

Oh, wait, again – a few more shout-outs. I am certain that Jason Thomas was there. Possibly dancing next to me at Parade, shirtless and built, to “Acapella”. Or on Oz’s balcony, waving beads. I may have felt you up, Sport. Who knows?

Also, you know what’s fun? When you meet royalty – and that’s what Miss Ginger Grant is, potentially even more so as Boy Ginger. Met up with her at Café Lafitte in Exile on Friday night, quite by accident, as my friends were dragging me (kicking and screaming, I’m sure) to look off the balcony. And in the new meet (or is that “meat”?) category, Dan from Chicago was also there with his main squeeze, Luis! Nicest. Guys. Ever.

(Interestingly enough, we saw Dan and Luis again on Sunday night. Or was it Monday? Or June? Oh, hell…but it seemed almost impossible to catch up with Miss G – well, as impossible as it was to pin yours truly down. Too much to see!) Still, it was awesome to meet such fun, entertaining people…and I look forward very much to the next, when we can finally raise a glass at the same time!

THE CULTURE

I must confess, the Boy Toy has only been to the South once – a lengthy trip to Atlanta nearly eight years ago. Previously, we thought the Earth ended just below Alexandria, Virginia, and that Jesse Helms was just some sort of hysterical punchline. But New Orleans is rich in history and culture, which promptly smacked us in the face.




No, really, you have to hang on to those straps.


During a stroll-through in the Garden District, we also encountered the above-ground mausoleums indicative of New Orleans.

This cemetery, by the way, is directly across from Commander’s Palace (1403 Washington Avenue, no shorts, jackets preferred at dinner), who happens to run a terrific 25 cent lunchtime martini special! Which brings us to:

THE FOOD

Again, having never been there before, The Boy Toy was determined to soak up as much of the local culture – and local food - as he could. And for those of you who have never been there – all of these were spectacular and out of this world.


Turtle Soup at Commander’s Palace (Yes, why THANK YOU, I WILL have more sherry on top of that!)


Black Skillet Seared Gulf Fish at Commander’s Palace


Roasted Chicken and Stracci at Bacco (Oh, you have a ten-cent martini special? Can we make reservations for tomorrow here, right now?)

Oyster Soup and Bananas Foster at Brennan’s (Does this wine make my ass look fat?)

Eggs St. Charles at Brennan’s (That’s right, I lift weights. Protein, baby!)

Poor Boy Eggs Benedict at Stanley (You have screwdrivers? I’ll take two. Oh, my friends? They’ll take two, as well. I’m fully aware that my plane leaves in two hours. I have time for two more drinks after this, and a couple of shots. I can take beer in the cab all the way to the airport, right?)


And just for fun, Tater Tots and a Burger at Clover Grill (The six-year old in me said, “Tater Tots!” while the 31-year old in me said, “Look at that hot daddy in the Florida Gators shirt!”)

Now this may have you thinking that we were alcoholics. Which could not be FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH…then again, why not let Sandra Lee explain it? Because “Cocktail Time!” and “Lush!” quickly became rallying cries, every time someone looked as though they might fall behind. And really, pretty much everything she says…well…she could have written this post.



Actually, on drinking, to be completely honest…we made Jemmye from The Real World: New Orleans look like a Prohibitionist. Most notably after a few Applesauce shots at Café Lafitte’s in Exile (Hi, Sean!), the country’s oldest gay bar. Actually, after a few of those, we were ready to take on anything!



Hi, Ecstasy! You guys are some of the most understanding people on Bourbon Street!

But lest you think we got carried away with just female dancers…
Hi, Tony! Seriously, call me. From now on, I’ll make sure my money is clean before it goes in my mouth.

Speaking of money, we did Harrah’s Casino…and I won ten cents.
(Which sounds so much better than I lost $99.90.)

It was won at the Playboy slot machine. When I remarked that this was not the first time a female had disappointed me, every married man from Dubuque within earshot snickered. But I digress, because Playmates are just a hop, skip, and jump from my FAVORITE THING ABOUT SOUTHERN DECADENCE (and NEW ORLEANS IN GENERAL).

THE DANCING

The dancing during Decadence? Bad ass. Now, The Boy Toy is not a showy individual (ok, much). You would not see him with his shirt off on the street, in a leather harness. (Admiring those who do, most likely!) But never have I ever been to a city where you just want to be on the dance floor, shaking your ass. Or someone else’s.

(Hi, Austin!)

(Or was it Dallas?)

On the street, on the dance floor, in the hotel lobby. And once we realized that we could listen to the Ice Cream Truck song anywhere, anytime, on a smartphone? Well, the Frat Pad was mobile. And it was almost Pavlovian in nature – if one person started to just sway themselves slightly, others would, too. Which is how two of us ended up at Krazy Korner, during a bachelorette party, doing Washington Apple shots, and giving some Shakira-esque hip action (ok, well, not quite that festive) to Fergie’s “London Bridge”.

Such a lady, but I’m dancing like a ho. Indeed. In fact, I spent most of AA Flight 1072’s return trip – and yes, there WAS Chardonnay in my hand) wiggling in my seat to my iPod, trying to make my trip last longer and not think about all the old and new friends, leaving in a ton of different directions.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE PARADE?

Oh, here. Knock yourself out! Pics may embiggen if you click on them. Try not to lick the screen.



























Ultimately, that’s where I think I’ll leave this. Much like in San Francisco, emotions got the better of me a few times – just incredibly happy to have witnessed this, proud of the community for certain things, and lucky…truly lucky…for friends and what Macy Gray might refer to as all “the beauty in the world”. And even when protestors yelled their nonsense on Bourbon Street – it was a large mix of straight and gay partygoers who paid them no mind, shrugged it off, and went back to singing along with the corner bar’s karaoke rendition of “Don’t Stop Believing”. And dancing.

Always dancing.



P.S. I’d be remiss if I didn’t include a plug for a terrific social networking/gay social calendar site (www.gaycities.com). And the Decadence pics on there? Why, I never! Check them out on the Web, Facebook, and Twitter.

-Boy Toy