Going to Hell

Tomorrow I get the fun-filled airport experience again. I've already ranted about the sick bastards sitting next to me on the plane, and the idiots who try to shove 50 pound trunks in the tiny, crowded overhead bins knocking other passengers unconscious in the process. This time I get the joy of flying out of San Francisco to Houston, and then from Houston to New Orleans. If I were asked if I would rather go to hell or to New Orleans, I would have to seriously ask, "What's the difference?"

New Orleans was a smelly stink-hole BEFORE the hurricane. I can only imagine it now. The entire city sits below sea level, so there is no where for sewage to run. They can't bury their dead, either, because they just pop back up.

The last time I was in New Orleans, we stayed at a hotel right on the main drag. Our room had a balcony so we had a full view of the street action. Night after night, we watched the same group of conventioneers wandering up and down the street, name badges still on, making complete asses out themselves. Added to the mix of drunken conventioneers are the college kids, and there were also people wandering the street from places like North Dakota where they're just as happy as hell to be out of the sub-zero cold and snow.

Booze and beads rule this town, and at about 4:00 AM we would hear the street cleaners coming through. They literally hose down the French Quarter each morning of all the puke and piss from the drunkards of the previous night. The smell is awful, AND there is no where for it to drain to, so it just kind of swirls around in the street.

The only thing worse than going to New Orleans is needing the stop-over in Texas. Read my "I Hate Texas" blog entry if you want to know more.