(Son of a Gun Gonna Have Some Fun) On the Bayou

When I was in college, and for a few years after that whenever I wasn’t deployed, I loved going to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Back then, I didn’t mind crashing 5 to a hotel room and staying out all night and smelling like whatever unspeakable things Bourbon Street reeks of during that unfortunate stretch leading up to Fat Tuesday. The novelty eventually wore off and, as much as I love The Big Easy the rest of the year (minus Gay Southern Pride Week, another horrific celebration of the absence of inhibition, which I accidentally discovered one awful trip), I’m sad to say that I haven’t been back since Hurricane Katrina.

So it was with some pleasure that I discovered, stepping off the plane on this warm, humid Friday night, that it still smelled like New Orleans, an acrid mix of salt and brackish water and tar and chicory. Even my pitch-black drive through the bayou to Grand Isle was nostalgic and felt like a familiar adventure, having made similar swampy, creepy drives on a lot of road trips of years gone by. I swear in Cajun Country you can “feel the voodoo,” as my Tulane friends used to say.

The Gulf Shore is an entirely different story, but I suppose it has its own charm. Mostly, if you like to fish. We were there for StanBrock’s Black & Gold Classic, put on by Seth’s former coach Stan Brock. We were even billed as “celebrities” and got to stay in a cabin that was, in effect, a trailer on stilts. My deepest weekend regret is that I didn't get a photo of this thing.

At any rate, we had a blast. The event meant a great deal to Seth, who loved having the opportunity to help out (and hang out with) one of his most influential mentors.  He had desperately wanted to attend last year, but the broken ex fix got in the way and he was beyond disappointed to have to cancel- so getting to go this year was an even bigger deal. Getting to shoot Benelli shotguns and stuff himself with Cajun cooking and beer didn’t hurt either, and he loved getting to trade stories with all the NFL greats that Stan rounded up.

 

I was under no delusion that I was an actual event bigwig, but the Brock family was delightful and fun, and I got in a run on the beach and some much-needed downtime. I did not particularly enjoy, for the second weekend in a row, having to put myself to bed early while everyone else got to drink beer by the water (one of my very favorite things), but the Brocks promised that we could come back next year. And Seth is going to owe me some major babysitting.

Our relaxing weekend was over too soon, and I headed back to the rat race Sunday night (complete with late-night beltway traffic) while Seth went west for a weeklong training event. I arrived home and was greeted with standing water in our flooded basement, proving that you do generally wind up earning your beach time. Well worth it.

 

This is my favorite picture from the weekend, and not just because I know what happened a couple hours later. (Hey- it’s a time-honored south Louisiana tradition to indulge a little and refund on crawfish!)