Last Sunday morning, Mom and Dad headed north out of Indianapolis, while Dave, Joshua and I headed south. Jonathan stayed home and watched the house (in between going to work and spending time with Maggie - I doubt that he got much house-watching done). After lots of hard driving, a blown tire and a busted mirror, we arrived in Baton Rouge, Louisiana on Monday evening. We spent several days taking it easy and doing back-to-school shopping before helping Joshua move into his dorm room on Friday morning. Dave took some pictures of the campus, so he'll fill you in on some of that stuff.
After leaving Joshua at LSU, Dave and I drove even further south to spend a night in New Orleans. These are some of the things we saw:
First, a statue of Andrew Jackson outside of the St. Louis Cathedral. This statue looks very similar to the one that stands outside of the White House.
Second, a French Quarter neighborhood. I decided to go for a classic black and white look with this one.
Third, the famous (or infamous) Bourbon St. After 7:00 p.m., the police shut down vehicular traffic for several blocks along Bourbon St. and the neighborhood turns into something like a big block party.
Dave and I ate supper at here. They had pretty good Po' Boys at a good price. Dave had roast beef, I had catfish.
As you can tell from the photos above, it was still pretty light out when we entered the park. Since we hung around for awhile and listened to a Dixieland Band, it was pretty dark by the time we left. (Note about the photo: the park has misters to cool down the audience; hence, the foggy spots.)
A little bit later in the evening, we went to a jazz club, Maison Bourbon, and listened to Jamil Sharif and his band for about an hour.
This band was pretty good, so I bought an autographed CD at the end of the show. The pianist was standing in and had to use a fake book, but she pulled her weight well, including improvising several solos throughout the evening. Sharif, a trumpeter, was very good, as was his woodwind playing sidekick. The bass player was also good, but the drummer, I must admit, gave Dave and me the willies. He was a pretty young guy who looked like a beatnik wannabe, complete with thick glasses and a little goatee. During the second piece, Dave said to me, "The drummer keeps looking at himself in the mirror." I looked over and, sure enough, there was the drummer making faces at himself in the mirror. As we watched (and listened to) the show, we couldn't help noticing that the drummer had an amazing array of distorted faces that he made throughout the show, particularly during his solos. He spent most of the night looking like he was constipated. At the end of the evening, I said to Dave, "That drummer is creepy." Dave answered, "He's just weird. He's one of those guys who, if I knew him, I'd stay away from him as much as possible." Dave is more generous than I am; if I knew the guy, I'd never admit it.
By this time, it was close to 11:00 p.m. That's early by Bourbon St. standards, but it was late enough for me, so Dave and I returned to our hotel (Bourbon Orleans which was a convent for 83 years before being transformed into its current form as a lovely, reasonably priced hotel), and called it a night.