August 12, 2008 :: The rubber and the road

I love road trips. And tomorrow I will be leaving on a rather fantastic one that will entail at least two (a third is in flux) rock-type shows, a suite at a hotel I know will be clean, well-appointed and feature ice-cold air conditioning (Starwood-owned hotels just plain rock the hell out of any motel 6, La Quinta, HoJo, Best Western-type establishment. Oh, so much do they rock with the mod decor, the Bliss products, the Tazo tea with your little coffeemaker...), awesome food, awesome drinks of the mixed variety, fantastic architecture, and 1990's era mix-tapes blasted obnoxiously from a '91 Econoline van speeding due south from Atlanta.

This is band-trip #2: Musicians and significant others go to New Orleans. Woo hoo!

I need a nap just thinking about it.

I feel unprepared. I haven't had a lot of time to explore what I should do or see while we're there. That's nothing new for me, really. What's weird is that I almost expect the city to just suck me in and show me where we need to be. My better judgment knows that this has backfired in the past and left me and company meandering aimlessly through various places (one snoozer of a trip to Baltimore stands out), but I can't shake it. Maybe I'll do a little googling this afternoon. Just to be safe.

I will take pictures. I will try hard to not drink too many hurricanes. (My father tells me a weakness for rum-punchy drinks is something I've inherited from my mother. Knowing her and the stories, I don't have a chance.) I will rock my face off, with abandon, at every opportunity.

I will write you when I get back.

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