The Barryfest Chronicles

On Saturday, September 6 at approximately 10:45 pm local time I made it back to New Orleans after a week-long odyssey that took me to Meridian, Birmingham, Richmond, Tenafly, New York City and Chapel Hill before I finally returned to the Crescent City.  I would call it a “tour de force,” but during my travels – and the 45 hours I spent in a car over the last week – I became convinced that the term “tour de force” is thrown around way too liberally these days.

I am not quite sure what led me to this conclusion, but when you are on your second 5 Hour Energy shot of the evening and considering whether or not an America’s Best Value Inn right off I-85 in Virginia is far enough away the from the meth country of greater Appalachia to safely rest for three and a half hours without worrying about someone breaking into your car and stealing your checkbook, external hard drive and passport, fact-checking your own internal monologue is not high on your list of priorities.

I think it is best that the term “tour de force” only be used to describe one of two phenomenon:

1. A road trip that spans multiple countries, not just multiple cities
2. A colossal rock epic the likes of Derek and the Dominos’ “Layla,” Electric Light Orchestra’s “Living Thing,” the B-Side of Abbey Road or Spacehog’s “In The Meantime.”

But anyways. I set a new personal record by doing four loads of laundry today, I will be returning to work tomorrow, and it appears that this “Ike” character will be twisting into Texas by the end of the week (of course, he hasn’t gotten a taste of angel dust yet), so I hope that I will not be checking the “Riding the storm out” category in any blog posts in the near future.  And I also hope that the next time I am racking my brain for a new category name, I don’t go with an obvious allusion to a terrible REO Speedwagon song.

All in all, my first evacuation experience was – dare I say – almost entirely positive.  Sure, I was freaking the fuck out for the first 48 hours, and I had to purchase six tanks of premium gasoline at this summer’s outrageous prices, and I ate nothing but fast food for what seemed like an eternity; but this last week has been pretty fun and exciting.  I’m more well-traveled by exactly five US states, I gained a new appreciation for the beauty of major cities in Alabama and I got to see at least six of my favorite people while in New York.

But most importantly, I got caught up on over a month of neglected podcasts while on the road.  In addition to listening to the latest editions of This American Life, Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me, and The B.S. Report with Bill Simmons, I finally got a chance to dip into the five episodes of The Best Show on WFMU with Tom Scharpling I downloaded after seeing it name-dropped in Vulture a few weeks ago.

It is awesome.  I could easily (and very possibly may) devote an entire post to the genius of Tom Scharpling.  Until then, let me say this: without The Best Show, I do not think any of what went on over the last week would have been possible.

A few blocks from my apartment, nestled on a slightly overgrown corner on the one-way stretch of Magazine, you will find The Bridge Lounge. It is one of many hidden treasures I have found here in New Orleans since I arrived six months ago.

What makes this bar so great? Let’s see. They do not serve any food at any time of the day. And they do not have a single television screen anywhere in the bar. These are normally two big strikes AGAINST a drinking establishment in my book.

And the joint also lacks a jukebox. Instead, one of the bartenders just hooks up his iPod to the bar’s sound system and lets it rip. Strike three, right? Wrong. This actually where is all starts to come together and make sense. You see, last Saturday the dudes manning the taps and the tunes played Chocolate and Cheese in it’s entirety. No joke. They played a full Ween album for a diverse crowd on a Saturday night.

The place is just off the beaten path and looks pretty shitty from the outside. And considering the fact it lacks may of things meant to attract casual passers-by – drink specials, late night food, 10 screens of NFL Sunday Ticket, for example – it should come as no surprise that the proprietors see nothing wrong with blasting Ween on a Saturday night. And that is why it is so fucking sweet. Outside of a GLBT biker bar, this place is as take-it-or-leave-it as you can get. And if you do choose to “leave it”, no need to get riled up. Even though Bridge Lounge may feel like it is nestled into it’s own universe of awesomeness, it is actually closer to Balcony and The Bulldog than you may think. Read the rest of this entry »