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ok. just wanted to let that settle in a little. and now for those promised pictures of me and the Southern Louisiana Rock Cougar at the ZZ Top show (mind you - these are not photoshopped):
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and settling ...
and one more of me and what might more accurately be described as a Southern Louisiana Rock Post-Coug (you should have seen the teeth on this one - sorry, "teeth"):
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Jazzfest 07, Part II - pictures courtesy of longtime Jazzfest traveler and VTK reader, C-Mac. Friday was a watery mess. The real torrential downpour waited until we were at the Fairgrounds and walking between tents in search of food. I got some fried chicken, then got completely drenched, and got a kick out of walking up to people in the rain while eating the chicken and saying "I think the chicken's a little dry this year." It killed, I tell ya. The aftermath:
Saturday brought the heat, the rest of our crew, and the food.
the heat:
the rest of the crew:
the food:
Crawfish Monica:
Crawfish Etouffee:
Sunday... jeez, what the hell happened on Sunday? I know we saw one of the Mardi Gras Indian parades through the Fairgrounds:
and some kids playing in the dirt during Steely Dan. The kids' pile of dirt and rocks had a little twig with a white napkin flag poking out of it which got trashed by the addition of more mountain. I fashioned them a new flag from a fork and a paper towel I found on the ground. Our mental capacity was very similar at this stage of the bender. They were probably a little smarter.
The last night in the Big Sleazy was obviously a bit blurry. But I did manage to capture this little bit of video which nicely exemplifies the last soldiers, those of us who were still chasing the tiger, pounding high lives and pork chop sandwiches at 3:30 in the morning, 3 hours before we had to get up to go to the airport:
Crazy indeed. That flight was rough. As was the five day gastrointestinal illness I contracted, presumably from some sort of Post-Katrina, government ignored, bacterial situation that must have made its way into the ice cubes that made their way into my cocktails. See you next year, New Orleans!
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oh, yeah - one more story to report: We were walking around the Fairgrounds on Saturday when I hear these two guys behind me talking about how hard they were partying or something and then one of them said, "These old people probably got up at 6 AM or something". I turned around to get a look at these guys and the "old people" they were talking about and the kid immediately looks me in the eye and says "oh, sorry." I was like "OH SHIT!! I'm the old guy?!!?!?" So everyone starts laughing at me and I stop and yell "Well don't coming begging to me next time you need a fucking packie run!"
In fairness, I do have some gray in the hair and beard, my t-shirt was tucked in, and I was wearing geriatric sunglasses, so I wasn't exactly downplaying the getting older thing.
not funny, vtk. coug #2 was my mom. i made her those pants. they're her jazz pants.
The jig is up. I guess I should admit that it was me that grabbed your mom's ass in the Chili's in Norman too. If it's any consolation, the women in your family stay firm well into their post-coug years. So, you've got that to look forward to.
(and nice couture work!)
So is high lives the official plural for the champagne of beers?
I'm honored that you would defer to me on this. I'm going to say that "high lives" is the preferred version and that "high lifes" is an acceptable alternative. I think the High Life is big enough to house two schools of thought on the issue.
You should sell insurance or cars with that 'stache. And what does coug' #1 have in her hand? A nitrous balloon? Glad to see you kept Jazzfest honest.
Not a nitrous balloon, though those were plentiful down on Frenchman's Street. It was some sort of maracca shaker thing that she was rubbing my nipples with.
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