And it worked. Presently, we saw a sign for what promised to be the “World’s Largest Cactus Plantation.” Why not. The road forced us to drive through backwoods country for a good couple of miles, which reminded us of horror movies, and not in a good way.
Soon enough we arrived at the “World’s Largest Cactus Plantation.” It was largely disappointing. I don’t know what we were expecting, but this turned out to be only a sizable greenhouse festooned with tiny cacti in pots and a barn full of old junk.
Nevertheless, Moldman was determined to get a souvenir, and purchased a small cactus. He affectionately named it Rodney, after our menacing and disinterested waiter at Perkin’s the day before, who Moldman absolutely insisted on calling by his first name. Given Moldman’s proclivity to forget things, notably where he is or who he’s with at the moment, we all looked at the small cactus in pity, and made bets on when such a highly resilient plant would finally give up and die. This was June, so we pegged its death day in August. And wouldn’t you know it? We all lost. Moldman surprised all of us – most of all himself – by having Rodney survive until October.
After a quick visit to Vicksburg National Park – where we encountered actual hostility to our press blog story for the first time, necessitating a quick call to their PR guy – we kept driving through a mostly uneventful Mississippi. Until we got to the casino.
You may remember the Ameristar as the riverboat casino that gets robbed in the underrated remake of The Ladykillers, starring Tom Hanks. Riverboat gambling has always been a dream of mine. My excitement was exceeded, however, by a very drunk and very happy Chinese man who was leaving the casino and actually bouncing for joy. The man was two seconds away from a cartwheel.
Encouraged by his exuberance, we entered the casino, bet the $24.80 that DrinkinPhoenix netted us back at the dog track on black, and promptly lost it. That’s why, now, I always bet on red. Fifty percent of the time it works all the time!
Like I said, the drive seemed uneventful, but, as Dustin said, “we got to see cacti, confederates, and casinos. What more do you want?”
Finally we arrived in New Orleans, which came in a close second for best city on the trip. In between the food, the nightlife, the sights, and general awesomeness, this city will be detailed in its entirety tomorrow. For now, however, a quick recap of the evening is in order.
Our hotel was located on something called Tchoupitoulas Street. We had no idea how to pronounce it either.
“Tshoo-pee-too-lass?”
“No.”
“T-cho-peh-tlass?”
“No.”
“To-chee-peet-lah?”
“No.”
“Touchy Pants?”
(General Giggling)
And henceforth, the street we were on became Touchy Pants, words we were happy to yell out randomly at inappropriate occasions when things got too quiet.
The night in New Orleans, as you would expect, was something of a blur. Among the highlights:
Enjoying Grandma’s $1.25 beers while walking on Bourbon Street. Moldman attempting to buy a gyro and failing to do so after a 20-minute wait. Hitting on a party of girls and thinking it was actually going pretty well, until they all turned out to be engaged. Alan sitting next to a random married couple to converse, and being asked to leave. Trying to find a worthwhile night clubs. Spying Mexicans coming out of a night club, Charlie sees a perfect opportunity to reacquaint himself with his roots, and asks them in Spanish whether the action inside was worth it. Charlie forgetting his Spanish and failing miserably. Nonetheless, the Mexicans’ enthusiastic recommendation is too much to ignore in any language, and we go in. Night club -- predictably, perhaps -- is worst night club ever. Going to a bar with a mechanical bull and seeing 100-pound sorority girls easily conquer it. Moldman declaring, “That looks easy!” and lining up to get on it, unaware that Dustin and Alan were bribing the guy in charge to put the mechanical bull on its most extreme setting. Moldman lasting maybe two seconds, trying again, lasting only one second, and then coming back to us, distressed. “They made it look so easy!” Dustin dancing with a 70-year old woman, who moves her head away when he, ever the gentleman, tries to kiss her on the cheek after the dance. Almost getting into a fight due to our inappropriate yelling of “Touchy Pants!” with drunk sorority girl screaming at Alan, “No, I will not touch yo’ pants!” Drunk, tired, miserable gambling at Harrah’s. Passing out.
Touchy Pants!
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