AC, Maurice, and I hit the road on February 1st, fresh off two raucous send-offs for us in the form of a righteous going away party at Lido Bar, and the final SHLSHKD show where friends guzzled whiskey down my throat and the band showered me in champagne (an oddly rock-star treatment for a decidedly un-rock-star band). This totally eased the insane stress of packing and moving (the details of which are so not worth getting into – though if you’re going to move cross-country, ship your stuff via Amtrak – cheap and efficient!).
Our first stop was Blacksburg, VA to visit my old friend Nikki and crash at her house. I was almost seduced into staying in Blacksburg with its friendly locals, refreshingly cheap beers (hello $2 22oz. Guinness at the bars?!), the influx of common friends as regular houseguests, and the spaciousness of Nikki’s place. Then again, maybe that’s just me being nostalgic for Harrisonburg, JMU, and the collegiate lifestyle in general. Or perhaps it was just my first breath of fresh air from New York City living.
Nikki’s house bears an eerie resemblance to Rosemary’s Baby. She rents the 2nd floor alone, while the absentee owners take their sweet time renovating the 1st floor. She has never met them. The basement is scary, packed with aged porcelain dolls and a succession of broken cradles. In one of the rooms, a decorative mirror reads “A Mother’s Love Never Dies.” Creepy. But Nikki seems geniunely happy there, pursuing graduate studies in Geology and Chemistry at Tech, and after soaking in one night of her scene, I feel she’s in a better place in her life than she was when she lived in DC, rocking out with the Carlsonics. “Welcome back to the South, y’all,” she warmly toasted at dinner. “Both of you.”
Next day, we continued our shot down I-81 to I-40, where we stopped in Nashville. Hit up the honky tonk bars, caught some live rockabilly music, stocked up on Western buttondowns and a Johnny Cash box set at Ernie Tubb’s. The concierge at the hotel was friendly. When we told him where we were from, he said his cousin was a rapper living in Brownsville. “He’s one wild dude.” I asked him who, thinking it was just some upstart kid. “Redman.Yeah, he crazy, man.” This led to an amiable conversation about Method Man, Wu-Tang, and mid-90s hip-hop. Not what I was expecting from the South. This buffered our success in sneaking Maurice in and out of the hotel.
Wanted to stop in Memphis to visit Graceland, Stax, and the Church of Al Green, but AC was itching to get to NOLA. Also, our friend Lola had forbidden us to stop at Dollywood without her, so she can breathe easy. So we shot our way down through Alabama, stopped at a rib shack outside Birmingham, so AC could eat some ribs. After that, we gunned it through Mississippi and reached NOLA well after nightfall.
Our friend (of a friend) and new landlady Johanna had left the keys to our place in our mailbox so we let ourselves in. AC and I started doing jumping jacks once we got in, giggling uncontrollably, hugging and running circles for 10 minutes. Maurice lost himself in the loft. The place is huge! We knew we were looking at more space, but this was overwhelming. In fact, I am typing this from the study. WHO has a study in their apartment? After cramming our lives in a shoebox of a one-bedroom railroad in Carroll Gardens for three years, we honestly don’t know what to do with so much space. We now have a 3 bedroom, 1400 square-foot camelback duplex to furnish. We’ll figure it out. These are the problems people want to have, and I’m thankful for them. And hello the rent’s cheaper!
It is also worth noting that the date of our arrival (Saturday, February 4th) was the first official night of Mardi Gras, which would lead to quite an introduction to the Crescent City in which I now live.
