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Toilets

2002-12-29: Snake and Jakes

There are many different types of bars in New Orleans. There are neighborhood bars, there are college bars, there are feaux upscale dance clubs, and there are music clubs. If you look behind these places and into the dark back streets you will find places like Snake and Jake's.

Snake and Jake's is an extremely dark bar adorned with dim Christmas lights. Snake and Jake's is as seedy as Tweety Bird's shit.

I generally view it as a bad thing to be scared in a bar. If something happens to make me nervous when I'm supposed to be relaxing and having fun then it kind of defeats the purpose of the outing. Once or twice can be forgiven. People often drink too much in bars, and even nice places have an occasional skirmish or two. The occasional drunken tourist will invade even the most low key hangout. But having tension just below the surface on every visit to a place is too much for me.

Snake and Jake's is never my idea. I don't like the people who loiter outside of the bar. I don't like the people inside of the bar. I don't like the bathrooms and I don't like the bar.

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2003-01-05: The Maple Leaf

I have worried several times that I may run out of material for the Toilets page. I have also worried that I may end up randomly going to bars I don't want to simply to get a shot of their toilet. What I have learned is that the number of bars in New Orleans approaches infinity. And not just out of the way poopy bars you'll never see, but actual bars where people go.

The Maple Leaf is a place I've heard about for a long time but never went. Overall I give it a thumbs up. It is a music club, and the band of the night was Papa Grows Funk. They were pretty good. They had a rocking good guitar player, and were generally fun to listen to. A little too into jamming for my taste, but I've noticed I am much less tolerant of the jam than most.

On the night in question it was extremely crowded around the stage and main bar. But this establishment sported a sparse back room bar. This is a godsend for those who prefer looking cool at the bar over rubbing up against people on the dance floor. Not that I'm against rubbing up against people, just that I prefer it out of the context of a dance floor.

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2002-03-23: Molly's

Molly's at the Market on historic Decatur street. For those of you readers not in the know, many New Orleans natives are "Decatur Snobs". Generally these people are either goth, gutter punks, piercing freaks, or otherwise "outsiders" who still identify themselves by what they dislike more than what they like. These people don't like the neon cheeziness of Bourbon, and instead prefer the subdued and dark cheeziness of Decatur.

I believe Molly's to be the Nexus of Decatur. It always seems to be the favorite spot of the true hardcore quarter fiends. Well, of the Decatur variety anyway. I must admit, dear reader, that even your down to earth and friendly host (me) was at one time a Decatur snob. My tastes have migrated somewhat north towards Bourbon street and I am now a heterogenous quarter man.

This weekend Molly's saw fit to reiterate just how fat I used to be. As if I needed even more convincing of my former girth. This weekend a girl walked up to me in Molly's and just looked at me. I thought it was my X-Girlfriend Michelle so I began to speak - but it wasn't her. I stammered and just looked at her.

"Yes?" I asked. I had no idea what was going on.

"I was just saying hi," she said.

I looked at her with a deadpan expression. I was confused. "Hi," I said.

We just looked at each other for about 20 seconds. I was trying to figure out if I knew this girl and she was expecting me to remember her.

"Well," she said, "I was on my way out..." She looked at me expectantly.

"OK...Bye," I replied. She gave me a hurt look and left.

Using my keen analytical powers I eventually figured out what most of you have already surmised...this girl was hitting on me hardcore. I also eventually realized (and once again, you guys probably figured this out immediately) that this girl probably thought I was being the most aloof and arrogant dick on the face of the earth. This is not the case. Even if she was a hag (which she wasn't) I would have been at the very least polite and conversational. The truth is that I was completely at a loss for what was going on. I had no idea what the girl wanted and so was just in a stupor trying to figure it out.

And this is how Molly's told me "John...you were a big fat piece of shit when last you entered my doors. You were completely oblivious to the fact that no women ever tried to hit on you."

Good God man...reality is a harsh mistress.

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2003-01-22: The R Bar

"You always end up at the R Bar."

These are the words of my former ballroom dancing teacher. I have seen her downtown a few times, and indeed all of these times we ended up at the R bar.

I often go through a sort of ritual when I try to park in the Quarter. I know good and damn well I'm going to end up parking in the Marigny, but for some reason I drive up and down the streets trying to find a better spot. Except I don't have nearly enough patience for it, and just drive down the end of Bourbon to my normal spots. One of these spots is right near the Royal Street Inn.

For months I had no idea where this supposed "R" bar was. I had walked up and down the neighborhood, never finding it. One day when someone was trying to explain it, I said "You mean by the Royal Street Inn?"

They looked at my like I was a buffoon. "The Royal Street Inn is the R Bar.

Doh

The R Bar is pretty cool. It remains open after the other spots are packing it in, and this alone makes it worth visiting. Nothing makes you feel as bad as hearing "Last Call" in the Quarter. When you hear that, you know it's late. But all you have to do is walk down the street to the R Bar and you can pretend it's early.

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2003-06-01: Pal's

Pal's is somewhat out of my normal stomping grounds. It can be found in a neighborhood in Bayou St. John. It is owned by Rio, the same guy who owns El Matador. And like El Matador, it has one of those badass Ms. Pac Man/Galaga combo machines. As of this writing, I currently hold the high score in Galaga at El Matador: 998,000. (Pause for applause). I'm not sure who has the high score at Pal's, but it is 558,000. Oh yes, it will be mine.

Pal's sports some of the same bartenders as El Matador, and if you know anything about anything in New Orleans, you know that this is a Good Thing.

The men's bathroom at Pal's has on it a pleasant reminder of why I am alive. What more is there to say? It and DBA have the most interesting bathroom walls around. (Note: my DBA bathroom pic doesn't have any wall coolness in it, unfortunately)

From time to time I have an unsettling feeling that there is some sort of "coolness network" at play in the city. I have this suspicion that word of mouth travels, and beepers go off. Cool girls call cool girls, and the cool girls call the privileged few lucky guys. This conspiracy of coolness ensures that all of the cool people end up at the same place at the same time. Those unlucky downtrodden un-cool guys end up at what last week was the cool place to be, only to find out that it is just him and some sixty year old drunk dude with a bright red nose. He wonders, "Where are all of the cool people I saw here last week?"

All I know is that in the night in question, all of the cool people were at Pal's.

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