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Toilets

2001-10-03: Reader Submission

Here we have a reader submission. Austin is proudly displaying the pride of New Orleans. This toilet was found at the outdoor skating rink in City Park. Of course, since N.O. is so incredibly hot, the rink is only open one day a year from 12:00am - 1:30am.

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2005-03-30: Flanagans

"I want to hear more of the New Orleans Bar Drama," Tony said to me just before his flight from San Francisco to New Orleans.

"In San Francisco," he said, "No one gives a shit about the bartender. They're just there to sling drinks. They're completely replaceable. In San Francisco the DJ is everything."

Although in New Orleans dance clubs the DJ does enjoy cultish rock-star status, in most bars it is the bartender that is the draw. Bartenders build up a little following - the males get a little gaggle of puppy eyed girls, and the females get a horde of lecherous primates hoping for a shot at her one night after she's had a few. Or maybe everyone just likes the conversation.

The bartenders can be very territorial with "their" customers, and being a guy who a) Remains surprisingly perceptive when completely incapable of multisyllabic speech and b) Is present at bars fairly often, I tend to hear quite a bit of the famous New Orleans Bar Drama. Arguments break out. "He takes all the good shifts." "She was rude to a customer." "The owner thinks I stole that money?! Well let me tell you what the other bartender did..."

Among the handful of bars I regularly frequent there has been a considerable amount of New Orleans Bar Drama. Bartenders leave (or are relieved from) the bars where they work and set up shop behind another tap. With them go many of their normal crowd. I have seen formerly packed bars become ghost towns with the departure of one popular bartender.

That being said, the only reason I started going to Flanagan's was because Andy and Melanie, the husband and wife bartending duo who formerly tended at the Dervish, now bartend there. And of course when I go I see all of their regulars, all of the tattoos and piercings, all of the black hair and pants. There isn't a dance floor, and for that I am grateful. I'm not really much of a club dancer, and I hate having to scream over music. I much prefer forcing everyone around me to pay 100% of their attention to me and only me. When people are dancing, people watch them rather than listen to my witty anecdote about tailpipe shaving, or the time I flooded Harmony's house with poop during a party. (Hey, I'm not the one who flushed the tampon!)

There is also a restaurant connected to the bar, and that's always a plus. I have never understood people who can drink and not get hungry.

I have been to no less than 3 costume parties at Flanagan's. Dressing up is fun, and having an excuse to dress up makes you feel less like a dolt when you're walking around the French Quarter dressed like Shirley Temple.

Postscriptum: Yes that is my Long Island Iced tea perched precariously on the sink.

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2005-04-04: Schiro's

Schiro's is a great little place out in the Marigny. The Marigny is essentially a suburb of the French Quarter, lying just to the east of it, bounded by Esplanade to the West, St. Claude to the North, the river to the South, and the train tracks to the East.

Schiro's has a whole lot going on. They have a laundromat in the back, a restaurant, a bar, and a small convenience store all rolled up into one building. Their rosemary grilled chicken is excellent, and I highly recommend it. On Saturday afternoons they have a wine tasting.

I was a bit hesitant to attend the wine tasting. I never really understood the whole "wine thing." People swirling wine around their glasses and sniffing it, putting on an affected facial expression and using adjectives like "woody" or "full-bodied." Feh.

But I should have known better. If all of my degenerate friends are going, you can be sure there will not be much pomp. They all arrived, alcoholism in tow, and a splendid time was had by all. Since then Tracey and I have gone back a few times. Every week they have new wines and they are all reasonably priced.

Be careful though! While the wine is reasonably priced, the beer is at convenience store prices. Consider yourself warned.

They also have a nice brunch on Sunday mornings. I enjoy sitting there on a lazy morning and looking at the world go by outside. Their bicycle delivery guy is actually a pretty good piano player, and on occasion he'll sit down and play a bunch of old tunes. Oh, and the Sunday waitresses are smoking hot. Tracey actually preemptively punched me in the arm when she saw them, knowing that at some point I would ogle them - whether she caught me or not.

They have fresh Hubig Pies by the register. I remember one Saturday morning several months ago, stumbling through the bright sunlight on my Marigny/Bywater walk of shame and stopping at Schiro's for something - anything - to eat. Almost nothing else in my life has ever tasted as good as that Hubig Apple Pie did during my walk of shame.

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2005-04-11: Bourbon Street Blues Company (BBC)

Bourbon Street Blues company is on Bourbon Street. This means several things. While there is a live band, you will never hear an original song. There are shot girls, young thin and beautiful, plastic and inhuman. They smile at you and flirt, they rub on you, they wink, they act like they like you - all for the green in your wallet. There are guys in khaki shorts, baseball caps, and sandals. There are girls with ironed straight and highlighted hair.

There are several places on Bourbon that are essentially the same place, BBC being one of these. They have 3 for 1 drink specials most of the time, and though they're not quite as good a deal as they sound (7 bucks for 3 Abita Ambers), it's still a low price relative to most in the quarter.

For whatever reason BBC is the place I go when I'm in the mood for some good old fashioned Bourbon Cheese. It's not quite as much of a meat market as Razoo or Utopia...Or maybe it is and it just doesn't seem as such...After all, the female bartenders do wear tight black pants and tight black tanktops. And there are shotgirls slinking around.

As you can see, the urinal at BBC is a trough, which as any hardgeus.com reader knows is my least favorite form of urine receptacle. I am happy to report though, that now that I am almost 30 I have almost completely cured myself of the dreaded pee-shyness. I can now use a trough with little trouble. Maybe a little initial panic where I think I won't be able to go, but I always get through.

Do girls get pee shy? Use the feedback form to let me know. Girls, tell me your story, if there is one. Pee shyness is a relatively common topic of conversation among (at least my) guy friends, but I don't know if I've ever met a girl who was pee shy.

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2010-06-27: The Dock

This thing that I call "New Orleans" is not a physical place. If I were to be totally honest, I would have to say that this mythical place is actually the mindspace inhabited by the intelligent and the recently-drunk. Also the perpetually drunk. I don't know about you, but I find reality painful. I find the world very difficult to process and still continue to properly function emotionally. I want very badly to bring something positive into this world, and the complexity of every problem is so incredible that every effort is pissing into a sea of piss. Me and Tracey chug down the river in our boat. We see beautiful water birds that we cannot name. They fly with equal velocity to our boat, and I imagine that we are in a race. We arrive at the dock, and it's like cheers. Brenda greets us and hugs us and makes sure we have beers. The New Bartender struggles to find the Purple Hazes that are stocked solely because of our tastes. The Galaga machine at the Dock is set to high difficulty. One would think that "high difficulty" would mean super fast with lots of shit flying around, but in fact "high difficulty" on Galaga actually means everything runs really slowly (particularly your ship and bullets) and is pretty much boring. Brenda gave me permission to open up the machine and flip the dip switches to make it faster, but I have been terrified that I would drunkenly break something and have to pay for it. Last time we went to the Dock, Galaga was gone. And there was much suffering and gnashing of teeth. By car, this bar is right around French Settlement, Louisiana. You'd think that this would be a hotbed of closed-minded thought and stereotypical intolerance. Nothing could be further from the truth. "You know what I've come to realize," the cop said to me while drinking at the Dock, "We just need to legalize all of this shit, because all the law is doing is putting everybody in jail. It's fucking ridiculous." An openly gay teen plays pool with some Corn-Fed Country Boys. The world is far more subtle than fits into quick sound bites. As you have probably noticed, the Dock has the dreaded "Cock Trough" style of urinal. After years of pissing in bars, I have finally developed the proper right-hand technique to cover my junk whilst pissing.

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