Hiko checks in once again with the wildly popular "Moot Points", our weekly dose of comic relief here at The Cleveland Fan ... and God knows we need it right now given the way the Indians are playing.  In this week's installment, Hiko chronicles a recent trip he took to New Orleans to visit a friend shooting a film there, and predictably, there's no shortage of hilarity from the trip.  It's a great read, and takes us through the wave of emotions a guy with kids goes through when getting a chance to temporarily revery back to the days and ways of old.

~~~The City of New Orleans 

As chance would have it, Phineas - my former roommate from my NYU days and as close a friend as I have - is in New Orleans working on a film.  It seems lots of movies are shooting in Louisiana these days, as the state gives large tax incentives to the film business to promote production, and it's working.  If the film business is anything - it's cheap.   

(As I can attest, once getting a phone call at 11:30 at night a month after the shoot had ended to explain a $5 receipt I had on my petty cash.  After explaining myself several times to this non-comprehending over-industrious prick, I invited him to sue me for it.) 

Now, since New Orleans is much closer than L.A., and the opportunities for Phineas and me to hang out have been few and far far between since my Ohio relocation in early 2003, I deemed it wise to purchase a ticket for the weekend and crash at his hotel room.  And seeing as I'm all about wisdom, I boarded a southbound plane on Friday morning. 

Phineas has been in New Orleans since February.  The shoot wraps up in a couple weeks, but the fact remains that he has been apart from his wife and child for almost 4 months.  For many people, a 4 month vacation from their wife would be just what the doctor ordered, but Phineas and his wife, out of all my friends, have the only good relationship.  Hell, they have the only relationship that isn't complete shite. 

Outside of my own, of course. 

A location shoot is like a mini-universe, an alternate reality.  For the space of time that you are on the shoot, that is your reality 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  Your hotel room is your home.  Your co-workers are your friends and family.  All that outside stuff - your house, your bills, your car, your gastroenterologist... that becomes the fantasy world.  It only takes a couple weeks for your true reality to fade to gray. 

I don't know how Phineas does it.  When I was younger, oh so much younger, I used to love the out of town shoot.  I volunteered for them whenever I could.  I actively campaigned National Geographic, attempting to get on extended video shoots to Africa or Nepal.  I had nothing holding me back but a bitchy girlfriend, and, if I were lucky, perhaps she would've seen fit to remove herself from my life during my absence. 

But my production career was effectively done when my first daughter was born, and, now, the idea of being away from my girlfriend and my children for 4 months is daunting, to say the least.  I'd be terrified of The Disconnect.  Obviously, the lifestyle lends itself to infidelity, which, understandably, occurs at a high rate in the film industry.  Anyone who has waited in the checkout line of a grocery store is aware of this.  Throughout his career, Phineas and his wife have been able to maintain their honorability, but many do not.  When you go to bed and shut your eyes and the image of the girl that works in the catering truck has replaced the image of the woman that lives with you... 

If you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with. 

Or, more accurately, what happens on film shoot stays on film shoot. 

Anyhoo, Phineas had the day off on Friday, and picked me up at the airport.  After dropping my possessions off at his hotel in the Warehouse District, we put on our walking shoes and made our way towards the French Quarter, about 10 blocks.  Having essentially lived in this area for 4 months, Phineas was more than qualified to act as guide. 

Friday 

*The Crawfish Étouffée at Mother's was almost incomprehensibly delicious.  It might've been the best thing I had there - and that's saying something. 

*We went to DBA for some live music and drinks.  There is no better city in the U.S. for high quality, inexpensive live music than New Orleans.  And, as I quickly discovered, smoking is still legal in the bars down there.  Thus, despite the fact that I haven't been smoking lately, I went straight to the nearest tobacco merchant for a pack of delicious cigarettes.  Who knows the next time I'll be able to smoke in a bar? 

*Several bars later, we found ourselves at a dance club with a DJ that was playing remixes of 80's tunes - most so remixed that I hardly recognized them.  A giant screen behind her played The Last Dragon. 

Phineas got his groove and hit the floor, but I remained within arm's reach of the bar.  I dance only in emergency or under extreme influence.  It's not that I dislike dancing; I just imagine that my efforts out there resemble an epileptic emu.  When I have imbibed enough that I no longer care about the ass I make of myself, I might make my way out of my seat.  But not until then.  And certainly not until I got to see Bruce Leroy get the Glow. 

*As the evening wound down, we found ourselves at a bar called Vic's.  There, we bumped into a girl that Phineas works with (we'll call her Zorana) and her friend (we'll call her Topaz).  Zorana was a part of the local crew, and she was dressed for The Game, what with the hair and the make-up and the huge attention-demanding earrings that were about as subtle as a lower back tattoo that says "The Big Easy".  Topaz was a friend of hers from college in town for the weekend, so, naturally, I got stuck talking to her, seeing as we had so much in common. 

Topaz clearly felt that I was trying to hit on her, so she quickly established that she was married.  That didn't bother me in the least, since I certainly had no interest either, so I casually mentioned my girlfriend and children just a quickly and casually as she mentioned her husband.  Then I asked her about herself and let her go on a verbal rampage about her life (my, but that girl loved herself) whilst I nodded and drank.  This I had to do since my mouth no longer worked properly.  The countless glasses of scotch had taken their toll, severing my cerebral cortex from my tongue.  Any statement I made was met with a "What did you say?"  I... had... to... e... nun... see... ate... vair... eee... slooooooooowly. 

Fortunately, Zorana's jealous angry boyfriend showed up, jealous and angry at her "available" appearance, and the girls were whisked away before I could mutter "goodblye" and that bit of social nicety was thankfully over.  I was once again free to sink to the bottom of my whiskey glass.  4 am - time to go "home". 

Saturday 

*Phineas forced me out of bed much earlier than I would have liked, as the echoes of scotch demons still paraded in my head (must be why they're called spirits).  But after a delicious po' boy soaked up some of the evil juices, I was ready for the day. 

*We hopped a streetcar to Audubon Park, right across from Tulane University where my sister went to school for one dramatic semester.  The park was beautiful, and we just walked around to burn off some of the toxins.  There was a huge tree there that was lousy with snowy egrets.  There was also a jogging trail, which we meandered beside.  All manner of joggers ran by us, including James Carville, who was glaring around angrily as if to ward off social interaction. 

"Phineas," I told my friend.  "I'll give you 5 bucks if you yell at him, ‘Hey, aren't you the guy from Old School?'" 

*Later, after some drinks and some more live music, we decided to try out the Hookah bar on Frenchmen.  Neither of us had done the hookah thing before.  For those uninitiated, a hookah looks a large ornate bong with a hose attached.  It heats flavored tobacco with lit coals and filters it through water into the hose, giving one a clean and tasty smoking experience which lasts quite a while. 

Phineas was reminded of the caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland, and he and the girls who sat at the table next to us, who were also apparently Alice fans, started randomly reciting lines from the book/movies.  As I sat there smoking our jasmine/plum combination, I reflected how this was my first Hookah Lewis Carroll Quote-Off.  Hopefully, not the last. 

*Inspired by the success of the hookah experiment and encouraged by our table neighbors, Phineas and I went from Hookah Central to an absinthe bar called Pravda.  Absinthe is a potent liquor which has been illegal in the United States until last year due to the fact that it contains wormwood, which, if ingested in regularity and large doses, can apparently drive you insane.  Several noted writers frequented it, including Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and, not surprisingly, Mr. Crowley. 

We had two glasses of absinthe each.  I am either unafraid of being driven insane, or intensely curious to see what being insane feels like, although logic would dictate that it would be difficult to achieve insanity from one consumption.  In fact, the drink had very little effect on me whatsoever, to my slight dismay.  Phineas, however, was having a very different experience.  Upon drinking the 2^nd glass, he hit a wall the size of Nebraska. 

We cabbed it back to Vic's, where he got shepherd's pie in an attempt to sober up, but, alas, the damage was done.  His night was over and he went back to the hotel.  But at only 1 am on Saturday night in New Orleans, I was loathe to give the night up for deceased. 

‘Twas a grave mistake. 

The bar was a corpse and seemed about to shut down when a wave of drunken idiots came in.  They were from some state in the Midwest that started with M - I can't quite recall if it was Michigan or Minnesota or Misconsin.  They started buying everyone, including myself, shots of Jaeger.  Then, in gratitude, I bought them some.  Then the bartender bought us all drinks.  Then we bought them for him.  Then he bought us some more. 

Then the Jaeger shots kicked the absinthe in.   

Ghosts wandered the streets for the three blocks from Vic's to the hotel, and I was one of them.  I don't recall much of that walk, but I do remember wondering aloud if I were dead.  I soon would wish I was. 

Upon lying down on the sofa bed at the hotel room, the world span.  Or spun.  The past tense of spin.  Out of control, a horrible ride at the fair that I couldn't get off.  There was only one way to save myself. 

The bathroom was connected to Phineas' room, so I had to pardon myself as I walked past his bed to the toilet to do what must be done.  About 20 times. 

Stare in the mirror.  When ya gonna learn? 

Ah well.  To paraphrase Rizzo from Grease, you gotta get your kicks while you're young enough to get ‘em. 

Sunday 

*The next morning was, how do I put this delicately?... delicate.  But the day was beautiful and it was my last full one in New Orleans, so I arose and ignored my screaming cells.  Such is life. 

*Walking down the street in the Quarter, we met with one of Phineas' co-workers, Lorelei.  I only knew her for a few hours, in reality, but it was easy to tell that she was a really good person, the kind of person that you only have to know briefly to know that you can trust them.  I've often complained about the people in the Film Biz whilst I was immersed in that profession, but I will never say that of the Production people that were in the trenches, doing the real work.  Those are some of the best people on earth, and I miss them. 

I just don't miss the Producers, Directors, Actors, Studio Execs, Advertising Execs, etc. etc. etc.  The Powers That Be. 

With Lorelei was her boyfriend, Giovanni, and his friend, Xerxes, both from Lansing, MI.  We all decided to go to the R Bar, play pool, drink, smoke, and play a card game called Scopa. 

Giovanni is a musician, and he was playing at the Circle Bar that night, so we went to watch him.  He was a one man show, just singing and guitar, and quite impressive at that.  Now, Giovanni is younger-20-something and Lorelei is probably 40-ish.  She's a hairstylist and will be returning to L.A. in a couple weeks once the movie is over.  My assumption is that Giovanni is staying in New Orleans.  So the May to December (or, in this case, February to May) romance that Lorelei and Giovanni have will most likely come to a close at that point.  They'll part as friends, and their lives will drift on and away. 

Watching Lorelei's face as she watched Giovanni sing songs he'd recently written about her, I could see that there was at the very least fondness there.  And it was also obvious that Giovanni felt at least the same way about her.  And yet... the time limit stands.  They can do nothing but enjoy the waning days they have left. 

Regardless, they'll always have New Orleans. 

*I was talking to another musician there named Hilario.  He came on after Giovanni, and had a fantastic powerful voice.  As is my wont, we started our conversation about beards.  He felt it was important to have facial hair.  We briefly discussed great beards of the past (Jesus, Gandalf, Rasputin) before turning to our professions.  Few musicians in New Orleans can survive on what they make from their shows, so he works elsewhere to foot the bills, the same as I and everyone that writes for this website do.  He called it "the Clark Kent and the Superman".  His Clark Kent is his day job.  His Superman is his singing. 

I am no longer sure which life is my Superman.  Assuming there is a Superman. 

Ain't it possible that Clark Kent just said "F*** it" and took a good long nap? 

*After the show, hanging out with people over 10 years younger than we, Phineas and I discussed being at peace with our lives. 

That life of the Giovannis and the Xerxes and the Hilarios, the unfettered, idealistic, world-at-your-doorstep existence, is for all intents and purposes gone for Phineas and me.  We both have children.  He is married.  I might as well be.  We are anchored to our current existences, and that isn't necessarily a bad thing.  We had that other life when we were in our 20's.  Both of us took advantage of our youth.  The only regrets we really have are the girls we could've slept with but didn't. 

At that moment in time in NOLA, during that conversation, I was ready to go home, to return to my reality... I was at peace with my life. 

I am at peace with my life.  I am at peace with my life.  I am at peace with my life. 

See?  If I say it enough times, I can convince myself it's true. 

Monday 

*My flight wasn't until 6 pm, and due to the fact that I was supposed to work a half day and the fact that Phineas had to go to set for a little while, I logged onto my laptop from the hotel room and got to experience what it would be like to do my job in New Orleans.  Pretty much the same as Canton, strangely enough, except that I was in New Orleans instead.   

So it was much better. 

(Sorry, Canton.) 

When Phineas got back, he was with his co-worker/department head, a guy we shall call Othello.  Phineas, Othello, and I had lunch and discussed the possible fortunes of the New Orleans Hornets, who were playing Game 7 against the Spurs that night, and Othello had tickets to the event. 

In his spare time, Othello makes surfing trading cards, basically baseball cards with surfers on them that come with gum.  It's a fantastic idea.  It inspired me to think of creating trading cards of my own, but I don't know how many kids would be excited to purchase a product dedicated to Great Drinkers of the Past.  What would the gum taste like?  Not to mention procuring accurate stats would be unreliable, at best. 

"I once drank Lake Erie," claims one of my subjects.  I find that claim somewhat dubious.  I'm cynical that way. 

*After a last stroll through the French Quarter, some drinks at a voodoo bar with a dead cat hanging on the wall, and some bloody marys at Lucy's (site of the previous day's crawfish boil, which was highly tasty, to understate), Phineas drove me to the airport. 

As you fly over Lake Pontchartrain, you realize how big it is, and how much water must've poured into the city during Hurricane Katrina.  The water level must have risen at a crazy rate.  Amazing to think what that experience must have been like. 

*The flight went from New Orleans to Charlotte, and there I was to catch a connecting flight to Akron/Canton.  Sadly, upon leaving the plane and glancing at the board to see which gate my next flight was at, I saw a flashing red "Cancelled" beside my flight number.  I shut my eyes, then opened them again in an effort to make it go away.  It did not. 

Sighing, I wandered to the Desk of Major Inconveniences and Unsatisfactory Solutions.  "My flight was cancelled," I explained.  They booked me on a 10 am flight the next day, gave me a voucher for the Quality Inn, plus a $10 voucher for dinner (at the airport) and another $5 voucher for breakfast (at the airport).  Then they informed me that my checked luggage would be unavailable to me, which, of course, was no big deal, since why would I need my contact solution, toothbrush, or clothes?  I would be more than happy to marinate in my boxers for a second day.  Who wouldn't be thrilled with that?  Golly gee, it sounded fun. 

A shuttle took me and the other lost souls of flight Shit-Outta-Luck to the Quality Inn, which, I am sad to report, is a misnomer.  Quality is not an adjective I would associate with that motel.  Perhaps the Quantity Inn would be more accurate. 

After walking across the freeway to get a six pack at the nearest gas station, I lay in the not-so-comfortable bed drinking beer and watching some stupid horror movie about a guy that stole people's eyes until I drifted to sleep.  Truly, it was one of the worst nights of "sleep" I've ever had, and, judging by the constant digging at my groin that I have been dedicated to since that time, I think the sheets gave me crabs. 

Tuesday 

*I got up at 5:30, showered, dried off with a towel that apparently had been stained with spaghetti, brushed my teeth with the flimsy complementary toothbrush, forced my contacts back into my eyes from the cup of water I had stored them in, got back into my clothes (which I had attempted to de-smell), and walked next door to the local Cracker Barrel to get me some grits.  Screw the lousy $5 voucher. 

*I got to the airport three hours before my flight, since, well, what the hell else did I have to do?  I talked to one of the other refugees, a woman who was coming back from Atlanta, where her grandson had just graduated from Morehouse and was now getting ready to move to New Orleans and law school at Tulane. 

There's a man with a helluva future in front of him.  Not bad for a kid from the projects of Massillon. 

*Then I was home.  I was happy to be home.  I missed my little world. 

I may not be at peace, but right now is as close as I've ever been.  All my adult life, I've been running from internal demons, which, as one might guess, is impossible to do, seeing as they're internal.  I now see the folly of my flight.  Time to stop trying to justify my choices and move on.  

I've always considered my life very temporal, every place just a pothole on my way to somewhere else.   

I've also considered my life very tempura, which means it is heavily fried. 
 

~~~Hiko's Song of the Week 

Tranquilize by The Killers (featuring Lou Reed) 

Phineas and I listened to this song a lot while I was in New Orleans, as I like it considerably, and Phineas is a big Lou Reed fan.  (I need me some Lumix) 

Different than classic Lou Reed stuff, still addictive. 

The bushes and the bombs.