Johnny Cash is dead ...
So inevitable, and so sad.
This is the news i work up to this morning.
What a voice ... what a life that man lived ...
... and it drives me crazy.
This "waking up in the morning" crap has really screwed me up ... I'm tired all day, and crash out at night early. I can't wait to get back on my normal abnormal schedule.
I'm probably going to ditch out on lecture tomorrow, and spend the morning getting my stuff packed up, and maybe a little shopping. I haven't decided whether or not to buy this black velvet southern belle hat ... it looks great on me, but it's like $50.
Dr. Harris bought for me this ... well, it's not a hat, I'm not really sure how to describe it ... this beaded thing that goes on my head ... it's all sorts of cool. I just feel bad having stuff bought for me. It was a fair amount of money, too.
Dinner at another fancy place tonight, and then I'm supposed to go to some place on Bourbon Street with Dr. Boisse ... I have consumed a frightening amount of alcohol this week. And I'm having more tonight.
Actually, I don't think it's a frightening amount. It's normal amounts, in my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged body.
I miss home. I'll be back tomorrow night ... my feet are blistered ... I'm out of clothes ... I have more promotional veterinary crap than I'm going to be able to fit in my suitcase ... plus whatever I can steal from the hotel ... I've seen so many lectures in the last few days that I can't keep the information straight ... i want to come home ...
From what I can tell, the catcall of choice on Bourbon Street is "shake that thing."
or maybe that's just the one that applies to me, i don't know.
I got beads without having to show anyone my tits. or anything else, for that matter. In fact, i was covered neck to toe, including nylons. I have my dignity. yay me!
my feet hurt ...
I went to dinner with Dr. Harris and her friend Teri, at the Pelican Club. I was educated on the proper way to hold a fork. and apparently, my habit of holding my fork in my left hand is odd but acceptable, the European way.
These fancy dinners we go to, I feel so out of place and awkward. I don't know my etiquette, which fork to use or what wine to order. The waitstaff pulling out the chairs and placing the napkin in my lap strikes me as an invasion of my personal space. I'm just not comfortable in that setting ...
not that i'm not grateful to Dr. Harris for taking me. It's not like i get to experience this standard of living in my own life. She lives well, eats at the best restaurants, drinks good wine, stays at the best hotels. And it's very nifty that I get to try that out a bit. But I'll be happy to go back to my 909 home, eat ramen, drink liquor i get at the grocery store, and sleep on my low-thread-count sheets.
anyway, after dinner, I went and met up with Dr. Boisse, her tech (whos name totally escapes me) and a friend of theirs on Bourbon Street. The place is a strange phenomenon of drunken tourists, showing their breasts for cheap beads thrown from balconies. It was quite crowded, in the bars and on the street. There were a couple of places that looked interesting, but since I was with other people, we ended up going to a blues club that had a really good female singer. Season, you would have appreciated her.
really though, the whole place was full of drunken southern college boys. rather icky. I ended up walking back to the hotel by myself, and that was not the most pleasant experience of my life.
There are seminars tomorrow. I'm not going to go. I'm probably not going to go shopping, either. I still have to pack my stuff up, and checkout time is 1pm. I'm so eager to come home.
I finally was a ble to reach Michael tonight. I'm quite looking forward to seeing him tomorrow. I've got to go to the French market tomorrow to get him the little present I want to get him.
Anyone else want cheesy postcards? last chance ...