Today I met with a blogger I follow, his/her spouse and their close friends - I'll call the blogcouple "Fred" and "Wilma" and their friends (who also blog, but I must confess I haven't been following theirs with much frequency and even less regularity) "Betty and Barney".
They were in the Emeril™ City to engage in some serious recreational consumption of food, drink, fun and frivolity - all of which continues to be in abundant supply despite the draconian restrictions of the post-Mardi Gras, Lenten season. Since Catholic Doctrine strictly forbade me to eat a baloney sammich or a hots-dog wienie, I had to suffer through the oyster platter with them at a fine, French Quarter seafood house.
Good people, these - they laughed at my jokes and stories and proved to be excellent conversationalists even without keyboards and flat-screen monitors. Barney is apparently King of the Brisket Grillers and Betty is excited that little Bam-Bam has entered into the fully mobile stage - an excitement that will soon turn to the exhaustion most seasoned parents understand go with chasing behind toddlers. I owe Wilma lunch, though Fred seems to think I can cover that by buying him a few beers next time.
I suggested they take a ride Uptown and back on the Streetcar, and Fred could yell "STELLLLLLAAAAA!" out the window. The consensus was that he might, but his first trick would be to talk the driver into letting him a) have a turn at the wheel, or b) give an impromptu "tour talk" to the other riders. Sounded like a great idea to me - Fred and I share a number of character flaws traits like that. Poor Wilma, she and my Dear Sweet Wife are saints to put up with the likes of us.
I bet they'll have a great time in the Big Easy this weekend. It seems to me like they'd have a great time watching the bears down at the dump as long as they were all together - and they didn't run out of brisket.
Good time, and a safe trip home y'all.
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