I love this city, I really do. I especially love it in July, when it is so lush and overgrown that you feel like you’d better not stand still lest a passionvine get hold of you. (I have better pictures of the French Quarter’s flora somewhere around here, but for the moment, this’ll have to do.) Most of the balconies are far more colorful than this–think geranium, bougainvillea, all those crazy coleus–it’s really my kind of gardening, all lush and tropical and gaudy and steamy.
But I’m not going to New Orleans for the plants. I’m going for this:
Ah, yes. The drinking. Tales of the Cocktail, to be specific. A wonderous cockail industry conference that is open to bartenders, distillers, writers, drinkers–really, anyone with fifty bucks in their pocket can show up and take a class on the history of rum or the legends of Irish whiskey. I wish I could encourage you all to come, but I see the seminars are almost entirely sold out. Clearly this event has room to grow.
And yes, it’s (shhhhhhh!) research for the next book! I do pick the most difficult subjects.
So I’ll see you in a week. If I can find my way back to the airport after the debauchery.