The Sites of Porcelainia

Ever wanted to travel? Wanted to get out there and see something? Anything? Even hike somewhere? Well I have. Or rather… did. Work had just come to a sudden crawl, and in response to the lack of customers, the restaurant begun their summer hour rotation. This left me virtually jobless, which was, at first, particularly awesome. But, after I checked off the last item on the list I made (to properly remake my impression on the beanbag couch), I became directionless.

My being directionless is not a good idea. I once spent three weeks creating the taxonomic breeding sequence that would theoretically end in the birth of domesticated bears. Which, admittedly, was really fun, but you get the point. In a similar harnessing of chaotic thought, it occurred to me that I needed to take a roadtrip. I needed to go out into the world and attain a fresh perspective, for my world had grown too small. So, I figured a trip was in order, and seeing that Mardi Gras was right around the bend, I decided Nah’lins was the place to be. I don’t know why people pronounce “New Orleans” this way, but they do. So it goes.

That was last week. Today I awoke as the King of Porcelainia to the majestic mash-up of Rihanna and Lady Gaga announcing a message from my dear friend Ben. A week of TV censor worthy memories, masks, feathers, and drinks I’ve never heard of flash through my dehydrated mind. I press the open button with a foul smelling thumb to see what my dear friend wanted: a simple inquiry as to how the last day of site seeing went. I promptly, and gingerly, responded.

(978): The view from the bathroom floor this morning is fabulous.

A heads-up before you read.