Here's a secret for you: the main thing to do on Bourbon St. is drink.
We do this today, and quite extensively. It may sound like we
exercised at least slight restraint by waiting until after ~2:45 to
start imbibing, but that would mean not hearing that we didn't wake up
until 2.5 hours past noon. The bartender serving us breakfast mimosas
tells me that the McIlhenny daughters, heirs to the Tabasco sauce
family fortune, are huge sluts. Further, he claims it was a McIlhenny
several generations ago who first imported nutria. Somehow, the
fantastic rodents escaped from Avery Island to the mainland.
I'm close to nirvana drinking gin and tonics at our hotel pool (we didn't realize last night that we have one; it's at and shared with a nearby hotel) as I read the New York Times. However, even in contentment, I'm still stuck very connected to the material world and competitiveness: reading about the latest intrigues in trade policy, debating the (de)merits of Bush's supreme court nominee, and, later, seriously peeved when the one team I'm playing against drops out of a bar's trivia game.
At any rate, I drink until the sun comes up, greeting the early day and hoping Bret or one of his friends crashing in our hotel room will be more responsible than me and wake up early enough for me to catch my flight.