My trip to New Orleans for the Mom 2 Summit got off on a good foot — successfully packing for three days in a small backpack (the key is a single pair of multi-purpose shoes). But no sooner had I smugly stowed my tidy bag in the overhead of my connecting flight to NOLA, things ran off the rails. I realized that I had unburdened myself of my Kindle on the first leg of my trip.
My flight attendant lit up the phones, got in touch with the cleaning crew, and had my name attached to the gadget. Not enough time to get it shuttled to the gate, but it was tagged. I put recovery chances at about 30%.
Arriving in New Orleans tapped memories from my youth — memories of the first three years of my courtship of my wife. Together we visited the city a half-dozen times from 1992-95, when we were suffering through an extended period of long-distance romancing. I could hardly believe I was in the Big Easy without Kim. We need to return. Together.
The Queen and Crescent Hotel was reasonable, conveniently located, and crusted with just the right amount of shady patina. Stay here if you want to be near the French Quarter or downtown with a bit of buffer.
One night I had the great pleasure of meeting an old friend, a native of New Orleans and a colleague from my MFA writing program in the mid-90s. She picked the spot, The Carousel Bar in the Hotel Monteleone in the Quarter. The circular bar in the center of the room rotates slowly on a turntable. I was still feeling a tinge of dizziness when I noticed none other than CC Chapman, one of the internet’s good guys, at a tiny table nested against a nice stable wall. He was with his lovely wife.
The tableau, maybe because I was so missing my own wife, was really touching to me, and I tried to excuse myself as quickly as I could. I was happy to see them.
My friend Lisa arrived and I was glad to see her, too. It had been maybe ten years? After a career marked by commitment to the integrity of her art and a willingness to make the sacrifices that calls for, she has found the kind of success we were all dreaming of back in the grad school salad days. Hard won. Richly, richly deserved. Big time.
When we were done catching up, I treated myself to a steak dinner and went home to bed.
In New Orleans. At a conference. With some of the moist interesting, colorful, insightful, articulate and thirsty dads and moms on the internet. And I’m sawing logs well before midnight? Happened both nights I was there. I came back with a non-hangover hangover — wishing I’d got more wasted over the weekend. When the hell have I ever regretted not getting drunk enough?
My resolutions have now officially enslaved me. The downside of discipline. On the plus side, I had a great run on the St. Charles Streetcar tracks through the Garden District (thanks random guy in the steakhouse bar for the tip!).
The Mom 2 Summit was flawlessly run, with no apparent strain, and populated by the mommy blogging glitterati. I sat at the same table with Dooce. I laughed with Finslippy. They were also gracious enough to set a place for the dads. Dubbed the Dad Shack, one conference room hosted a series of panels on the subject of dad blogging. I enjoyed the provocative convo. Mostly I was hosting the Mom 2 Video studio with Kimberly Blaine — we generated some great videos with the help of attending moms.
And the whole thing wrapped at a huge party with the announcement of the first Dad 2 Summit. I was in a cab, headed to the airport. Lameness uninterrupted.
When the beaming lady at Continental baggage service office at Houston Intercontinental handed me back my Kindle, my first thought was, I’m not worthy.
Next time, I promise to be much better (or worse). Look out, Type-A Mom. And beware, Dad 2.
