When the person in seat in front of you puts their seat back and you want to use a laptop, read a book, or just not breathe down their necks, you must do unto others and further confine the person behind you.  This wave will continue backwards until it reaches the poor bastard in from of the emergency exit row, whose seat doesn't recline and is usually surrounded by kicking, spitting, crying children.  Thankfully, that person is not me today, though it has been in the past.   

 

Bourbon Street on hot days has a stench that I'm certain is not replicated anywhere else on earth. Its smell is a cocktail seemingly divined from only the exact mixes of spilt drinks, puke, horse manure, urine, Creole cooking, swamp, and hint of sleaze that this street produces.  If you manage to wake up, or arrive at Bourbon Street at 9am, you'll see the tail of the full circle as workers use the fire hydrants to wash away the remnants of last nights party and trucks unload to replenish the beer and alcohol supply for the next day/night festivities.  By10am, the refreshments have been unloaded and the drinking begins again in full force.  Alcohol, of course, is really the best cure for a hangover. 

 

Most Hurricanes on Bourbon are poorly made - either too much pre-mixed syrup or too much cheap rum. 

 

Then wine selection outside of California and Seattle is lacking.  The Northwest has turned me into a wine snob. 

 

Went on a ghost tour; the drinking in New Orleans inspires some great stories.  They claim to have had no less than 76 faintings.  I can tell you that these are probably not to be blamed on the fear factor.  The best part is that the tour begins, ends, and makes a pit stop at a bar to refill your drinks.  

 

I had my three day fill of New Orleans and spent the rest of the time on the white sands beaches of Destin Fla.   I would recommend it to everyone, but I'm not sure the area can or should keep expanding exponentially. 

 

The beer selection outside of the Northwest is extremely lacking. I've become a beer snob. 

 

Modems suck.  One time I actually navigated to my blog page, but after waiting five minutes to download the page, I didn't want to waste another five just to post these thoughts. I mostly dialed into see if there were any red flag mails and to wait five minutes per ESPN page. These long page loads reminded me how much I miss the speedy availability of rich personalized information that you just can't get from an entire newspaper.  I've become a broadband snob. 

 

I also missed Ultimate TV.  This is not to say that I want to spend vacation watching TV, but on the occasions that I did want to watch it (Red Sox playoffs), I found out how reliant I had become on pausing the action when I wanted to, creating my own replays, and the 30 second skip button.

 

The Ipod is the best beach DJ.  No worrying about scratching the CDs, getting sand inside it, or having to get up every 40 minutes to find another CD.  Now where are the monkey butlers to bring me more Coronas and lime slices? 

 

Here are some things bad parents need to teach their ill mannered brats before they should be again allowed in public.

  1. "Inside voices" are also meant for other places as well. Maybe some parents just need their ears checked.  With bad southern accents to boot, these kids go to 11.  
  2. The airplane aisle is not a jungle gym, and the people sitting there don't think it's cute when your kids run by them for the 10th time in five minutes. Don't look at me funny if, on the 11th trip, your kid takes you away from your book to tend to their latest bruise they received because certain carry on baggage was not stowed properly underneath someone's seat. 
  3. I like portable games, too, but Gameboys (with or without sound since your kid will make up sounds anyway) weren't meant for restaurants with plates over 20 dollars.  Find a baby sitter or teach them to sit still quietly.
  4. "Studies have shown that hot tubs can cause brain damage in children up to the age of 14."   Or at least that's the sign I'll post when I'll open up my own resort.  Hot tubs are not the "kiddie pee pool" where you can leave your kids while you go out for a stroll or pay no attention to them.   My wife doesn't think this will work since most parents of these splashing menaces probably don't think any more brain damage beyond what was caused from inbreeding or drinking/smoking while pregnant will make a difference.  Maybe another sign needs to be made to explain. " If you have a 180 IQ and lose 40 points, you're not doing so bad, but if you have a 100 IQ to start and you lose 40 more... well, you won't know how many you have left"  
  5. Respect the personal space and property of others. 
  6. Respect the personal space and property of others.  
  7. Bourbon Street bars are not the place for your children or even you if you happen to be pregnant.  Please don't expose them to this bead throwing culture at such an early age.  These must be the same people too cheap for baby sitters that take their young kids to R-Rated movies. 

I'm starting to really believe there may be a need for some sort of limit/and or licensing program on having kids.  I've become a well behaved child snob. 

 

Flash photography should not be allowed on planes.  Pictures of the scenery thousand of feet below won't turn out well anyway, especially with the glare you'll get from the FLASH in the WINDOW. 

 

Not all Starbucks are created equal.  Some appear to have been franchised by owners of waffle house.  Now, I love a good meal at waffle house (covered and peppered please), but this wireless-less atmosphere does not belong at Starbucks.  I've become a coffee and coffee house snob. 

 

Taxi drivers in New Orleans are homicidal.  If you are a pedestrian there, I would advise looking both ways, then check again for a cab.  They will run you down and then curse you out.  These drivers should be forced to play "Crazy Taxi" at least 30 minutes a day to take out their frustrations.  On second thought, this might not be the best idea.  Ours also exploited us for an extra passenger since she didn't want to squeeze my golf clubs into the back.

 

I'm tired of tipping and scrounging for ones at every opportunity on vacation.  On one day alone we were expected to tip the cab driver, the hotel doorman per bag checked and unchecked into storage before our room was ready,  the bellhop per bag who insisted we must be too tired to carry our own bags, the concierge for hiding the tour booklets behind a desk and reading them aloud upon request,  the guy who dropped us off on the swamp tour, the airboat driver and guide on the swamp tour, the shuttle driver for opening our door on the way back from the swamp tour, the bartender who charged 9 dollars a drink, and finally the waitress at dinner. The strippers on Bourbon don't earn this many ones in an evening of work.  (I'm not really sure what that says about the strippers.) No, I'm not cheap.  I just hate the expectations and the practice. Hell, I'll pay more for my dinner, cab ride, hotel fair, and swamp tour upfront so the employees get a higher base pay.  Just don't pimp the tourists for their spare change afterwards.  That's for the strippers. :-)