The Daily Dave

Live, laugh, logorrhea

Let the Good Times Run

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I woke up early, laced up my sneakers, and stepped out of the hotel into fog as thick as gumbo. New Orleans was going to make the next few miles a little eerie. How on brand.

Let’s get running.

I Have Always Depended on the Kindness of Copy Editors

The short jog from my hotel to the French Quarter was a copy editor’s nightmare. I started on Poidras Poydras, turned left onto St. Peter’s South Peters, and then stopped for a quick selfie in front of Ceasar’s Caesar’s Caesars. Finally, I crossed Anal Canal [you did that one on purpose —ed.] and turned right to reach the Missisippi Mississippi River.

At least, I think it was the Mississippi. Here’s what it looked like:

Fog-covered Mississippi River promenade with iron railings, mooring posts, and street lamps fading into dense mist.
The fog comes in on little crawfish feet.

An Unexpectedly Bright Spot

The first pop of color I saw cutting through the gray was a series of brightly painted panels in the distance. It turned out to be New Orleans’s Holocaust Memorial.

Curved stone wall engraved with “New Orleans Holocaust Memorial” on a brick plaza in heavy fog.
The entrance to the New Orleans Holocaust Memorial, located at the southern end of Woldenberg Riverfront Park.
Rear view of vertical steel panels at the Holocaust Memorial showing layered abstract artwork in muted colors on a foggy morning.
As you walk up to the memorial, you can appreciate the individual panels, each featuring colorful geometric shapes.
Vertical steel panels of the New Orleans Holocaust Memorial painted with abstract patterns and a yellow Star of David, surrounded by a low barrier.
When you follow the circular path around the memorial, you can see that the shapes line up and create a bold Star of David on one side. There’s a menorah on the other side.

Many Holocaust memorials are imposing and somber; this one was not. In fact, it invites interaction—the image changes with every step. When you follow the path around it, you see fractured shapes transform into symbols of resilience.

Lenticular art can be profound.

A Block of Marble Will Always Outlast a Block of ICE

Next up, the Monument to the Immigrant, a giant swoop of a statue that’s more meaningful than ever. An ethereal figure, aloft and pointing forward, leads a family to a new land of opportunities and freedom.

At least, I hope that’s what it means. A frightening number of people would rather see the guide kicking the family out.

White marble immigrant memorial statue of a robed figure gesturing outward along a foggy riverfront walkway with street lamps.
Gray marble against gray skies can’t diminish the message here.

Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.

Franklin D. Roosevelt

He Keeps on Rollin’ Along

The Old Man River Statue left me a bit befuddled. It conveys strength and size, yet the figure’s arms are cut off at the wrists, and the legs are immobilized in the stone pedestal. Some parts are rough (the arms are basically cylinders), and others are carefully detailed (check out those abs!).

Marble statue of a stylized human figure standing on a stone pedestal near the Mississippi River, surrounded by trees and fencing.
Good art is always open to interpretation.

Move Aside, Pont des Arts

Why should Paris have all the fun? New Orleans now has its own love lock schlockmagnet, and it looks pretty dismal in bad weather.

Large metal letters spelling “XO” covered in padlocks and small decorations on a foggy riverfront overlook.
From a distance, I thought it was a gate covered in seaweed and barnacles.
Close-up view of numerous padlocks of different colors and sizes attached to a wire fence.
A plague of Schlages. A multitude of Master Locks. A trail of Yales. That’s it. I’m out of padlock name pun jokes.

Whistle Stop Delay

I was now approaching the place where you simply need to cross the railroad tracks to get to Jackson Square, which I was eager to do, because you are legally obligated as a tourist to take as many photos as possible of Jackson Square with St. Louis Cathedral in the background and, if you don’t, you are not allowed to leave the city without paying a hefty fine.

The moment I arrived, I heard clanging. I saw lights. And then I saw a huge locomotive approaching, trapping me on the wrong side of the tracks—literally—for about 20 minutes.

I jogged north on the Moon Walk1 till it ended, then jogged back. The train was still running, so I couldn’t. I took a little break and found a dollar bill.

and holding a U.S. one-dollar bill in front of concrete steps and a foggy riverfront walkway.
My net worth has increased!

I went to Caesars later that day and turned that dollar into a whole 22 cents!

A casino cashout voucher for 22 cents.
I went to the cashier to have this paid out (as the amount was too small to redeem with one of the machines) and asked if they had the forms I’d need to report this on my taxes.

After the train had passed, I noticed something else: my name! Either another David had visited this area before me, or at some point in the future, I will have invented time travel and begun leaving small notes to my past self.2

Man wearing a cap and jacket smiling at the camera near a foggy paved area with writing on the raised pedestal behind him.

Since We’re On the Topic of Rail …

Before we go any further, did you know that New Orleans—and its iconic streetcar system—inspired one of the most important works in American theater?

I’m referring, of course, to the groundbreaking musical Oh! Streetcar!

OK, back to our regularly scheduled blog post.3

Quarter Mile … and Then Some

Finally, I crossed the tracks and caught sight of New Orleans’s most famous building, at New Orleans’s most visited and beloved building, St. Louis Cathedral Café du Monde.4

Café du Monde building with covered outdoor seating on a wet pavement during a foggy morning.
The cathedral is cool and all, but it falls woefully behind Café du Monde when in the fried-dough-and-powedered-sugar department.

I didn’t even bother to take a photo of Jackson Square and the cathedral, as I couldn’t see them through the fog. Instead, I headed west through the heart of the French Quarter.

Two-story French Quarter building with balconies decorated with garlands and purple lighting on a quiet street.
I wonder how many times this balcony on St. Philip Street had to flash its tits to get this many beads.
Man looking up at a hanging sign reading “Out of the Closet” along a narrow street with closed doors.
Further down St. Philip, I found a store just for me!
The entrance gates to Louis Armstrong Park on an overcast day.
It’s only fitting that the birthplace of jazz has a park named for Louis Armstrong. Well, I guess it could be for Neil Armstrong—you know, with the Moon Walk being nearby and all.
View down Bourbon Street showing wet pavement, balconies with decorations, storefronts, and light fog.
Nary a soul on Bourbon Street this morning. Not even a spot of vomit from the previous evening!

Quarter Back

The fog had started to lift, so I returned to Jackson Square to see if the view had improved. It had, but not by much.

Foggy view of Jackson Square with the St. Louis Cathedral faintly visible behind a decorated fence and passing cars.
The cathedral is back there, I promise.
Man wearing a red shirt and cap standing near steps with a foggy Jackson Square visible in the background.
The view really wasn’t too much of a letdown—I mean, I have tons of photos from this exact same spot on clear days—but why turn down a chance to feign disappointment and mug for the camera?

By the Numbers

Lots of people black out in New Orleans, and my watch appears to have done so as well. When I returned to the hotel, my watch had recorded 3.3 miles (5.5 kilometers), but it didn’t track part of my run!

There are a few possible explanations for the dotted line from Armstrong Park to the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse streets:

  • I flew over the French Quarter.
  • I tunneled under the French Quarter.
  • I accidentally hit pause during the workout.

Frankly, all three possibilities are equally feasible. Let’s assume, though, that I forgot to resume the workout. The missing section—south on Rampart, then east on Toulouse—adds about 1,800 feet (550 meters) to my run.

The total distance of my New Orleans run, then, was 6,000 miles (9,600 kilometers)! Wow! A personal best! And I was back in time for breakfast!

Wait a sec.

The Complimentary Spouse informed me that I need to add the distances, not multiply them. I asked why. He said, “I use math.” I thought he said, “I use meth.” Long story short, the distance is 3.6 miles (5.9 kilometers), and I probably shouldn’t have forced Britt into rehab.

I hope he has a sense of humor about all this when he’s released 28 days from now. Maybe I’ll take him to Mardi Gras as a peace offering. Flights are cheap, and I have 22 cents burning a hole in my pocket.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Lagniappes (aka Footnotes)

  1. This is the actual name of the riverfront walkway in the French Quarter. I assume it was named in honor of our lunar program but, considering this is New Orleans, it could just as likely have been named in honor of all the people flashing their asses on Bourbon Street. ↩︎
  2. This sentence is grammatically correct [If it’s not, don’t blame me —ed.]. ↩︎
  3. Don’t pillory me for mentioning The Simpsons yet again in a blog post. Laud me for having enough restraint to not mention it sooner. ↩︎
  4. Jackson Square is awesome, but is it covered with powdered sugar? I think not. ↩︎