It was quiet at the bar at the J.W. Marriott hotel this morning. I am talking about the J.W. Marriott in New Orleans, the jewel of the line, the one on Canal Street, the one with the Fogo de Chão.
It was just me, cooling my heels, reading a book, waiting on a date with fate. I find the lobby in the J.W. Marriott as cheerful as the inside of a windowless Biloxi casino. The place is downright funereal in the morning. I doubt that it is hopping with excitement at night. There was no residual static electricity leftover from the night before when I touched anything. Moving a napkin holder was like pushing aside an urn full of a stranger’s ashes.
The stools at the high-top tables in the bar in the lobby of the J.W. Marriott are sturdy, heavy, and quality-made. They would come in handy in a bar fight, if such things happen at the J.W. Marriott, which I doubt. I would not want to be on the receiving end of one of those stools. A person could lose an eye.
The J.W. Marriott in New Orleans is the kind of place where orthodontists stay. The lobby has all the charm of a showy bat mitzvah. There is a Fogo de Chão, if you are interested. It is very exotic and it is also all-you-can-eat on a conventioneer’s budget. Food tastes best on the company’s dime.
Have I mentioned that one of the chicken’s biggest fans is in New Orleans this weekend?
Grayey and Whitey have many fans but few visit. They are not complaining and neither am I. I do have things to do. I am running a poultry farm in my back yard, not a petting zoo. The petting zoo is five blocks from my house, on Governor Nicholls Street, by the Trumpet Black mural.
The chicken fan who is in New Orleans this weekend is from Birmingham, Alabama. I was in Birmingham in August. Check the archives. It is true. I think I have even edited that letter for clarity. Paid subscribers can check it out.
Birmingham, Alabama. That was a happening town even if there was no J.W. Marriott hotel. I stayed in a regular Marriott. I think the front desk clerk, who was very helpful, is a subscriber.
The J.W. Marriott in New Orleans has a concierge. It is a totally class operation. I did not approach the concierge. I used to chat them up but I have lost my interest in learning the tricks of their trade. I live in New Orleans. What does a concierge know that I do not? Nothing.
The most attractive thing a person can wear is confidence. Wear it lightly. It will fit better.
The Marriott hotel in Birmingham where I stayed was not a J.W. Marriott, the boutique brand. It was a regular Marriott, you know the kind. It was just a regular hotel. You would never imagine hosting a bar mitzvah there. The only reason I checked in was because they had room.
The Marriott in Birmingham does not have a concierge. Instead, when I was there, at least, there is the front desk clerk who pulls double duty. That was the case when I was there but I got some good advice. I do not remember the young lady’s name. I have not seen her months, but, I do know she made a friend that day.
Every day is a day to remember.
I think the young lady who was manning the front desk clerk at the Marriott in Birmingham, Alabama the day I stayed there reads these letters. I hope she does. I want to thank her again for turning me onto the Five Points neighborhood in Birmingham.I do not know if she is a free subscriber or a paid one. Being a paid subscriber is better.
That reminds me, I should put up the paywall. I need to start cranking out the good stuff. Every day in New Orleans is a good New Orleans day. There is no such thing as a bad New Orleans day because every day in New Orleans is a prelude to tomorrow.
I am going to talk about how I think people think that I make everything up, but, I have just been sharing my world with an outsider—I think you know who I am talking about— and, I think she can testify that if I make anything up, it is very little. This is what it is like to live in New Orleans.