So here we sit in the New Orleans airport, with hurricane Gustav (currently Cat. 4) bearing down. The mandatory evacuation caused the hotel to close, vomiting our travel party out onto the increasingly empty and boarded-up streets of the Crescent city. Eerie isn't a ghost walk or a voodoo tour, eerie is strolling down Bourbon Street and feeling like you're on a movie set devoid of actors.
Our game, originally slated for 4pm, was moved to a 10am kick. This necessitated us getting up at 4:30am to get to the stadium in time to get ready. And by halftime the game was well over and I was well burned. 95 degrees, but according to the locals, it felt more like 103. Aces. My camera lens was too hot to even touch, I hope it suffered no long term effects. I haven't even thought about my photos yet - I had planned to upload and edit from the hotel this evening, but alas, I got kicked out of the city instead.
So here we sit at the airport, waiting for our charter to get in. (aside: An empty airport is freaky, really. It's like The Langoliers without the time-eating balls of sinew and teeth. ) We are dirty, tired, hungry, thirsty, stung from an embarrassing loss in Death Valley, and staring down an at least 24-hour day. A merry group, let me assure you.
OK, sorry if this post makes little or no sense. I am done, stick a fork in me. I may not even make it to my seat on the plane before I fall asleep. What's keeping me going at this point is the promise of snuggling my little Pookie. If she's at the end of the trip, then I can hold out a bit longer.