4years, 1city, 2fun

I have to give credit to Anthony for this slogan. It perfectly sums up the most recent stage of my life: four great years at Pitt, so many relationships and memories throughout the entire city, and just a lot of fun. And, of course, the brilliance of the slogan can be found in the presence of Pittsburgh's (412) area code.

So, with that nostalgia in my mind, and a spur of the moment decision, my time in New Orleans started like this:

Note the shirt that I am wearing. It will be important later in this story.

But ended like this:

No, that's not a henna tattoo.

It may seem unbelievable that a seemingly random mix of choices and coincidences all came together to produce a night that ends with the three of us getting 412 tattoos on our ribs. Well, allow me to tell you how it happened.

We drove into downtown New Orleans right past the Superdome (Actually the Mercedes-Benz Superdome, which I never knew). We found our hotel, got changed, and then walked down to the French quarters and checked out some of the shops and markets near the water. That picture of us by the water that you saw before was taken by a guy with a few gold teeth who asked for money for having taken our picture. He did know a lot about the Steelers (but he seemed to like the Colts), so we gave him a couple bucks.

We then headed for Bourbon Street.

And we made it. Even the street signs show that it's a wild place.

Bourbon Street is unique. It is colorful and exotic. It doesn't smell too great. There are a lot of strip clubs, with ladies at the front door eager to invite you inside. This eagerness reached its peak when one lady slapped George and Anthony's butts with a large sign that said "NO COVER." Here's Bourbon Street at 6 PM on a Monday.

Notice the apparent cross dresser in a bra. I didn't until I looked at the picture.

There were a bunch of tourists here already drinking, so we decided to get a drink at a bar that was playing some music. This establishment claimed to have "the strongest drink in New Orleans," also known as the "Hand Grenade." The musicians set up above the bar which was pretty cool. It was even cooler that they had a pressurized tube set up like banks have in order to allow customers to write them song requests (and give a prerequisite tip):

With the rise of electronic banking, kids these days won't know what it's like to get a lollipop in one of those things from the bank teller. 

I had to video tape them when they played one of my Dad's favorite artists, Willie Nelson:

We talked with our bartender. She was an attractive girl with tattoos and the most sarcastic personality I've ever encountered. We then took a picture with her:

It was even a sarcastic smile.

She told us we should go to this one restaurant for some jambalaya pizza. Since the Hand Grenades were pretty strong, anything with the word "pizza" in it sounded like a good idea. So we did indeed go and had some alligator sausage (wasn't bad) for an appetizer. And of course the jambalaya pizza:

I still don't really know everything that is in jambalaya. But it was tasty.

So far it seemed like a typical night for us, doesn't it?

Well it was, until we started talking about tattoos. I don't remember exactly why we brought it up in the first place, but in a span of minutes the conversation changed from "it would be awesome if one day we all got tattoos" to "there's a shop about four blocks from here and they're open til 10."

And so we went to the tattoo parlor. We had already picked out the design; that's what sold us on the idea in the first place. The 412 logo (which we thought of only because I had put that tshirt on. Remember when I told you it would be important?) was a design we all wanted. It would forever bind us together, while also symbolizing all the great memories from Pittsburgh.

Location on the body? Well, we wanted to be able to see it without a reflection and it had to be inconspicuous with normal clothing. We decided on the ribs. The shop had gotten good reviews and they seemed to have a lot of clientele.

And so we did it. All three of us, a tattoo.

Anthony went first:

The grimace on his face did nothing to ease my nerves.

Then me:

His name was Skip. Not sure how I felt about that.

Unfortunately, George had to wait awhile and just stand there observing our pain. But he eventually had his turn:

I swear to you that none of us cried even once.

I'm not going to lie, it did hurt. The first 10 minutes were the worst, and then I think one part of my brain (the part that makes sure everything is okay) said to another part of it (the part that wanted this tattoo), "Okay, you know what? Whatever man." But it was painful at times. My one friend, who recently got an awesome tattoo, told me a few months ago that the tattoo needle pokes you like 16 times a second or something. And there's 10 of them in the pen. Well I don't know if it was 10, but it was some number greater than zero, which means it's going to hurt.

Why did I get a tattoo? And am I glad I did it now that I've had a day to reflect on it? For the second question, yes, I am glad I did it. There are definitely risks associated with tattoos, and it is very hard making a permanent change to your body. I can't even predict how what I'll like next month, let alone in 30 years.

But I guess I did it to make a permanent change on my body to represent an remind me of something that changed my life permanently. I am a more mature, smarter, and stronger person than I was before living in Pittsburgh. Hopefully I'm better looking, too. But I think the tattoo shows how close of friends I have, how lucky I am to have experienced Pittsburgh, and how I am ready for the next stage of my life. Maybe I'll regret it one day, but at least for now I think it's awesome that I'm on this road trip, my friends are with me, and we made an epic decision to do something cool and fun. 412 represent!

Well, anyway, here's the finished product:

Who are those gang members?

For those unfamiliar with the logo, this is what it looks like in the correct orientation.

No, it's not L12, it's 412.

Okay, now back to our night out in New Orleans. After we were bandaged up in the shop, we went back for one more Hand Grenade. There was a different band playing, and this time I couldn't hold myself back from using the bank transfer system:

I put a couple dollars in there and requested Revolution by the Beatles. They whispered for a while after reading my request, which I assume was because they weren't sure if they actually knew that one or not. They ended up playing Ballad of John and Yoko, which I do like. We spent some time there and then went back to the hotel, washed our tattoos, and slept.

Did I enjoy New Orleans? I definitely did. The adjectives we're giving "NOLA" are colorful and exotic. A close third was dirty, but I think after visiting Chicago, everything will seem to lack the appropriate cleanliness.

It's now onward to Austin, TX, where we will not be getting tattoos or slaps on our butts. Hopefully. Instead we hope to relax, grab a good dinner and listen to some live music.