Day 17

January 16
9:20 pm

Tonight Anne’s got other plans, which have the potential to be infinitely more scandalous and eventful than mine, and I feel a little amputated as I walk in without her. The Saints have just beaten the Cardinals in the playoffs and the world's exploding with black and gold, and sequins and streamers, and flags flying off the roofs of cars, and horns and fireworks, and women in golden body paint dancing on the neutral ground.

DrewChristopher and Lydia will be coming soon, to take me to something that may or may not be a party, but they haven't gotten here yet and I scan the crowd for an empty seat or a familiar face. I find neither. It’s Saturday, and the fashionable weekend people, who Anne has dubbed The Mimi’s Crew, are already beginning to filter in. I squeeze through the crush and order a Smithwicks from a beautiful gothy woman in an intricate top and ridiculously blue eyes.

Next to me, a lithe woman with a complicated hairstyle is being caressed by a man in a gray sweatshirt and a scrubbly beard. I’m briefly amazed that a straight man of average attractiveness can come out to a bar—a kind of scene-y bar, too--on a Saturday night, in sweats, a still get a little bit of action but clearly I don’t know the whole story. Maybe they’ve been dating forever. Maybe he’s vaguely famous, and therefore allowed to wear whatever he wants. Maybe the woman’s been in love with him for years and this is her opportunity and she’s taking it, sweats be damned. This is New Orleans and Mardi Gras is around the corner and the Saints might even make it to the Superbowl this year: anything’s possible.

Noah—not our precious little friend Noah who’s been coming out with us most nights, but another Noah, for whom I also have unbridled, but different, tenderness—spots me from across the bar, and in about two seconds he’s bounded through the entire crowd and I’m being embraced in a bear hug and lifted off the floor. People around us step back to give us some room.

“How you doing, buddy?” I ask.
“Inebriated!” says Noah.
“Cool.”

Noah’s a talker even when multiple Miller High Lifes are not involved, and tonight I am treated to an exuberant stream-of-consciousness ramble that includes, among other things: the board of the Common Ground Health Clinic; speculation upon who among us is an FBI informant; Noah’s plans for rocking nursing school; a crew of people we know who, for better or worse, are going to Haiti; friends and enemies in city politics; and the corruption inherent in working for the federal government. Every now and then I’ll say things like “Really, Noah?” or “Wow!” but I’m also watching the Colts game, texting DrewChristopher, and thinking Oh, Noah. You are truly one-of-a-kind.

Eric’s behind us, buzzing from table to table in a puffy down vest that glistens with rain. He nods over to us from across the crowd; he’s gone before I even have the chance to nod back.

The adorable bartender materializes behind my chair and says, “So, um, Facebook has decided we should be friends.” Even though in this situation I totally agree with Facebook and say “Yay! I’m so excited,” I’m starting to realize—aren’t you?-- that Facebook is actually the devil. It sucks people’s time, consumes people’s brain cells, creates uncertainty and drama in even the most stable of relationships, and has now become the social micromanager of an entire generation. Be friends with this person! Reconnect with this person! You haven’t talked to that person in a while: Drop them a line!

Who needs it?

And, at the same time I’m totally like, Aww, that’s so cute, the adorable bartender and I are gonna be friends on Facebook.

Sheesh.

Lydia and DrewChristopher are here! I jump off my chair, I’m that excited to see them, and DrewChristopher’s like, “We’re gonna be late,” and I say “I know!” and we all give rushed hugs to Noah, who’s still grinning and drinking High Life, and in seconds we’re out the door and another night at Mimi’s is over. We’ll go to the is-it-even-a-party? situation, at which (besides an impressively-dressed couple in matching Mohawks making out enthusiastically in a corner) the most exciting thing will be our conversation with each other, and then we will decide we can all use a relatively early night, and we will leave, and I won’t tell you about whether or not I’ll get on the internet when I get home, but I bet you can guess.