God wouldn't be too keen on webcams then, by the sounds of it.
We've covered my fear and loathing of New Orleans and - more specifically, Mardi Gras - before. Now, thanks to my relatively new broadband connection, I can watch all the ensuing cries for help disguised as revelry from the comfort of my own home.
Fairly sparse crowds, owing to the dreary weather and the early date. Still, plenty of pudgy fratboys, wannabe bikers, and bored cops on the streets, however. And no small number of them are willing to converse with the chuckleheads interviewing passers-by. Including those who unaware/unconcerned that their words and actions are now archived electronically for all time.
Ladies, for future reference, if someone corners you outside the Cat's Meow and asks to interview you for Nola.com, that webcam is going to be crawling all over your ass and chest the whole time. Your only hope is if another woman nearby decides to expose herself, for the camera will immediately zoom to her location, usually about three seconds too late for any skin, but just in time to catch the alarmingly creepy swarm of lone males who congregate around the young lady like a bunch of junior high kids watching a fight, only these junior high kids are armed with digital cameras. The better to send the pics to their fellow dateless wonders.
Sweet. The old guy from San Antonio is berating the interviewer because New Orleans is "too gay." He chose an interesting time to visit.
It's hypnotic. Curiosity led me over, and the dizzying panoply of human bone-headedness has kept me transfixed. What the hell, it's one way to avoid writing that review for Hitch.
Now one of the animators for Inuyahsa has stopped by to explain the history of the show in excruciating detail while the camera desperately searches for someone more photogenic.
I'm amazed at the number of guys who pimp their girfriend's breasts out for beads here. The Wife told me this kind of thing happened.
Okay, it's past midnight and the cops have yet to show up and squeegee everyone off Bourbon Street. Even so, I can take some comfort in knowing that while the majority of these people will be negotiating vomit-filled gutters, DWI checkpoints, and generally shitty traffic in order to get back to their hotels, I'm going to walk fifteen feet to my bed. G'night suckers.
All I can say is EEEEEEWWWWWW!!!!!