home again

I have returned from the wonder that is New Orleans and the American Association of Opthalamists are some real party people, I tell ya. You could spot them a mile away, walking down Bourbon Street with their black complimentary Novartis bags slung across their shoulders, dressed in full suits, and traveling in packs of three or more. You couldn't escape them: large luxury coaches went up and down every street they could fit in to pick them up and drop them off at their hotels; the entire 12+ block long convention center was converted into a giant exhibition hall, including such marvelous sites as a seven foot tall banner with the faces of the trustees on it- which, I swear, was being photographed by some over-enthusiastic Korean ladies; half of the stores on Royal Street had tiny signs in their windows welcoming the Conventioneers.

I had a nice time. Their art museum leaves much to be desired, though there was a fantastic mini-exhibit on drawings/prints which was simply breathtaking but is completely ignored by most signage/publicity. Since when are Durer and Rembrandt relegated to a side room, anyway? ::art history minor spits furiously:: Bourbon Street is notably depraved, but not much fun unless you're drunk, which most people are, considering you can get an alcoholic beverage at every store on the street. Elsewhere in the French Quarter, there are some really beautiful antique shops, and of course, street performers to look at/listen to. The Aquarium totally rocks, especially their otters, Buck and Emma. (I will not reveal how long I stood before the otter display but it was a good long while, and I went back again for feeding time. Sad, isn't it? To go to such a historic city and think that the best bit was the fact that they've trained otters to high-five their feeder and fetch starfish.) Sadly, I missed out on the Haunted Tours and the cemeteries. Next time.

The plane travel afforded me time to finally finish Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination. Way back when I started it (June, possibly?) I thought it was slightly humorous, but not anywhere within the same ballpark as the Bridget Jones books. (I do admit, reading far enough to understand why they selected the stupid cover helps.) Yet, Ms. Fielding surprised me. Somewhere after that boring, slightly self-indulgent beginning, she taps into every girl's secret desire to be a glamorous spy and things not only get interesting, they get funny real quick. Ultimately, Olivia and her hijinks don't sum up Life's Meaning, but as a vacation book, it is terribly satisfying. I only wish Prof. Widgett got more screen-time, but alas, I suppose I will just have to be content with my own imagination's version of the cranky, elderly Englishman as a fey Arabian carpetseller-cum-drag-queen. (I told you it was silly.)

The Rule of Four still eludes me, though: soooo boring and unsatisfying. Was actually thrilled to see today at Amazon that it got some stinker reviews-- not the only one, I see. ;)