Babes on Bourbon Street
March 14, 2005 | By Charmaine Yoest
Made a quick stop through the Big Easy on the way to Austin. Hit Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets and then headed to Bourbon Street.
Several people warned me about the seamier side of the notorious party promenade, but I hoped the Penta-Posse would be distracted by all the excitement. You would think I would have learned my lesson from Gilgamesh (see below)...
Each one of the Posse ('cept Boo!) chose a New Orleans feathered mask and we joined the crowds walking down closed-off Bourbon Street. It was lightly raining, but we loved listening to the bands -- particularly the trombonist playing Pink Panther -- and the Dancer and I grabbed hands and danced with joy in the middle of the street.
Finally, exhausted and foot-weary, we turned back toward the hotel.
The Dude slipped his hand into mine and leaned in closely. Lowering his voice, so his sisters wouldn't hear, he asked intensely: "Mom, what are those women thinking of?"
So, I guess he noticed the Hustler Club after all.
Looking at the exploitation and degradation of the female form through his eyes, how could I explain their inability to blush? How could I explain the pornographer's ability to sell such a perverted conception of "empowerment" and "freedom?"
We're hoping the Posse will learn a bit of history on this trip. But they may learn more about life.
