Cage Fight

I’m laying in bed on my last day in New Orleans, thinking about all the fun and different experiences I’ve had since landing. I came with my two favorite photography budz on the planet . In fact we have traveled the planet quite a bit together the last five or so years. Vietnam, Morrocco, Barcelona, Appalachia and now New Orleans.

I had originally planned to come here a few months back with another girlfriend of mine, but I had to have an operation due to my appendix, who turned out to be the biggest passive aggressive asshole on the planet.

Besides photographing here in the Big Easy I had come to New Orleans to do a set at the House of Blues and to hopefully photograph comedians Joe Rogan and Duncan Trussell. This weekend was the trifecta – comedy, photography and friends.

My partner in podcast crime had weaseled me a set at the House of Blues with Joe, but as soon as I got to the venue, my name wasn’t on the list, so I knew I wouldn’t be going up. Sometimes that happens in comedy. You are promised a set cuz’ you happen to be in the same city – but perhaps what’s said two weeks beforehand is simply forgotten. It didn’t matter because I got to hang out and photograph anyway and watch some kick ass comedy. I love that I can still watch comedy and marvel at other people’s skills, when it comes to stories with amazing twists. Joe Rogan was a super cool guy to me, and it was really nice to get to know him better and to finally meet Duncan, who was such a different person then I expected. Joe was super generous about letting me photograph and he ended up giving me some tickets to take my girls out to our first UFC fight.

The Ultimate Fighting experience was really interesting. I was surprised to see that it’s not as emotionally taxing to watch live rather then on TV. I actually kind of liked it. We sat a few seats away from some big fighters that were there just to watch their comrades in action. I saw one fighter and got up the nerve to approach him for a photograph. I thought if I had evidence that the woman who screams at her twerps to clean up their room and do their homework, actually had connections to someone who could occasionally open a can of whoop-ass, that might work in my favor. Besides, said fighter was pretty dang easy on the eyes. My friend Wendy sprung into action and took the pic, we switched, then I took a pic of her and said gorgeous species of man. I’m sure the young fighter thought, “Who are these creepy old bitches and why are they here without a man!?!” When we got back to our seats and I looked at my smart phone, the only picture that was there was that of Wendy and the dude. I fought back my disappointment when I realized that Wendy f*cked up my pic with him… Art chicks really are sometimes useless under pressure.

The weird thing about going to a fight, is after one round, you suddenly become an expert. You find yourself saying things like, “Yah, sure he’s all over that dude with the ground and pound now… But wait till the other guy implements a rape choke, simply by putting his hand around his opponent’s throat, pinning him to the mat while raining down punches!!!”

At one point we did become frightened, when one fighter refused to tap out and then passed out, making the ring medics scurry, which scared the sh*t out all three of us girls. I also learned the number one lesson at a live UFC event - never bet on a fighter, cuz' ya like the song he enters with. And like any other type of show I attend, when we left I contemplated buying a woman’s baby T- shirt. But this time, Instead of a band’s name and logo this one read, "Pain is just weakness leaving the body!!!"

The next day my photo budz and I found ourselves literally crawling over crypts to photograph for our little secret project. We did manage to scare the bejesus out of a couple of old bikers, as I was photographing my friends who were pretending to fight in Saint Louis Cemetery #2 The bikers left physically shaken and confused at what they had just seen. Score one for art chicks dressed as goats carrying fake bones and Canon camera gear.

After that, we tried to be a little more empathetic to others as they crossed our paths. In fact, the following day I was standing knee deep in a bayou when my girlfriend lowered her camera and shouted, "Quick take the mask off and hide your machete, people are coming!"

I don’t want to discuss the project too much because it’s supposed kept under the covers till we have a show.

We did have our share of seafood and booze. Me less then the others, it’s hard for me to get my drink on when surrounded by thousands of “drunk” folk stumbling around on cobble stone streets.

At one point I ran across a beautiful and funky chic young woman sitting on a trashcan with an old typewriter. She was a struggling writer trying to make some cash off the tourist industry. She promised that if one threw her an idea she would write something thought provoking for you just for a tip. So I had her write me a anonymous Dear John Letter. Here it is…

Dear………….. (insert man’s name here)

Darling, loving you is the greatest thing. The sex is great and it makes me sing in my car after.

That time you looked down at me and said, “this is like fucking a Woody Allen movie.” And everything changed suddenly and you were making love to me and the distances across all the walls were breached and we were together.

I’m searching for clues in your eyes now for why you turned away. Perhaps it is a cataract of all the scenarios tumbling through my head. Or perhaps we could talk about it and find it is nothing at all…

Well, it really wasn’t technically a Dear John letter, but it was late, she was sitting on a trashcan and we were in New Orleans – So it felt wrong to challenge her. I threw her a ten and made a mental note to look up all meanings of the word “cataract…”

This morning the only plan we have is to search for the some Blue Dot donuts, which we’ve been told has bacon on them, then pack ourselves up to catch a plane.