Me and the li'l lady had aquired some mighty fine 'feel good' medicine for the night and Jason suggested that we all go down to the Matador cause this guy called 'Mr. Quintron' was going to be playing and he said the show would go nicely with our altered state of mind.

Well, we got there at about 11:30 and the show seemed that it wasn't anywhere near close to beginning so we just kinda sat around drinking and waiting for the fun to begin. Midnight came and went and no sign of the show starting, or our medication kicking in. They were selling some cheap ass champagne at the bar for $25 a bottle so I threw down some dough and cracked open a bottle of the ol' bubbly. Here's where it gets interesting: I start pouring the champagne and the second the fumes hit my nose it was like I got hit in the head with a brick. My hands felt like they were in ice and I had tunnel vision out the wahzoo. Since my peripherals were shot to shit, I started darting my eyes around trying to surmise the situation, so my friends naturally started asking me what was wrong. Well, that sounded like the soundtrack to hell played backwards. The place was getting more and more crowded so we all took to the streets to stroll among the crowds and wait for the show to start. Besides, there were fireworks going on and we thought we might as well go catch 'em while we wait.

I got onto the street and the cold air hit me and the world came alive. My vision was vibrating and it felt like my clothes were made of silly putty that had been dunked in ice water. We started walking, and as we did, we passed indiscriminate cliques of people who were screaming and shouting (I later found out that it was because they were all drunk and the fireworks were blasting off, but I thought they were screaming at me, so I just kept focused on the ground and walked at a quick pace). I felt the immediate need to get inside somewhere, mostly cause I was freezing my ass off, partly because I was getting really freaked out. We ducked inside this hole in the wall called Turtle Bay (once the Decatur House) and I made a bee line for an open bar stool, threw myself on it, and melted.

After an indeterminate amount of time (felt like about 5 minutes, but in retrospect, it was probably about half an hour) Jason and his hizzo were getting bored, but I wasn't budging, there was a small nuclear blast going on inside my head. So they took off in search of adventure, and I think they were afraid they'd be stuck baby sitting us if they stayed, and off to 735 or the Shim Sham they went.

If you've ever been in a situation like I just described, you know what it's like when the control group leaves the experiment. Time for paranoia to set in. We had been there for a while, and were starting to get the feeling that we were being extremely obvious, so we reluctantly left the warmth of the bar and began to head back to the Matador. On the way back, the cold seemed even more intense, so about halfway back we ducked into a little resturant, Angeli's, to pretend to use the bathroom while we basked in the warmth. On our way through the dining room, a friend of mine who was eating at the time saw us and waved us down. At last, another sober person to cling to! We rudely sat next to him while he ate with a few other friends and tried to keep up with trivial, friendly like conversation. It was at about this moment that we realized that we had driven and were in no where near any condition to drive back, especially with all the DUI checkpoints the cops had been putting up in the past month.

I reluctantly called my friend Matt, cause I knew he was spending his new years at home with his chica, so I figured he might be up for a little excursion. SHAZAM! He's in, say's he'll pick us up at the Matador in about 15. W3rd!

So we bid adieu to our dinner eating hosts and took off, once again, for the Matador. The second we walked in the door, Quintron started up, and I swear, I've never heard anything like it. He was a tall skinny guy in a Powder Blue 70's tuxedo, standing on a bench behind an old style cheesy electric organ, while some freaky rotating electromagnetic, photosensitive crazy device wailed out some insane drum beat. This guy was rocking. It was then I realized why the place was so jam packed before, this guy is some sort of local legend I had never heard of. His first song ended, and just as he was doing the whole intro 'happy new year' speech thing, Matt drove up and collared us.

When me and the homa got home, we immediately jumped in bed and had lots of crazy sex (always cool). I woke up the next morning, went and got the car, had a steak dinner, went home, and immediately started scouring the web for Quintron shit. Turns out this drum thing was his own patented invention, and he's a pretty enigmatic figure in the whole New Orleans music scene. Somewhere it said he was pretty much the house band for the Spellcaster's Lounge, which I didn't even know was still open, seeing as I haven't heard anything about it in about 2 years.

And that about wraps up my New Year's festivities, here's some Quintron if you're curious.