I had a cold, but my friend, J., and I had already planned to visit my cousin, T., in New Orleans for Jazz Fest and I was driving, so there was no backing out. THANK GOD, I didn’t back out. We drove 7 hours from Houston, and pulled in at Midnight on Friday, thinking we’d just go to bed, but when we walked in the door at T’s house, everybody was like “JUST IN TIME!” and we were dragged out dancing at a place called Brazil. The band was incredible and we danced for hours, and when we wanted to go home at 4am, people asked “Is something wrong? Why so soon?” I should have stayed out, because T’s house was like a train station there were so many people arriving and departing. I was on the lumpiest futon ever, and I never fell asleep until 8am when everyone else finally passed out. The next day at noon, we got up and ate something amazing (there was no bad food anywhere) and then finally went to the festival, which was incredible. We fell asleep again at six, and then woke up at midnight and did it all over again. My body clock was more adjustable back then. Everything I ate was incredible, I NEVER paid for my own drink, and I lost 4 pounds just dancing. My cousin and I did a jig in the street and people clapped. We had brunch at a place called Dante’s and a complete stranger paid the dixieland band to serenade us. T and J may or may not have made out. And my cold? WAS TERRIBLE! My nose never stopped running, and when I got back to Houston I was sick for days. It was worth it. Please, GOD, return this town to all its former glory.