I realize that kids need to go on field trips to the aquarium. I am not saying that they should be banned or timed better or anything, since I did go on a Friday afternoon, so that's my problem. There were five distinct groups of kids. Group #1 were made up of kids in matching polo shirts who looked about the age 6-7 bracket. They were well behaved, so I have nothing more to say about them. Group #2 were about age 7-8, had matching tee-shirts, and were running amok. I think the main problem was there were so many of them, and their supervision was sparse and run by overworked soccer moms with limited peripheral vision. Group #3 were about kindergarten age with blank white shirts and jeans, and were very loud, and that includes their chaperones who looked like they were waiting for someone to look away so they could smack the kids around. But at least their kids were not running amok. Group #4 were from a "Saint [something] Academy for Girls," according to the tee-shirts on the chaperones, and looked about as blue-blooded as some of the McLean kids I grew up with. Very white, very nervous, and they were forced to fill out ditto sheets, which I am very against even though I realize their value in keeping kids focused on the educational value of the tour. Simply put, I think schools take the fun out of museums, I'm just sayin'. But the worst group I left for last because they were teenaged boys completely out of control. Generally being stupid and "po' gansta," it was obvious the value of visiting the aquarium was lost amongst Group #5 who seemed to have no supervision whatsoever. While there weren't many, it only took a few to pretty much ruin some exhibits. One high point was when one of them pulled down his pants and humped the glass in front of the otter exhbit to shock the Saint [something] Academy for Girls. "U lahk snakes? Ah give you mah SNAKE!! Anna-CONDA! Hah hah!" At some point, they threatened one of the chaperones with, "What chew lookin' at? Dat's right! U keep walkin' bitch!"
While they still had barriers put up and a lot of cops and security around, I didn't see any filming or equipment that might indicate any sort of filming. I don't know WHAT is being filmed, only that it's WWE Film Productions LLC, which may be related to wrestling.
I wish I was out with someone. takayla is doing her work with the convention. She's attending classes and such today. I should have snagged CR or aksident, but that would have taken them out of school. I think the aquarium would have been a lot more fun with them. aksident could have taken care of "Mr. Anaconda," I am sure.
And I found the source of that ANNOYING CALLIOPE music from last year: it's a riverboat. I swear, they play it louder than metal rock concerts. It played randomly all day and night through my hotel window. This hotel is nice and quiet (until you go to the convention downstairs, which is having a combination of a teachers seminar and an adult toy convention).
There are a few frat boys wandering about. Drunken Spring Break teens and college kids who have little to no sense are cruising around and being a nuisance. One "prank" they seem fond of is getting into photo shots I try and take of the surrounding architecture and scenery. I am going to stay away from Bourbon Street because of this, but I think the next leatherneck that jumps into my shot and goes, "Woooooh, PAR-DAY!" I will take a shot of and claim something outrageous on Flickr, like:
"Local homosexual celebrates the fact it's not size that matters, but how many gerbils he can stuff."
One girl showed me her tits yesterday. I know that's normal here, but I didn't have beads, it's not Mardi Gras season, and I was trying to take a picture of some street musicians who looked awesome and bad-ass (a girl with a leather vest plying violin and ghetto blues piano player with a "portable" upright piano on wheels). But Miss Boobs-a-lot, drunk to the point she was barely held up by her two male frat boy pals on each arm, kept getting in my way. Not to be mean, but she had a lot of stretch marks; it looked like her boobs were made of slowly running oatmeal. Thus, I deleted those pictures. But I wasn't alone, she was showing them to everyone with a camera.
The elevators in the Marriott are strange. They have a keypad at each elevator lobby, and you punch in the floor you want. Then it gives you the elevator cab number (here, A-G), and you wait in front of that set of doors until the elevator opens for you. The elevator cab? Has NO floor buttons. Just, door open, door close, alarm, and emergency stop. This seems to make the elevators slower to show up, which became a big problem last night when there was a huge Vegas party downstairs.