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At last week’s U.S. Conference of Mayors, nearly 80 of those in attendance voiced their support for marriage equality. In that number: mayors of places like Lima, Ohio and Hallandale Beach, Florida. New Orleans didn’t make the cut.

Now, I like Mitch Landrieu. I like him a lot. He’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever met, and in less than two years, New Orleans has seen more improvement than it did in its eight-year-long love/hate (but mostly hate) relationship with He Who Shall Not Be Named. But given the size of New Orleans’ LGBT population, you’d think Landrieu might be able to come out in support of marriage equality.

New Orleans has a huge gay base, and we’re surrounded by a warm and welcoming straight community (so long as you don’t count parts of Kenner). As a matter of fact, in a recent poll of travelers taken by American Airlines, New Orleans was named one of the world’s top 10 gay destinations, alongside London, New York, Tel Aviv, and Toronto.

Of course, I know Landrieu didn’t ride into office on a platform of LGBT rights. New Orleans’ queer community is so old and entrenched that gay rights might seem like a non-issue. But we’re here, we’re queer, and we would like some support, please. And let’s not make excuses about Louisiana’s state law forbidding gay marriage: mayors from Texas and Alaska and Michigan and Minnesota were on that list, and they’re in the same boat.

So I ask: Mayor Landrieu, where is the gay love?

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a novelist. Forget cowboys and doctors and lawyers and such: I wanted to be the Madeleine L’Engle of my generation.

This did not happen.

This did not happen because eventually I realized that I can do short stories and essays and the occasional one-act play, but I probably don’t have the ability/interest/desire to pull off a full-length work of fiction. Not a good one, anyway. So, I’ve left that to the people who know what they’re doing. Which is fine, because the world has enough half-assed novels, am I right?

Over time, blogging became my thing, my niche. I may not be great at it, but it gives me the opportunity to get the wordsmithing bug out of my system. I’d pretty much given up on writing a book at all, until my friends Elizabeth and Allison approached me about putting together a field guide for people who want to booze it up in New Orleans’ Vieux Carré.

Long story short: we drafted a proposal, found an agent, and the book is moving forward, with the working title, The French Quarter 100: A Drinking Companion to America’s Most Eccentric Neighborhood. Elizabeth, Allison, and I are writing it under the collective pseudonym “The League of Spirited Tipplers”. Jonno has graciously agreed to provide photographic support.

“Why the hell would you need to write a book like that?” you ask. “You can’t swing a cat without hitting a bar in the French Quarter. How hard could it be to find a decent drinking spot?”

Sugar, it is harder than you think.

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For years, I have secretly conducted field tests on holiday celebrations, maintaining detailed notes on their good points and bad. Based on extensive surveys of exactly one person — me — I’ve devised this completely accurate ranking of the holidays, from best to worst:

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