48 hours: hitting the wall

48 hours of little to no sleep (hello, insomnia) and I finally crashed this afternoon after my last panel. Missed the dinner with John Mariani at the Windsor Court, missed the reception for Calvin Trillin at Brennan's, missed the birthday party for Marva Wright at the Ritz-Carlton...all of which looked fantastic (especially the Trillin reception). Frankly, the amount of panels and parties seems to have outgrown the four days of the Festival. Or maybe I'm getting old.

Tonight? I got nothin' except this room.

Several years ago, when Harrah's wanted to come into New Orleans, the city allowed them to build a casino, but no hotel; the already-here hoteliers used their pull to shut down hotel plans. Later, when it went through, there were worries that a casino hotel wouldn't be "New Orleans" enough (as if the chain hotel skyscrapers on Canal Street were antebellum mansions).

Anyway, the place is plenty luxe and completely separate from the casino, but what strikes me is the amount of local art in the rooms. I have two lithographs by the photographer Richard Sexton and one by Lee Tucker in one room, and all three are striking original works of art. The hotel could've put up prints of a Mardi Gras parade or Jackson Square in each room, and the guests probably would've found it sufficiently picturesque, but someone put some thought into buying work from local artists for out-of-towners to enjoy. And that impresses me more than the huge sunken bath, which is plenty nice but could be anywhere.

Tomorrow, four panels, a play, two parties, and a dinner, and I don't know how much I can fit in. This requires a mule team of bloggers.