The Real World: Back to New Orleans, Episode 07
“The kitchen is where the food is and I want to eat my food.” - Knight
A few days before Super Bowl XLIV, a rumor started going around that the Real World cast may be watching the big game at the Rusty Nail. The Rusty Nail is my home away from home, so when I caught wind of this potentially disastrous development, I predictably freaked out and marched on over to get some answers.
Thankfully, the lovely Cyndi was behind the bar and my friend Scott was in attendance when I stormed into the Nail with an axe to grind. Cyndi assured me that although MTV producers had approached the proprietors about potentially allowing the roommates to stop by on Sunday, the terms of the arrangement were respectfully declined. Having been successfully talked off the ledge, I grabbed a PBR and started to catch my breath when Scott posed what turned out to be a very thought provoking question.
“What if the Real World did spend an evening here? Obviously no one wants them jamming up a Super Bowl party, but would seeing the interior of The Rusty Nail on TV a few months from now be the worst thing in the world?”
The answer to that reasonable questions is, of course, no. The entire time MTV was in town, I lived in fear that I would cross paths with the cast or crew. Sure, the one time it happened it was a disaster, but that encounter was fraught with extenuating circumstances. Looking back at the especially hellish shit-boxes that have hosted the Dufossat 8 this season, I sincerely wish I did run into those jokers more often. Because instead of New Orleans coming off as the brilliant, diverse, endlessly interesting city that she truly is, we are treated to week after week of blowjob-shots at The Beach, bottle service at Le Phare and general douchery at Monkey Hill. And when the cast isn’t doing a live read promoting Subway’s new breakfast offerings, they are sucking down plate after plate of nondescript pasta at casual dining establishments I have barely heard of and would certainly not frequent.
Years and years of bad behavior and questionable filming practices have finally caught up with the Real World franchise, as it is now preceded by a horrific reputation that would rightfully send chills down the spine of the management of any drinking or dining establishment worth its salt. The end result is backdrops composed exclusively of the lowest common denominator any city has to offer. Sure, the show did an admirable job of capturing the spirit of Mardi Gras and the excitement of the Black and Gold Super Bowl, but save an exploitative montage of Katrina’s destruction and an awkward interaction between Sahar and Theresa Andersson, the bullshit shenanigans that comprise this season’s plot might as well be taking place in Houston (or Tampa, for that matter).
I’m not trying to act like my New Orleans exists on the better side of some line in the sands of cool that separates “good” drinking holes from the cheesy tourist traps popular among spring breakers and the poor souls who simply do not know any better, but The Real World: New Orleans really isn’t doing the city any favors anymore. And I would have been miserable if I saw those jerks around every turn, but the show could probably benefit from at least one trip to Parkway Bakery or some late night karaoke at The Saint.
I spied some place called Leonardo’s, Kingpin Bar, Monkey Hill, Subway and Cannon’s. Here is a diagram, or more like an infographic:
