Article by Josh Kilmer-Purcell, originally published on Out.com (http://www.out.com/detail.asp?page=1&id=22551).

I admit it. When climbing the landscaped stairway in front of Armistead Maupin’s Noe Hill home, which backs up into the magical Sutro Forest in the heart of his beloved San Francisco, the first thing I look for is pot plants.

My stomach has been lurching over the hills on the taxi ride to his house, and a little of Anna Madrigal’s special blend would do wonders. Not spotting any plants, I continue climbing, aware of how much I desire Maupin to resemble, in spirit, the eccentric transsexual landlady-matriarch Anna Madrigal from his groundbreaking Tales of the City series.

We gays do that to our lions as they age. We desex them. We strip them of their power and influence. We mock their vast accomplishments as quaint. In an age when coming out can often be as breezy as joining a junior high gay-straight alliance, we look back on the hushed secret languages of those who came before us and think of them as somehow weaker than we.

So when the man standing at the door isn’t wearing a caftan and drinking Frannie Halcyon’s famous mai tais but is instead a sturdy, handsome, genial snow-haired daddy type, I think, To hell with the weed. Pass the poppers.

My usual tip for friends visiting New Orleans is: Never drink anything named after a natural disaster. Now I would add this friendly bit of advice: The best way to encounter a hurricane … is from a distance.

Evading Hurricane Gustav by a day, the husbear and I arrived back home late Sunday afternoon on Labor Day weekend, returning early from our holiday trip to New Orleans for Southern Decadence 2008.

We were two of nearly two million people evacuated in the Gulf region, and two of several hundred daddies, bears, leathermen, and other homomasculine guys and hunters whose “decadent” plans were dramatically altered by the prospect of a hurricane directly hitting the city — not the kind of blowjob savored by the thousands of queer men partying on Bourbon Street over the long weekend.

Queer or not, NOLA residents and tourists alike were keenly aware that Southern Decadence was cancelled during Hurricane Katrina three years ago.

Major gay/bi men’s events scheduled during the weekend were interrupted, including Bear Decadence, a fundraiser hosted by the New Orleans Bear and Bear Trapper Social Club (NOBBTSC). Fortunately, the parties start Wednesday, and like us, dozens of other butch homos came early enough to enjoy a couple of decadent days before flying out by Sunday 6pm, when the airport would shut down.

We arrived in N’awlins Wednesday afternoon, staying at the charming Frenchmen Hotel, located on the eponymous street just outside the French Quarter. Normally we would stay at the Auld Sweet Olive, the gorgeous guesthouse owned by our pals Dale and Dave — I proposed to my husbear there five years ago — but they were booked for the event.