Mardi Gras, pt.5

Well....I made it back, safe and, almost, sound.

I had an absolutely fantastic time this week and extended my most sincere appreciation to all those that made it possible from the extended families of But 8, Frogs, Sigma and the Great Nola Community.

To those who make comments like, "I can't believe you flew halfway across the world just to go drink for a week," I have only this to offer you. . . .

"To encapsulate the notion of Mardi Gras as nothing more than a big drunk is to take the simple and stupid way out, and I, for one, am getting tired of staying stuck on simple and stupid.

Mardi Gras is not a parade. Mardi Gras is not girls flashing on French Quarter balconies. Mardi Gras is not an alcoholic binge.

Mardi Gras is bars and restaurants changing out all the CD's in their jukeboxes to Professor Longhair and the Neville Brothers, and it is annual front-porch crawfish boils hours before the parades so your stomach and attitude reach a state of grace, and it is returning to the same street corner, year after year, and standing next to the same people, year after year--people whose names you may or may not even know but you've watched their kids grow up in this public tableau and when they're not there, you wonder: Where are those guys this year?

It is dressing your dog in a stupid costume and cheering when the marching bands go crazy and clapping and saluting the military bands when they crisply snap to.

Now that part, more than ever.

It's mad piano professors converging on our city from all over the world and banging the 88's until dawn and laughing at the hairy-shouldered men in dresses too tight and stalking the Indians under Claiborne overpass and thrilling the years you find them and lamenting the years you don't and promising yourself you will next year.

It's wearing frightful color combination in public and rolling your eyes at the guy in your office who--like clockwork, year after year--denies that he got the baby in the king cake and now someone else has to pony up the ten bucks for the next one.

Mardi Gras is the love of life. It is the harmonic convergence of our food, our music, our creativity, our eccentricity, our neighborhoods, and our joy of living. All at once."


-An excerpt from the book 1 Dead in Attic by Chris Rose, a New Orleanian by choice and Times-Picayune columnist by profession.

I guess what I really have to say is, "Why wouldn't you fly across the world for that?"

Thanks for making it possible everyone, I'll see you next year at Jackson and The Ave. . .