MARDI GRAS IN NEW ORLEANS: WOW!

It is now safe for me to say that only now do I have any understanding of what Mardi Gras is about. That is, I've been doing Carnival here in Louisiana for four years, three in Baton Rouge, and a couple of parades here in Metairie very recently. But it was only by driving into the chaos of the French Quarter on Fat Tuesday that I've begun to see what it's all about. And, lemme tell ya, wild drunkenness is only a small part of it all. It's about community, performance, spontaneous performance by virtually everybody, ridiculing the powerful, defying authority, sex, bending gender norms, music, lots of music, food, celebrating life, humor, and even more that I just don't get because I'm an alien in these parts.

But none of that really gets the vibe across. You really do have to be there, right smack dab in the middle of it, as an individual and part of the mass all at the same time. Maybe that's what Mardi gras is ultimately about: embodying the contradictory state of the one which is also the many. Anyway, enough with the intellectualizing: if you think about it too much, you miss the point.

Here are some pictures.

We started out in Bywater, an old neighborhood within walking distance of the Quarter, as part of the parade of Saint Anne. While we waited for critical mass in front of somebody's house, a drum circle played.



Captain America was there.



After grooving to the drum circle for about an hour, the drummers stood up, and took the point position for our march into the Quarter.



Bill and Hillary were there, showing their penises.



This next shot isn't really part of Mardi Gras, but well worth mentioning. On Clouet Street in Bywater, there is some kind of large water system leak. Apparently, it was reported to the city months ago, but nobody has come to fix it, which isn't surprising because New Orleans is still recovering from Katrina. The artsy residents on the block decided to go with it and christened the leak "Clouet Beach." Now, like I said, it's been all dressed up like this for weeks, so it has nothing to do with the festivities directly, but the point here is that whatever's around and interesting on Fat Tuesday becomes part of the massive stage set. That is, all the costumed performance takes place in these old cool neighborhoods, and the neighborhood architecture and sights necessarily become part of the performance.

Besides, this really is kind of neat.



As the parade continued on toward the Marigny neighborhood, between Bywater and the Quarter, reminders of Katrina speckled the landscape.



Did I mention that there were shitloads of live bands parading around everywhere? Well, these guys joined us as we hit Marigny.



Ridiculing the powerful: "Money War Death Jesus Hates You"



Massive puppets, the likes of which have been used in anti-corporate globalism demonstrations for about a decade now.



My ex, Becky, and her new beau, John. Becky's some sort of sea-woman, and I never quite figured out what John was trying to do, but he ended up looking pretty cool with his red curly wig and US flag color face makeup.



I was a demon or devil or Satan. Something along those lines. That's the thing, as Becky has observed to me repeatedly, you've got to wear a costume. Otherwise, you're shorting yourself. In order to really do the one/many thing, you've got to take part in the massive performance. The best way to do that is with a costume.



Yes, people really do throw beads off their balconies. Everywhere.



We hung out in Jackson Square for a really long time; lots of shit to see there, like this blue man playing guitar right next to some psychotic evangelicals.



So we had parted ways with the St. Anne people a couple of hours earlier, but bumped into them again in Jackson Square. The drum circle was even more intense than before.



Performance everywhere. Like this young lady who was inspired by the drummers to do a solo dance in the middle of the mall--that's John again, wigless, to the right.



After a bit, the Jesus-fascists became a bit menacing. John said they might be disturbing at first, but after a few minutes, they're just a part of the performance. I must admit, their five bigass crosses and megaphoned statements of death, destruction, and eternal damnation were downright Orwellian. Eventually, however, one of the good guys showed up with his own megaphone, stood right next to the Evangelical mouth-man, and started yelling "Stop the hate, brother." God, I loved the chaos!



An Evangelical poster. Note how topping the list of those they deem as sinners are Democrats. Not that I disagree with them on that point, for my own reasons, but I do think it's pretty fucking funny. If you take this sign literally, the worst thing a person can do is be a Democrat.



More live music. This small jazz combo wasn't marching, but still a very welcome sight. The sax guy was playing a lot of Coltrane tunes.



Yet another marching band.



Going back home. I shot these cross-dressers while I was heading back to my car in Bywater, around 5:30 or so.



Then I sat in traffic for an hour and a half heading back to Metairie, usually a twenty minute drive. But, man, it was so fucking worth it!

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$