FAT TUESDAY IN THE QUARTER, 2009
or
STALKING ST. ANNE

Well, it's been about a week, so I figure it's time I posted my Mardi Gras pics. As with last year, I had marvelous fun participating in the greatest show on Earth. Also, as with last year, Becky and I marched into the Quarter with the Society of Saint Anne. Unlike last year, however, I have less commentary here about the festivities. That is, last year was my first real Mardi Gras in New Orleans; it was virtually impossible for me to not see it all as an awe struck outsider, an observer. This year I tried to be more of a participant: I mean, don't ask me what that means exactly; part of it was trying to shut off my analytical interior dialogue and just go with the flow of it all. Getting drunk and maintaining my buzz all day helped out quite a bit, but like I said last time, Fat Tuesday in the Quarter is only passingly about drunkenness. Mostly, it's about being part of the mass and an individual at the same time, about being ready to join the performance at any moment, about appreciating the performances of others.

So like I said, less commentary this year, but I will make this observation. I really enjoy marching with the Saint Anne krewe. There's this whole sense of anticipation building as the parade's numbers swell with each block it passes on the way from Bywater through Marigny and into the Quarter. And what's particularly cool is leaving the parade after a while: you can't help but keep running into it again and again as you wander around. It's like, oh cool, there's Saint Anne again. I felt like we were stalking the neighborhood krewe. In a good way. Maybe the krewe was stalking me.

Who knows? It was Mardi Gras.

Anyway, check out the cool confetti.



This was posted outside a residence. Apparently, the owner changes it from time to time, but it's always supposed to be some sort of left-leaning political message. Deflating the pomposity of power is an entirely appropriate message for Fat Tuesday.



Saint Anne on the march.



I have no idea what this woman was throwing, but it was nice to get a shot of whatever it was while it flew through the air.



Yeah, that's a dead man in a coffin on wheels. And a ladybug.





The woman with the butterfly wings is Becky's pal Heather. She's actually in several of the pictures I took, taking pictures herself. The Sousaphones were an irresistible subject.



Bubbles floating around the Rue Royal.



The fundamentalist psychos trying to spoil everybody's fun at Jackson Square. Apparently, this is an annual event for them. The irony, of course, is that, rather than raining on the parade, they're absorbed by it, becoming part of the show. I imagine they're oblivious to that fact.

I wonder if some of them secretly enjoy Mardi Gras. Bet they do.



Marching bands everywhere.





Heather brought us to a little private party at a suite in a swanky French Quarter hotel. From its balcony, we once again encountered Saint Anne.

Here they come.



There they are.



And there they go.





Me and Becky. She was a fairy, part of a group of fairies which included Heather. I was dressed solo, and you wouldn't believe how many comments I got. "Make it so, Number One!" "Live long and Prosper." "Beam me up, Scotty!" One woman even called across the street to me, "I love you!"

God, I love Mardi Gras.



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