New Orleans, 2010 – Mardi Gras recap

So I always thought that Mardi Gras equaled Girls Gone Wild. Period.

I was so, so wrong.

I would get mad, working at the Burning Man festival, when others more wet behind the ears than I and my dusty cranky faction would say, “Yeah, Burning Man’s great! It reminds me of Mardi Gras!”

You don’t know what you’re talking about, my subconscious would scream. Have you any idea what it takes to live in a van for 2 months out of the year, in one of the harshest environments on Earth, laboring like a hard-time prisoner and eating nothing but Pabst Blue Ribbon and bacon? … Do you have any inkling as to the effort involved in building a fantastical city out of THIN AIR for FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE, and that we have to TEAR IT ALL BACK DOWN TO NOTHING?

(The subconscious, you see, can become quite the Bill Hicks-level righteous aggravationist when faced with 10-hour days under the hot sun in hangovery dust storms.)

But you know what? On Friday and Saturday nights? When we’ve built the city infrastructure and every-thousand ticketholders have come and added the bells and whistles and finally put down the tools to suit up in their finery and go out on the town and look at what other people have been working on all year in their spare time? It DOES remind me of Mardi Gras. Now that I’ve been to Mardi Gras as a New Orleans resident, I get it.

dear Pan, please bless the proceedings and continue scaring the little children. Amen

My first parade ever was Muses, on Friday night. They’re the only all-woman Krewe which marches after nightfall, and I heard it was the best one, with the best throws, so we braved traffic and crippling cold weather to post up in front of the corn dog stand on St. Charles and watch the art cars — er, Mardi Gras parade floats — do their thing.

Krewe d'Etat king for a day. Sorry for the grainy cameraphone pix but you see just what i saw

Before Muses, which had moved from the Thurdsay due to rain, we saw the Mystic Krewe of Hermes, Le Krewe d’Etat, and the Krewe of Morpheus parades, all on the same route. If you don’t know what any of that means, then you’re up to the speed I was at a month ago, so do your own research. Mardi Gras is a fascinating, culture-rich, old-world-taken-from, across-all-barriers holiday that (this sounds corny but) makes me proud to be an American.

soldiers, marching bands, dancing girls, fire-bearers, creepy hooded men on horseback, punishing sound systems ... yep, all things i like

And just like at the Burning Dude, on the weekend anyway, attendees revel in distributing and/or collecting useless crap that, for one night only, seems like treasure. MOOP! I gave in though: Two boxes of Mardi Gras beads, all colors and sizes, somehow made their way back to my house. Right now they sit in my closet, waiting for the day when I till the weeds out of my back yard. Then I can throw the beads up in the tree, and if they fall out, they won’t mess up the rental gardening equipment.

all their floats had themes about how to please a woman. this one was the cutest

Indeed, the Mystic Krewe of Muses did bust out some good throws. I caught a reusable grocery bag, a stuffed-animal toy for the dog, and a necklace and matching bracelet made of high-heeled Barbie shoes. The Muses’ grand prize throw — the object of the game, if you’re that serious about throw-collecting at parades — is a custom-decorated real shoe, gaudied up with glitter and tassels and puffy paint. Talk about useless. But like I said, for one night, it’s gold.

The actual point of the parades, of course, is not to throw and/or collect beads … really, the whole City of New Orleans agrees to come out to party at the same time, to lay down their weapons and insecurities, and to make eye contact with — and mutually celebrate — the rest of their hometown. Each bead-throw is a person-to-person gift exchange (“Throw me something, Mister!”) … a way for those riding on the floats to make people happy, and for those on the street, a way to reinforce the sometimes-shaky notion that most people, given normal circumstances, are really really nice.

The tourists? They’re on Bourbon Street. The rest of Mardi Gras is for us.

Dat Tuesday

Sigh of relief. Victory lap. Post-coital cigarette. Chocolate mousse and a snifter. The collective and sustained “wooooo” after the who-dat chant is over.

Watching the New Orleans Saints “Dat Tuesday” Super Krewe parade on TV. Because it’s inside a warm building instead of out in the arctic blast with crowds and crowding and crowdy coldness. Schools closed early today, nothing got done, everyone wore black and gold, and the traffic’s backed up all the way to Algiers.

Aging white-guy commentator on the parade: “Here’s the USMC Reserve Forces Marching Band … and I think they’re gonna get crunk.”

I love this town.

p.s. hey you in the white Ray Bans … in case you want to know what a REAL MAN looks like:

Another Pre-Event Costume Frenzy

Mardi Gras in New Orleans, like the Burning Dude, is impossible to explain during just one cafe conversation. Like the Burning Dude, too, a newcomer needs to remember EASY DOES IT: enjoy the first year, don’t be too ambitious, focus in on one or two aspects, and branch out from there. Mardi Gras is a lot to swallow, and me, I’ve only just begun to chew.

For a good history of Mardi Gras: read here. Zulu parade: Here. And Mardi Gras Indians: Here and here.

(Mardi Gras Indians = feather envy)

Someone asked me yesterday what I was going to wear for my first Mardi Gras as a New Orleans resident. “Do I NEED a costume?” Yes!, they said. Ohhhhh crap. Another lesson learned quickly: This is the high holy holiday in New Orleans, and even if thou art just walking down the street, thou shalt style thyself accordingly.

I’m not the kind of girl to show up un-costumed to a costumed event. In fact, quite the opposite. A friend offered to loan me her costumes from last year … but that just didn’t … feel … right. For our kind, costumes must be hand-crafted, filled with the spirit, and wearable post-event — not store-bought, forgotten about, and donated to the community center along with the bridesmaid’s dress and the fondue set. My threads won’t be anything fancy — but they’ll be mine. Even at this late date, I’ll get it done.

Preparation for the fete is the spell you cast; costume, the pre-battle warpaint. As I make black-and-gold streamers for the Saints Superbowl game-day party at the Village, I wish on the Saints to win. As I cobble together the effluvia found during my Year One in NOLA, in hopes of crafting a costume that doesn’t suck … my fabric, my spirit, my memories, my treasures groundscored and laid aside for occasions just such as this, and for that one other burning dude in August … I reflect and ponder and plan for the future. I’m positive many folks in New Orleans — especially the Mardi Gras Indians — are doing the same.

Costume! Readyyyyy.... GO

It’s meditative to sew, to make garlands and paint banners and do whatever else this homemade-hoedown type of party requires. You ready for the barn-raising. You gather scrap fabric from friends and thrift stores, and busily make sketches and plans. You lay out materials and notions, cuddle with the borrowed Itunes collection of a musically-discerning friend, turn up the volume, and sail away to inner space.

In summary, the report from New Orleans is that costume-sewing is SERIOUSLY taking place in these days leading up to Fat Tuesday. It is prayer. It marks the end of something, and the beginning of the new. And on Mardi Gras, all that energy bottled up from weeks of Saintsmania and cutting/sewing/gluing/painting things onto floats/costumes/decorations … all that momentum, worry, focus, and anticipation … will become a group hallelujah.

WHO DAT whatnotery for da superbowl party @da Village - GO SAINTS