"Every Mardi Gras is the Best Mardi Gras Ever"

(A quote from Pete Fountain years ago in an interview with New Orleans journalist Rosemary James.)

And so it has always been, with every Mardi Gras being the one that is the favorite in your mind, tops in your memory. And so it is this year. Some impressions;

Perfect Carnival weather, just what you'd want -- warm temperatures, blue skies, blessedly dry ground. There was a little rain a few nights, but it was mostly just mizzle-drizzle, not enough to stop a parade or soak the ground. The terrific weather really facilitated the crowds, the families setting up with their chairs and tables and canopies and BBQs.

•Prize for most beautiful parade this year goes, hands down, to Hermes, with a theme of the myth of Dionysus. Royal Artists created floats that were apparitions of sensuous loveliness, with flowing draperies, exquisite figures both male and female, and giant jiggling flowers in the 19th century style. Even Mardi Gras virgins were impressed -- a friend of mine, seeing her very first parade ever, asked wonderingly, "Are they all this beautiful?" Well, no -- but it does make you appreciate the ones that are. Thank you, Hermes, for the gift of such ephemeral beauty.

•No less than 4 different groups skewered Archbishop Hughes for the closure of those New Orleans Catholic churches after Katrina: Druids did "Why Archbishop Why?" Tucks pictured him as a Mafia boss. Either Chaos or Krewe D'Etat (sorry, i get them mixed up) had "You Pay Your Money, He Makes His Choice" Winner in the make-fun-of-the-Archbishop contest has to be the Marching Archbishops, a group of about 50 men of all shapes and sizes dressed in formal archbishop liturgical robes.

•Best new throw of the season is the amazing holographic cup thrown by Hermes -- a regular plastic Mardi Gras cup of the regulation size, but completely wrapped around the outside with a 3-dimensional-looking design. Once the new cup hit the streets, interest waned in normal cups. Next year, look for more krewes catching onto this innovation. Thanks again, Hermes!

•My sister from Minnesota noted a whole hierarchy of catching throws. You can still feel good about yourself if you scoop up cups, beads, dubloons, and gadgets off the sidewalk or street once they've fallen there, but better than that is catching them on the fly in the air, snatching them down out of their high-flown trajectories. Higher still is when you catch something that is meant just for you, with the float rider gesturing or pointing to you and you then receiving something that is intended for you. (Correct parade etiquette demands that others intercepting that throw give it to the intended target.) Once you get the throw that was meant for you, politeness requires acknowledgment to the float rider, with thumbs up, a wave, or a blown kiss. Top marks in the ranking of catching/receiving parade throws is when a float rider manage to "ring" you with a necklace, landing it neatly and almost gently right around your neck. This, being understandably difficult, doesn't happen that often. (The masker who got me that way at one parade danced around in triumph, both thumbs raised in the air.)

•Nearly everything local that ought to be satirized came in for the requisite slings and barbs -- the mayor of course, the governor, FEMA (most fun: Tucks' Dracula float with the caption "FEMA Sucks"), Bill Jefferson (and his indicted family), David Vitter and his escapades with prostitiutes, the city council (pictured as crying babies in one memorable instance), those stupid traffic cameras. Some krewes went outside the city and state to throw their outrageous arrows, with floats depicting Sarah Palin and even Amy Winehouse (gee, who cares??).

•I love how we New Orleanians salute the carnival royalty with the traditional cries of "Hail!" "Hail, Dictator" we yell incongruously to the leader of Krewe D'Etat in his Napoleon outfit. "Hail, Captain!" we holler at the man in old silver brocade and velvet riding a horse at the head of Rex. "Hail, Proteus!" to the Uptown guy in the theatrical make-up waving the traditional trident.

•My brother-in-law's idea to purchase 2 cases of plush alligator headgear was inspired. Our extended family gathered at our regular spot on Napoleon, about 20 people altogether give or take making up the newly-formed Krewe of Gatorhead, was a tremendous hit with other parade-goers as well as with float riders (celeb Joan Rivers threw stuff to my niece, yelling down, "Love your hat!") Bonus: an AP photographer not only took our group's picture, he bought a gatorhead to take home to his girlfriend!

•Prize for best parade food: the folks who set up a table in my sister's front yard and shucked raw oysters til the sacks ran out. My god! THAT was fun!! And totally delicious.

•Most exciting moment for me was witnessing my Big Man marching down the street in the Rex Parade as part of the 3rd Line Brass Band. Wow! The Rex Parade! My late father would have been SO impressed. Actually, the Rex Parade was Big Man's *third* parade, as he marched with the Riveraide Ramblers right behind the Ducks of Dixieland in the Tucks Parade, and of course in the Krewe of Barkus in the French Quarter (fun, of course, but a smaller deal). Big Man says the biggest thrill is the turn onto Canal Street from St. Charles Avenue, just as the musicians and other marchers are tiring and wishing it were all over, when the gigantic crowd ROARS and it seems like wall to wall to people and they are all cheering you on, and the energy just washes over the bands and marchers. (Of course, afterwards, if you are not a teenager with raging hormones and endless stores of energy, you are dead tired and your legs and feet ache -- but still, Big Man says he would SO do it all over again.

•Once again this year, I pass without detailed comment on the MOMs Ball, except to note that it was a great time, as always somewhat surreal in its transgressive delights. I was disappointed to leave "early" at 2"30 am -- our plan next year is to arrive later and avoid the entry line, and thus be willing and able to stay later. (However,, this will require finding someone else to lead the service at church the next day.)

And so, oversupplied once more with beads and throws, replete with way too much good food, with sore feet and leg muscles, we wake on Ash Wednesday a little bit relieved and a little bit sad that another Carnival is over.

Lundi Gras Zulu Festival (in Kenner)

(Yes, that's right, Kenner. OK, before today, I didn't know there was a Zulu Fest on Lundi Gras in Kenner either.) Turns out there are 3 celebrations going on simultaneously along the Mississippi River in Greater New Orleans on Lundi Gras, the day before Mardi Gras -- the Rex Festival at Spanish Plaza, the Zulu Festival at Woldenburg Park, AND the Zulu Festival at Rivertown in Kenner. Who knew?

When Paul Batiste asked Big Man to play with the Batiste Brothers at the Lundi Gras Zulu Festival, we naturally assumed he meant the one near the Aquarium at Woldenburg Park. It wasn't until we were just about to leave the house this morning that we clarified that the concert was actually in Kenner. Yikes! Luckily, we made it on time, greatly helped by the fact that the Official Proclamations and Royal Toasts (from the Mayor of Kenner, assorted Jefferson Parish elected officials, and the Captain, Big Shot, and Medicine Man of Zulu, along with various Ladies of the Royal Zulu Court) went on for longer than advertised. This being Zulu's 100th Anniversary year, I figure they can take as many toasts as they want.

Then, just for good measure, a somewhat truncated assortment of Rebirth players got on the stage and played ONE TUNE before announcing that they were playing live at the Maple Leaf on Mardi Gras night, from 11 pm to 6 am, and everyone was invited. The crowd was pleased, but somewhat surprised at the one tune deal. Big Man called it a live commercial for Rebirth.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day -- perfectly clear blue sky, bright sunshine (don't you LOVE getting a sunburn in February?), light wind. It had seemed chilly as we left the house, but at the Rivertown festival ground, it was warm and bright. An enthusiastic crowd had gathered in Zulu's honor -- about 300 total men, women, and kids who were mostly black, some white, and a smattering of Latino and some kind of Asian-American (Vietnamese-American? Hmong-American? Chinese-American?). There were a few booths with food and drinks (chicken on a stick, funnel cakes, hamburgers, hot dogs, boudin, pralines, hurricanes, soft drinks, beer, coffee) and a few not-really-crafts booths. It seems that after the Zulu formalities, the music stage was the main deal and that the Batiste Brothers (with Big Man on trumpet) was the main event.

The band took the stage about 12:15 pm and they played pretty much non-stop for about 3 hours. (Not counting some stage banter and side business that never took more than say 3-5 minutes.) Fortunately for Big Man's poor chops, there were a few tunes during those 3 hours that didn't require much or anything from a horn, so at least he got that much of a break. Three hours without a break! Amazing!

What is billed as "The Batiste Brothers" is really an agglomeration of brothers, cousins, nephews, and sons of the extended Batiste family, or maybe Batiste dynasty would be more correct. (With the addition of Big Man, of course.) Through his musical experiences around town, Big Man has separate working relationships with 2 members of the group, Paul and Russell (who are cousins). The level of musicianship is high, and they segue smoothly from New Orleans classics to old-school soul numbers and a few originals. Big Man was fast on his musical feet and everyone onstage and in the crowd seemed appreciative. I could tell he was enjoying himself, too.

The band called for everyone who could do the Bus Stop or the Electric Slide (what's the difference, I want to know?) to come to the front, right in front of the stage and about 150 people of all ages complied. It was quite a sight to see: men and women, grandmothers and grandfathers, one wizened white lady who was surely a great-grandmother, a couple of elderly drunks, 2 or 3 black kids under their teens, some white women younger than me, all moving together in rhythm, steps more or less the same (some folks giving a little extra special "english" on some moves), a wonderful communal celebration.

Made me proud and happy to be a New Orleanian -- and proud and happy to be Big Man's spouse.

First Parades

Friday, February 13 -- Oshun and Pygmalion
Saturday, February 14 -- Pontchartrain, Shangri-La, Sparta, and Pegasus
Sunday, February 15 -- Carrollton, King Arthur, Bards of Bohemia, and Barkus
(whew!)

The parades of the first weekend of Carnival were undeterred by a little rain, and a little rain was all it really turned out to be -- just drizzles that went on and off and weren't nearly enough to cancel anything. The Krewe of Barkus, the doggie parade through the French Quarter, actually had bright blue skies for a time and I got a bit of sun-burn.

Crowds were light and friendly, mainly locals Uptown and mainly visitors Downtown, as always. As a result of the recession, some parades were light on bands as a way of saving money; if any krewes cut corners on throws, you could not prove that by me. (Lots of good throws, including a medallion with LED lights that actually has 9 functions! And some girl in Pegasus threw me a purple-green-and-gold feather boa, which I didn't even want, but felt obliged to run up to the float to get after she gestured right at me. The honor of the thing, y'know.)

Two krewes, Pegasus and Pygmalion, chose "insider-local" themes, honoring all things New Orleans, including some best-loved "ain't dere no mo'" favorites, such as Pontchartrain Beach and K & B drugstore. This is well and good for the natives, who can be expected to reliably go, "Awwww" when they see such things, but must be a mystery to everyone else. Just another example -- as if one were needed -- of how carnival is for US, not something we put on for others.

Big Man experienced a great honor this weekend, as he marched with the Riverside Ramblers as the lead band in the Barkus doggie parade on beautiful Sunday afternoon. To hear Big Man's trumpet blare the familiar and beloved call of the first bars of "Secondline" -- bada-BAH-da! -- and the loud shouted "Hey!" of the gathered multitude was a tremendous thrill. (Don'tcha just HATE when the out-of-towners don't know they're supposed to yell "Hey!" at that moment? Practically spoils the song.)

And so now it's on to the full Carnival madness, 2 and 3 parades a night until the Big Day. Gotta gear up and pace yourself, gotta be ready. More later...

Seen on the Street

Quite literally...

Big Man and I found this spray-painted in bright orange on the sidewalk on Race Street in the (lower) Lower Garden District, near the Mojo Coffee House, just off Magazine Street:

My life
My love
My city
My New Orleans

How could you find this, read it, and not get a lump in your throat? In what other American city are the citizens proclaiming their loyalty and love in such an emotional and public way? Of course it has to do, at least partially, with Katrina and its aftermath, but still..

File this under "Only in New Orleans."

A Rose in the Winter Time

A song in our hymnal by Carolyn McDade has that as a refrain, "a rose in the winter time." It's a lovely thought, but it's not real meaningful in New Orleans. Roses in the winter time are not special here, they are just what we expect.

It is early February, and New Orleans is filled with flowers. Roses, yes, lots of 'em, in all colors, blooming in yards and parks and gardens. But that's not all. Right now, this very day in the Crescent City, you can see camellias, gardenias, Japanese magnolias (what are called "tulip trees" elsewhere), and even azaleas are in bloom.

Temperatures are warm, 60s to 70s, even high 70s, and the humidity is creeping in. The wind is blowing, almost like March winds, and the clouds scud past, in a hurry to get from here to there.

Big Man and I revel in this weather. On Sunday evening we walked from our house to Aja on Magazine, a shushi place that has changed hands recently. The approximately 20 block walk was comfortable and easy, the weather warm, a light wind blowing. Big Man had on a short-sleeve shirt and I had a light throw on over my short-sleeved dress. We laughed about this being Spring for New Orleanians, while it was still high winter for folks Up North.

For years, when I lived away, I had to struggle with a kind of winter depression that always erupted around Carnival time. My inner clock was convinced that Spring came in February, and it was always so hard to struggle through those "extra" 8 weeks or so of winter weather.

Other places may think of February as depressing and ugly, but here in New Orleans, February is greeted with relief, even with all its changeability. (Weathercasters here refer to a cold front in February as a "late season cold snap.") Beautiful February! Gentle February! We love those roses in the winter time.