jealous, cross-eyed and whining February 5, 2008
God, I’m wallowing in self-pity right now. I’m just going with it. Leicester and Andrea are here with their Mardi Gras pictures and their stories of running into everyone at St. Ann’s. I hated missing Mardi Gras. Why did I ever go to law school? I’ll never get those years back, or those brain cells.
Fucking Georgina has been no help whatsoever. Every time I ask her a question, she says, “I don’t know. Why are you asking me, stupid? I’m not a lawyer, I’m a registered nurse.”
Leicester and Andrea said that, again this year, there was some difficulty in locating St. Ann’s. I ran into my friend at Jefferson Variety and she told me there is a split-off group from St. Ann’s. I don’t know what all the drama and split-offing is about. Last year, I just stuck with the Storyville Stompers, but Leicester said that he didn’t know where they were half the time today. There were three different bands. Do the Storyville Stompers still go to Canal Street and meet Rex, and then go to the river? Or does the splinter group do that? I need to know all this for next year, when Mardi Gras will be on February 24th. I only have a year and three weeks to get ready.
In election news, McCain is winning big and it’s so funny the way other Republicans hate him. I don’t know why, he’s just like the rest of them. Even though I wouldn’t vote for McCain for dogcatcher, it pisses me off when people question his patriotism. It’s just as bad as questioning the patriotism of Al Gore, John Kerry or Max Clelland. You would think honorable wartime service on behalf of his country would remove all doubt about a person’s patriotism. I have other things I dislike about John McCain but he is a genuine war hero who refused to use his military connections to get released from the Hanoi Hilton before other POWs, captured before him, were released. I’ve never met anyone with that much courage in my life. And they also think he’s nutty from being a prisoner. Name one candidate for president who is not a nut. Even the nuttiest, Mike Huckabee, is saner than President George W. Bush. Craziness is not an impediment to being president, as we have seen throughout history. Read up on Andrew Jackson sometime.
Hillary and Obama are splitting the Democratic vote, but California is not totalled up yet. It’s fun that it’s still a contest, and even more fun since either one of them would do just fine. My expectations for President are very minimal at this point. I want someone who is not George W. Bush, and who is not anything at all like George W. Bush. I want someone who is not as dumb as George W. Bush. I want regime change. I want these Republican neo and theo cons out of my government, and their corrupt pack of lying hacks gone with them. Either Clinton or Obama will put in some different people, any different people. Then we can start working on getting our constitution back into effect, and making our government work best for the most of our people.
mardi superbe
Dangerblond is having quite the tame Mardi Gras today, sitting at home with my Barbri books and drinking nothing stronger than coffee. Leicester and his friend Andrea are downtown, however, representing the family.
I haven’t left the compound since Maitri and her husband rescued me on Diva Day. My memory is hazy, but I was fine one minute and then pole-axed the next. It had something to do with a pink drink. My daughter-out-law, also a vision in pink, grabbed my hand and then suddenly we were in D’s vintage Cadillac pimp-mobile with my head and two-foot wig hanging out the window. It was a lovely day outside.
Maitri and D took Amy to the Friday parades and I called B to rescue me from Uptown and take me home. He didn’t make it to Diva Day because he was sick, but he was here Friday morning watching us all get ready. I must say, we had quite some outfits. Maitri has a picture of us.
I hate to miss St. Ann’s and Mardi Gras Day in the Quarter, but already my cup runneth over. How lucky am I to be able to do Krewe du Vieux and Diva Day?
I’ve been keeping up with Mardi Gras via other people’s blogs, and I’ve been monitoring the death toll via nola.com. Holy crap, what a lot of assholes with guns! It’s ridiculous. Of course, Mardi Gras in New Orleans is apparently still safer than visiting strip shopping malls in Chicago, but still. Terrible news also about the Endymion rider who was killed getting off the float. They really should build those super-floats with exits only to the side, and not to the rear or front. When you are on the float, you can’t tell whether you are supposed to exit or not because you can’t see what’s going on up front. People are always getting off before they are supposed to. If they get off to the side, they can at least avoid being run over.
It amuses me no end that we are having Fat Tuesday while the rest of the country is having Super Tuesday. Everyone is all “Hillary this,” “Obama that,” and Mitt Romney’s underwear. Ya’ll let us know what you decide. This coincidence reinforces the feeling that we all have here, that New Orleans isn’t part of the United States anyway. Ya’ll are picking the president? That’s nice. We just handed over our city to Rex, the Lord of Misrule.
tonight’s parades in “jeapordy” January 31, 2008
Nola.com, which desperately needs a proof-reader, is reporting that a major storm is headed this way. The super doppler is not looking good. What a drag. If there are high winds and threats of tornadoes, three of the best parades will be cancelled or rescheduled, Babylon, Chaos and Muses. I would hate for that to happen. Muses is my favorite of the big parades, and I was completely charmed by the old-fashioned Chaos last year. Chaos is the closest thing we have to the traditional parades of the past, like Comus. Last year they were throwing packets of cards with drawings of each of their floats.
Captain Stacy Rosenberg, who must be a superwoman, and her group put an unbelievable amount of work and detail into Muses and it would be very disappointing to a lot of people if they have to cancel. They don’t cancel unless it’s a major, major storm and, unfortunately, that might be what they are facing. I’m a member of Muses, but I am still on the waiting list to ride. I’m dying to do it, but this year, with the bar exam, it’s just as well that I can’t. I won’t be able to see the parade at all, even if they do roll, because I’m committed to dinner with out-of-town Divas in the Quarter tonight.
UPDATE: I just received an e-mail from Muses that the parade is being rescheduled for tomorrow night, following Hermes, Krewe d’Etat and Morpheus. That means Friday is going to be a lollapalooza of Mardi Gras parades! I might be able to see it after all, if I don’t get into a coma from Protecting Endangered Pleasures all day long.
By tomorrow, the storm will have passed and it’s supposed to be sunny and in the high 50s for the Divine Protectors of Endangered Pleasures. Be sure to pass by our balcony on Bourbon at Bienville. The Promenade begins at 1:00.
forced heirs and frozen gametes January 29, 2008
I spent the day completely immersed in the wonderful world of Louisiana successions, donations and trusts. I began to feel like I was the Pompatous of Successions, so I attempted to work one of the sample questions from the old exams. When I was finished, I looked at the model answer. Hmmm. I had left out a few the most important things. I broke out in a cold sweat and had to lay down. It seems that I have a lot more work to do.
Nowadays, we not only have the forced heirs to contend with, but we must also deal with frozen gametes which are implanted in the uterus of the wife and then born alive after the husband’s death. Today pretty much quelled any ideas I might have dreamed up about going to any parades. After Diva’s, the Dangerblond Mardi Gras juggernaut is getting mothballed until next year. Ya’ll are just going to have to pull this off without me.
Tonight was out penultimate bar review class. The first part was a wrap up of federal procedure and jurisdiction and the second part consisted of wisdom gleaned over the ages about test-taking strategies and what to do and not do during the testing week.
It reminded me and my friend of our first law school exams and how petrified we were. After our property exam, a guy got in the elevator with us and he said, “Dayum! That co-ownership question kicked my ASS!”
We both looked at each other. Neither one of us remembered a co-ownership question on the property exam. I was devastated for about 15 minutes. When I got home, I put my property books on the shelf and my notes in the garbage without looking at them. I figured, “if I screwed it up, there is nothing I can do about it now.” I still have no idea if there was a co-ownership question on that exam, which I got a “C” on. Since then, I have refused to discuss any exam with anyone after it’s over.
The professor warned us not to try any new activities or new foods during the week of the exam, because a sprained wrist or food poisoning can be your downfall. I remembered last month when I was headed Uptown to take my evening Copyrights exam. Driving down Carrollton, I suddenly felt ravenously hungry and I thought I’d better get something in my tank for the 3-hour test. I stupidly, stupidly grabbed a sandwich and a drink at Subway. Just as the exam started, I began burping, farting and getting the worst kind of uncomfortable indigestion attack. It lasted all the way through the exam, ending only when I was handing in my paper. This was a class that I enjoyed and had studied hard for, and I ended up with a B+. I think I’m going to eat exactly the same boring, bland thing every day of the exam week. I’m also bringing Tums.
Between studying and bar review class, I ran Uptown to buy frilly panties and size 10 patent leather boots for myself and my daughter-out-law. I had gotten my old boots at Funky Monkey, so I went there first. They had the boots, but not the right frilly panties. So I went to the costume shop on Magazine near Napoleon (the old Woolworths). They had the wrong frilly panties also. So I walked to Miss Claudia’s, and they had the perfect frilly panties in all colors and sizes, as well as the boots. They also had chunky “gold” Elvis-like jewelry for B. So, bottom line, just go to Miss Claudia’s.
nurses, mermaids and goddesses January 28, 2008
I had my Diva group over here all day yesterday working on our bustiers for the Divine Protectors of Endangered Pleasures. Our luncheon and promenade is on Friday. We’ll be protecting endangered pleasures starting with cocktails at 11:00 a.m. at Arnaud’s. We have newly-designed Diva beads, which are purple this year, and also Diva bracelets.
I laid my diploma out on the dining room table for everyone to admire and venerate as they entered. The back room and patio were covered in Mardi Gras beads, hot glue guns and ammo. Susan H. and her daughter Audrey, along with Vivian, worked on their “Chicks of the Sea” mermaid outfits. Susan B. is going as “DiVinyl,” with a skirt made of old 45 rpm records and the most incredible, fabulous retro beaded shoes.
Heather is going to be the made-up “Hindu Goddess of Delusion.” I talked her into making a headdress that holds lit incense sticks. Terry is going to be “Dolly Beg Your Pardon,” in a blindingly bright silver and blue bustier with super enhanced fun-bags. Her sister is making her a sheer lace peignoir. Maitri didn’t come over because, in her typically organized fashion, she’s had her bustier finished for weeks. My daughter-out-law, Amy, didn’t make it either because she’s way over there in Lafayette. I’m making her pink and white Candy Stripper bustier for her.
My Florence Nightinjail, Prison Nurse, outfit is shaping up very cartoonishly. I predict people will first laugh, and then run away in fright. Susan got me a very sexy pair of thigh-high stockings with red crosses on them. With my wig, I’ll be about seven feet tall.
B is making his debut as one of our many Elvi. I got him a black Elvis jumpsuit and black cape. He has very good hair, so I think I’ll just spray it black instead of getting him a wig. I got him some gaudy jewelry at Miss Claudia’s, including a necklace with a guitar pendant and a rhinestone pinky ring. I can’t wait to see him in his outfit. It’s important to me that a man be willing to dress up as Elvis Presley in his Vegas jumpsuit period.
It is exhilarating to me to be in a room full of creative, funny women happily working on these elaborate costumes for a one-time deal. Everyone asks “what do you think?” and everyone else is full of great ideas. Heather and Maitri are first-time Divas, and they both jumped in with both feet and came up with wonderful creations.
I also love the reactions of the kids. Heather and Susan have pre-teens and they were bemused at what the grown-ups were getting up to. Heather’s daughter had to make a shoe box Mardi Gras float for school and I had to absolutely zip my mouth and sit on my hands to keep from taking over her whole project. Everyone was laughing at me as I kept blurting out “Oooh! Oooh! Olivia, HERE’S what you should do…” It looks like I am never going to outgrow my childish delight in making Mardi Gras.
Heather said, as I have often thought, “what do people do when they live somewhere else?” Poor people. I feel so sorry for them. February 5 is just going to be another Tuesday. And, even worse, February 1 won’t be Diva Day. They have no one to protect their endangered pleasures!
our first-class royalty January 21, 2008
It seems that our Mama Roux Queen, Karen Martin, has been the queen of a Mardi Gras group three times. She reigned over Alhambra and Carrollton, as well as the Phunny Phorty Phellows. There are great photos and a charming interview with Karen to be found at this website. Here is another link to that same website that has a large set of KdV photos. With all that experience, no wonder she was so poised and regal.
I celebrated Martin Luther King Day by attending bar review class. Tonight’s subject was criminal law, taught (via video) by the very witty professor Dane Ciolino from Loyola. He had fun with some of Louisiana’s unique criminal statutes, like the one that makes it illegal to organize a bear-fighting match.
In the not so funny category are Louisiana’s two laws that allow people who are inside their homes to shoot and kill the burglar or shoot and kill the intruder. “Shoot the burglar” allows a person who is inside his house to shoot anyone who enters uninvited. Says Professor Ciolino, “but that doesn’t protect us enough. Why can’t we shoot them before they enter the house? Well, we can.” “Shoot the intruder” allows you to shoot someone who is outside your house trying to get in. So, if he wiggles the doorknob, fire away. It’s justifiable homicide. I wonder why there aren’t more obnoxious neighbors, ex-boyfriends and Jehovah’s Witnesses dispensed with in this manner? Maybe there are, but we just don’t hear about it. If I was out looking to make trouble, I would just stay away from inhabited dwellings. Many people in Louisiana own guns, and they don’t have to fire a warning shot into the floor before they pop you. The penalty for burglary or attempted burglary in Louisiana could easily be death.
she climbed out through the bathroom window
I had a blast in Krewe du Vieux Saturday night, although when I woke up that morning to freezing-cold rain I almost decided to stay home. The rain stopped in the afternoon, but it was still very cold. Don rallied and decided he was not sick enough to drop out. I’m glad I didn’t wimp out, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in the parade and the crowds were enormous. As usual with KdV, the vibe was outstanding and the floats, marchers and costumes were spectacular. I think KdV is hands-down the best parade, and a large part of that is the fantastic crowds. Saturday was one of those days when I asked myself, “Grandma, why do you do this?” The appreciation of the crowd gave me my answer.
We had Rebirth marching with us and they were great, as always. I’m still in love with saxaphonist Vincent Broussard, and he still has no idea that I exist. Our king and queen represented us well, and I’ve seen some great photos of them. I met KdV King Ronald Lewis at the float den on Friday and he was the nicest, most benevolent monarch I have ever met. When he found out we were Mama Roux, he said, “ya’ll gave me the nicest gift!” He told Vivian he was going to put it in his museum.
I didn’t bring a camera because I had too much going on already, what with the Jello shots and whipped cream. I also had a costume malfunction, which is rare for me since I am such an old hand at costuming. Because it was so cold, I threw on a pair of bike shorts at the last minute. The shorts fit me when I was several pounds heavier, but no more. About halfway through the parade, I felt them sliding down. My skirt was made of felt and cellophane and the static electricity caused the skirt to slide down with the shorts. I hiked the damned thing over my shoulder and soldiered on. When I got home, those shorts went right into the garbage can. I’m keeping the skirt because you never know when you will need a yellow cellophane skirt.
I, Terry and a few others gave out Jello shots and squirted whipped cream into the mouths of the spectators. It is amazing how much fun that is. It’s amazing the number of people, including Jeffrey and Michael, who will allow you to do that to them. Many people ran up to me with their mouths open and ready to get creamed. They totally knew the drill. A few of the Mama Roux women rigged up bras with funnels on the front for titty-based whipped cream dispensing. I can’t begin to tell you how big that went over. I whipped-creamed everyone who looked like they would enjoy it. Many in our krewe said, “I don’t care what the theme is next year, we are definitely whipped-creaming again!”
When we got to the ball, Don had lost his bracelet. He said he would stay by the gate and try to find someone to let him in. I had to leave him and go in for the bathroom, which was portolettes. I wandered around in the space a while but it was really dark and I was too cold. The music was phenomenal, but I needed to find a place to sit. Our table was in a cave-like place with no heat and no light, and you couldn’t hear the band. Someone told me it was dark in there because a fuse was blown. I ran into Viv and Richard and we wandered around some more. Vivian said, “why can’t we just have the ball at the Royal Orleans?” I am in favor of that, and I will pay extra for lights and heat. I never thought I would miss the State Palace. It was like a maze. I lost Viv and Richard, so I figured I would go outside and see what was going on there. The front gate, on Elysian Fields, was closed and I was directed back to the other direction.
I went through the band area, the bar area, which was lit and warm, and back to the wrong corner, which was a dead end. I wandered around some more and found the back exit, where there was a chain link fence and two security guards standing under a tall metal heater. It was so cold I had to put my yellow latex gloves back on. I went and stood as close to the heater as I could, hoping all the cellophane would not ignite, and I tried to figure out where I was. I looked out the gate and saw Snug Harbor across the street. I looked at my phone and Don had called.
He said he couldn’t find anyone to let him into the ball, so he went home. It’s funny that there was no one at the gate who knew who Don is, and he’s not one to say, “do you know who I AM?” There are so many younger folks in KdV now. It’s very cool to see the new generation of nut-cases taking over, but at the same time it makes me feel (gasp!) middle aged. He asked me where I was.
“Inside a chain link fence, with two security guards, shivering under a heater, across the street from Snug Harbor.”
He said he would come and get me. While I waited, Vivian and Richard walked up, just as lost as me. Don made it to the corner of Royal and Frenchmen and brought us all home. As we were leaving, a person (either a very tall woman or a man with very long blond hair) keeled over right in front of us and fell out on Frenchmen Street. Yesterday morning, Don had to come back over here and take me to get my car, which was left on St. Roch. I have aches in all my muscles and I’ve come down with the cold that’s going around. [Update: the cold seems to have been just a sniffle and I'm fine today. I give all the credit to my Rite Aid multi vitamins.]
Yesterday afternoon, I had coffee with some of the other people who are running for the Orleans Parish Democratic Executive Committee, District A. The election, which is the same day as the Louisiana presidential primary, is on February 9. It’s right after Mardi Gras. Michael Homan was there, Deborah, Alan and Megan Langhoff, Janis Van Meerveld, Eric Torres and some others who are running on the same ticket. Our group of 14 is trying to get elected in District A so that we can work with other people to increase voter registration and citizen involvement. This group is not so much into backing a particular candidate as it is interested in policy and recruitment of new candidates. We are sending out a mailer to let everyone in the district know who we are. This election will probably have a low turn-out because there are no big elections taking place that day.
Here is something interesting that I learned: In the old days, members of the Parish Executive Committees of the parties had the privilege of getting people released from jail on their own recognizance just by making a phone call. This is no longer the case, but just imagine. What a way to build a loyal political organization - getting people released from jail. I wonder if they took them straight from jail to the Registrar of Voters. When I said, “vote for me and I’ll set you free,” that’s not exactly what I had in mind!
Here are some KdV photo sets that are going around: Michael Homan, Howie Luvsus, The Chicory, dsb nola, Karen Gadbois, Maitri, Nola Notes, Jean and Schroeder.
jello libre January 18, 2008
Terry came over today and we worked on our Krewe du Vieux stuff. She also worked on her bustier for the Divine Protectors. She’s going as Dolly Parton. I’m going as Florence Nightinjail, Prison Nurse, but I haven’t done a thing on that costume yet. I picked up a toy stethoscope at Le Jouet and I found out today that it is not a toy. I banged the business end of it up against the table while I had the ear thingies in my ears, and I nearly blew my god damned ear drums out. I need a scary-looking hypodermic, does anyone know where I can get one? I want one of those really big ones, the kind that I don’t even want to know what it’s really used for.
Terry and I made about 200 Jello shots. I thought I had a bottle of Vodka in the back of my refrigerator, but when I pulled it out, it was white rum. So, we went ahead and made the Jello shots with rum. I hope it turns out OK. The cherry-flavored actually tastes pretty good with the rum. I made a good sized dent in my mountain of unboxed Jello packets.
We are worried about the Jello shots melting, but the weather forecast is looking pretty frigid for Saturday night. It might be colder on the streets of the French Quarter than it is in my refrigerator. Tomorrow, we go down to the den to perform the miracle of the six-hour float-build. I’ve made a big “Jellon/Jelloff” switch, and two dials, one for Vodka and one for the different Jello colors.
Maitri and Vivian were at the Captains’ dinner and they both reported that King Ronald loved his beaded and feathered Jello box float. Vivian said that When Mama Roux made their presentation, the whole room burst into a chorus of “We All Live in a Jello Shot Machine.” The smaller gifts were given to the former royalty, and I hope Al Scramuzza got the “King of the Shrimp” one. That was one of my favorites.
On Saturday, I have two bar review sessions on constitutional law, then I have to blast back here and pick up the Jello shots and the rest of my gear, then blast over to Vivian and Richard’s in time to stuff myself with food and get on the bus. The parade is a half-hour earlier this year, it starts at 6:30. It still seems strangely early to be having a Mardi Gras parade, but once Krewe du Vieux rolls, it interrupts the space-time continuum and opens the flood gates of fabulousness.
Don e-mailed me tonight that he has come down with the awful flu that is (still) going around and he might have to drop out of the parade. He’s going to check back in with me tomorrow, but he asked if I knew of anyone who wants to wear a big Vodka bottle. I’ve got B on stand-by, but he has the kids so he will have to see if he can switch off. I’d love for B to march with us, because he will love it, but I hate for Don to miss it. He was one of the people who founded Krewe du Vieux, but he has never been as interested as I am in marching every year. Don likes to start things up and then move on to something else, letting his projects take on a life of their own. Me, I like to dress up, dance in the streets and throw stuff to people.
Mama Roux will be the fourth group from the end of the parade, after Inane and in front of LEWD. Our band is Rebirth, how lucky are we? The Ball starts at 9:00 and the bands are 101 Runners (Mardi Gras Indian funk), Juice with J.D. Hill (funk, R&B, second line, New Orleans roots rock), The Honey Island Swamp Band (twang-infused swamp rock), and Quintron and Miss Pussycat (bizarre dance-party music). Tickets have to be purchased in advance, and they are available at The Mardi Gras Zone on Royal, Louisiana Music Factory on Decatur, Miss Claudia’s and Up In Smoke, both on Magazine. This year we have left the stinky, sticky, decrepit Loew’s State and we are having the Ball in a warehouse located at 2121 Chartres, corner of Elysian Fields.
Since I have so much to do in these next few weeks, my plan is not to drink too much because I can’t spend two days nursing a hangover. The best laid plans of Dangerblond are apt to go right off the rails, however. If it’s as cold as the forecast is claiming, I might be boozing until my arms and legs get numb.
’s awful nice, ’s paradise January 13, 2008
B took me to brunch at Commander’s Palace this morning to celebrate my graduation from law school. The band serenaded us with ” ‘S Wonderful.” It was a beautiful morning. As we left, he said, “I don’t want to live any place where I can’t get food like that within walking distance of my house.” Amen.
This afternoon we had our Mama Roux costume potluck at Vivian’s. Let me just say that you won’t have a hard time spotting the Mama Roux people in the crowd! I conspired this year to get Karen Gadbois and her husband Jon to join Mama Roux. Just as I thought, they fit right in with the Krewe’s groove. When I arrived, Jon was already in the back working on the giant Vodka bottles. I don’t want to live any place where grown men and women don’t dress themselves up as Vodka bottles and Jello shots.
The minature Jello floats were a big hit. I presented Mama Roux’s King and Queen, Karen and Phil Martin, with their duck-themed Jello float for the tchochke cabinet. Karen and Phil are better known as the Ducks of Dixieland (”laid 1985″ because “no one can resist a duck”).
Viv asked me to take the gifts down to the Den and turn them in to the proper KdV dignitaries. Again, they went over big. One woman said, “Mama Roux takes the prize for making prizes!” I love going to the Den to see all the floats under construction. In case anyone is worried, at least three krewes have managed to work a giant penis into the decorating scheme for their float. I thought about B, who is bringing his kids to the parade along with the child of a co-worker who is actually in the parade. There is one float in particular that, when he sees it coming, he will need to distract the children with a shiny object, unless he wants to try to explain the early roots of satire.
The NOLA bloggers will be representing in Krewe du Vieux this year. In addition to Karen and me in Mama Roux, Lisa Palumbo is joining Ashley “Take Us Back, Chirac” Morris and Adrastos in P.A.N., Maitri is in C.H.A.O.S., and Haney is in The Mystic Krewe of Drips and Discharges. Did I overlook anyone?
It’s so funny to go to the Den and see all the other krewes busily working on their floats while Mama Roux’s float sits there with the remnants of last year still piled on top of it. This is kind of a Mama Roux trademark. We put most of our advance insanity into our costumes, and then we pull out our reserve insanity and do the float on the day before the parade. It always comes together. I’m sure some people think we can’t get it together until the last minute, but that’s not the case. We have meetings and make some individual components beforehand, then we put it together on the last day. It’s a Mama Roux principle that this should be fun, relaxing and silly for everyone and not turn into an intense, serious task for a handful of people. Our name comes from a Doctor John song, and, baby, we are laid back, just like the doctor.
After absorbing all these wonderful, creative vibes all day, I drove home thinking, “wow, I am in a fantastic mood. I love living in New Orleans. I could not do anything I’ve done today anywhere else.” Unfortunately, I decided to check in with my favorite NOLA bloggers when I got home. What do I find but a well-deserved Ashley Morris patented super-rant in rebuttal to some total asshole who really, really hates New Orleans. I mean this guy HAAATES us. He wants us terminated with extreme prejudice, and he wants his money back. I have nothing to add to Ashley, except that if this guy and all of his hateful commentors could have one taste of the life we live in New Orleans, they would be so swollen with jealousy that their ignorant heads would explode. I’m sure they won’t find their way to this blog, but if they do, Happy Mardi Gras, ya’ll!
next time, why don’t we just have mardi gras on new year’s eve? November 10, 2007
It is certainly very stressful, dealing with this early Mardi Gras coming up. For those who don’t know, it changes every year. They say Mardi Gras is always 40 days before Easter, and Easter is always the first Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox. Mardi Gras is on Feb. 5 this year, and that means we are having to compress what would normally be four or five months of extended silliness into half that time. And Mardi Gras Day is the last day. All the parades and balls except for a few occur in the weeks leading up to Fat Tuesday. Krewe du Vieux is parading on January 19. That is a lot of home-grown, low tech silliness to be gotten through in a very short amount of time.
Many people don’t realize the level of rigorous research that goes into a piece of fabulous ephemerality like a Mardi Gras parade. Take, for instance, our KdV float for Mama Roux, “We All Live in a Jello Shot Machine.” We have had to design a Jello shot machine from the ground up. Well, who the hell knew there was actually no such thing as a Jello shot machine? You would have thought those crafty Dutch would have one of these babies on the drawing board by now, it’s 2007 for god’s sake. But no, once again New Orleans has to lead the way.
We all have our individual roles to play as well. Although I’m not trained in Stanislavski’s Method, I do like to know what the hell I’m dressing up as and what’s my motivation. Last year, for “Beautician’s Village,” I spent several hours in a hair salon, and then talked to a person who knew someone who had been to beauty college. Then I went to Jefferson Variety, where they have everything.
This year, I am going to be a Jello-shot Girl (No, Adrastos, they don’t have Jello-Shot Grandmas, but the union is working on breaking down that glass ceiling and not getting hit by any of the falling shards and Jello-Shot Girls). Here is an excerpt from a report I recently wrote up for Captain Viv concerning my and my friend’s fact-finding expedition in preparation for our up-coming costumes:
This morning, I spoke with T.S. and briefed her on last night’s meeting. I told her that I was going to be a Jello Shot Girl, and she decided she wants to be one, too. I confessed to T. that I have never actually SEEN a shot girl, so we decided to go down to the Quarter and do some research.
We started with lunch at Bayona. There were no Jello-based items on the menu, but by the time we found out it was too late, so we had to go ahead and eat there. We interrogated the waiter, and he tipped us off that there was a Jello-Shot place in the 500 block of Bourbon.
We went over there and asked for the Jello-Shot Girl. We were directed to the back patio, where there was, incidentally, a fountain spewing both bright blue water and bright orange flames. It’s amazing the stuff you see in the Quarter.
Anyway, the Shot Girl had an array of colorful, unappatizing-looking drinks in test tubes, and an ice chest with Jello Shots (red only). The Jello Shots were inside clear plastic tubing, about 3/4 inch-diameter. Each was about 3 inches long. She told us they fill the tubing with the Jello and Vodka mixture and refrigerate it. When it sets, they cut the shots into three-inch lengths.
T. bought me a Jello shot. I’m like, “OK.” Suddenly, the Shot Girl leaped up on the counter, turned me around, and pulled me close to her. She cupped her hand under my chin and pulled my head back. Then she laid her big giant Dirty Pillows right on my head! I couldn’t see a thing! Then, she produced a can of Ready-Whip out of nowhere and squirted it into my mouth. Then, she put the Jello Shot tube in HER mouth, stuck the other end into MY mouth and BLEW the Jello Shot right into my mouth with the whipped cream! THEN, she did the same thing to T.! While all this was happening, the D.J. was playing “Hey, Macarena.”
After a post-coital cigarette, T. and I RAN over to Dressed to Kill on Dauphine Street and we each purchased a bagful of colorful hooker-wear. We are so psyched. This is the Best Theme Evah!
There are a lot of spectators at the Krewe du Vieux parade, and I’m not sure about jumping up on parked vehicles, grabbing people’s heads and giving them the full Fun-Bag Experience. I’m definitely concerned about actually blowing these Jello-Shots into people’s mouths. I mean, I don’t usually do that until I’m in a committed relationship with someone. Also, if everyone gets whipped creamed, that’s a butt-load of Reddi-Whip to be hauling up Decatur Street. I don’t know if I need all this responsibility, it’s like a part-time job. I might just hand ya’ll the Jello-Shots and let you blow yourselves.Â
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