"To encapsulate the notion of Mardi Gras as nothing more than a big drunk is to take the simple and stupid way out, and I, for one, am getting tired of staying stuck on simple and stupid.
Mardi Gras is not a parade. Mardi Gras is not girls flashing on French Quarter balconies. Mardi Gras is not an alcoholic binge.
Mardi Gras is bars and restaurants changing out all the CD's in their jukeboxes to Professor Longhair and the Neville Brothers, and it is annual front-porch crawfish boils hours before the parades so your stomach and attitude reach a state of grace, and it is returning to the same street corner, year after year, and standing next to the same people, year after year--people whose names you may or may not even know but you've watched their kids grow up in this public tableau and when they're not there, you wonder: Where are those guys this year?
It is dressing your dog in a stupid costume and cheering when the marching bands go crazy and clapping and saluting the military bands when they crisply snap to...
It's mad piano professors converging on our city from all over the world and banging the 88's until dawn and laughing at the hairy-shouldered men in dresses too tight and stalking the Indians under Claiborne overpass and thrilling the years you find them and lamenting the years you don't and promising yourself you will next year.
It's wearing frightful color combination in public and rolling your eyes at the guy in your office who--like clockwork, year after year--denies that he got the baby in the king cake and now someone else has to pony up the ten bucks for the next one.
Mardi Gras is the love of life. It is the harmonic convergence of our food, our music, our creativity, our eccentricity, our neighborhoods, and our joy of living. All at once."
— Chris Rose (1 Dead in Attic)
Essays, links and visuals highlighting an alternative, resilient place at the strategic crescent of one mighty river.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Another city heard from
Any love of cities that I have and lavish on my New Orleans, I began in the smoky, man-made, raw Cleveland of my youth. Well from a vantage point west of it, in green Lakewood. My family has no major connection any longer to the city and did not in my lifetime. However, my sister and nephew live and have always lived in Lakewood, and are both proudly Cleveland punk/rock-n-roll/oh yeah? personified if you know what I mean.
Green City, Blue Lake is a site I often visit for inspiration. Now I have another reason, this blog writer, Richey Piiparinen. This post in particular spoke to me as a suburban girl whose family moved down the 71 corridor, until they were unknown and invisible to their own past. To be Polish and from Cleveland sometime back then and yet to have no reason to fight for it is a common story I know but it my truly my family's saga as well.
If we had stayed in one place, might we still know one another? I'd say yes....
frightflight
Green City, Blue Lake is a site I often visit for inspiration. Now I have another reason, this blog writer, Richey Piiparinen. This post in particular spoke to me as a suburban girl whose family moved down the 71 corridor, until they were unknown and invisible to their own past. To be Polish and from Cleveland sometime back then and yet to have no reason to fight for it is a common story I know but it my truly my family's saga as well.
If we had stayed in one place, might we still know one another? I'd say yes....
frightflight
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Where Do We Go From Here?
Written by Robbie Robertson, Sung by Levon Helm and The Band on their "Cahoots" album
Did you hear about the eagle of distinction
The one that came on every Friday afternoon
Well, it seems that eagle has near flown into extinction
Descending to the sand
His biggest enemy being man
Have you ever seen the freedom on the wing
Where do we go from here? I asked my woman
Where do we go from here? Oh woman, my woman
La la la la la la la la la, she said, nowhere
Did you hear about the railroad going under
How it seems its days are numbered on the board
Well, I feel sad about the railroad and it's no wonder
It'd run right by my door
I can't hear it anymore
How can you get to sleep when the whistle don't moan
Where do we go from here? Is there no way of knowing
Where do we go from here? Oh, I need to be shown
La la la la la la la la la, they said, somewhere
Have you heard about the buffalo on the plain
And how at one time they'd stampede a thousand strong
Now that buffalo's at the zoo standing in the rain
Just one more victim of fate
Like California state
You sure do miss the silence when it's gone
Where do we go from here? I hear from no one
Where do we go from here? Could you tell me, someone
La la la la la la la la la, I'd go anywhere
Did you hear about the eagle of distinction
The one that came on every Friday afternoon
Well, it seems that eagle has near flown into extinction
Descending to the sand
His biggest enemy being man
Have you ever seen the freedom on the wing
Where do we go from here? I asked my woman
Where do we go from here? Oh woman, my woman
La la la la la la la la la, she said, nowhere
Did you hear about the railroad going under
How it seems its days are numbered on the board
Well, I feel sad about the railroad and it's no wonder
It'd run right by my door
I can't hear it anymore
How can you get to sleep when the whistle don't moan
Where do we go from here? Is there no way of knowing
Where do we go from here? Oh, I need to be shown
La la la la la la la la la, they said, somewhere
Have you heard about the buffalo on the plain
And how at one time they'd stampede a thousand strong
Now that buffalo's at the zoo standing in the rain
Just one more victim of fate
Like California state
You sure do miss the silence when it's gone
Where do we go from here? I hear from no one
Where do we go from here? Could you tell me, someone
La la la la la la la la la, I'd go anywhere
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Indicators of a sort
More odd charts and graphs
From Lapham's Quarterly
Here are the original NFL teams by the way:
• Akron Professionals
• Buffalo All-Americans
• Canton Bulldogs
• Chicago Cardinals
• Chicago Tigers
• Cleveland Tigers
• Columbus Panhandles
• Dayton Triangles
• Decatur Staleys
• Detroit Heralds
• Hammond Pros
• Muncie Flyers
• Rochester (N.Y.) Jeffersons
• Rock Island Independents
• Cincinnati Celts
• Evansville Crimson Giants
• Green Bay Packers
• Louisville Brecks
• Minneapolis Marines
• New York Brickleys Giants
• Tonawanda Kardex
• Washington Senators:
• Marion Oorang Indians
• Milwaukee Badgers
• Racine Legion
• Toledo Maroons
The Packers lost today.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Home 14, Away 5
I have landed after 5 full days away. I was in Burlington, Vermont for a conference and was very impressed with the people I worked with while there. Farmers, market managers, farming support organizations-all were thoughtful, kind advocates.
I was able to spend a few days in the city roaming around between meetings and workshops. It stayed around 20 degrees which felt bitter, but I did remember to walk quite briskly and to keep my hands, feet and head covered almost 24 hours a day! Food was pretty good, beer was excellent. Views were quite lovely. Vermont seems both real and fake, just like New Orleans sometimes...
Then I got caught in DC for an extra day because of weather woes. Stayed at a hotel near the Pentagon, found a good pizza delivery place while there. So a pleasant experience, even when delayed. Everyone was polite. Helpful too.
But as soon as I walked out of the New Orleans airport into the air of the swamp, I felt better. Actually I felt better when I looked out of the window of my plane as we banked over the Mississippi River and I saw the ships, the bridges and the refineries. The refineries because it makes me remember the crazy farmer who brings huge veggies to the market and swears good-naturedly that it is because of the proximity to those.
When I got to my little neighborhood and had 2 conversations even before I reached my front door, I knew I was home. After immediately putting the heaters on (read oven and 2 ceramic plug-ins) and walking on ice cold floors, I knew I was home. A little later, after ordering sushi and then going my scooter to pick it up, I knew I was home because everyone waved at or acknowledged me.
The hardest thing about traveling as much as I do is the absence of everyday life and the insertion of an almost 24 hour a day consumer life. To have to pay for almost all trips in a taxi or a bus, live on a plane for hours, acquaint yourself with hotel cultures, search out every meal, find and go to the store for things you forgot makes you swim in the big stream in more ways than one.
As hard as that is, the best thing is to represent New Orleans out there and to see my fellow citizens in their own lovely towns. The addition to my bank of good meals or great walks is my own personal treat.
But the best moment of travel is that first walk again down Mystery to venture out to see my world again.
I was able to spend a few days in the city roaming around between meetings and workshops. It stayed around 20 degrees which felt bitter, but I did remember to walk quite briskly and to keep my hands, feet and head covered almost 24 hours a day! Food was pretty good, beer was excellent. Views were quite lovely. Vermont seems both real and fake, just like New Orleans sometimes...
Then I got caught in DC for an extra day because of weather woes. Stayed at a hotel near the Pentagon, found a good pizza delivery place while there. So a pleasant experience, even when delayed. Everyone was polite. Helpful too.
But as soon as I walked out of the New Orleans airport into the air of the swamp, I felt better. Actually I felt better when I looked out of the window of my plane as we banked over the Mississippi River and I saw the ships, the bridges and the refineries. The refineries because it makes me remember the crazy farmer who brings huge veggies to the market and swears good-naturedly that it is because of the proximity to those.
When I got to my little neighborhood and had 2 conversations even before I reached my front door, I knew I was home. After immediately putting the heaters on (read oven and 2 ceramic plug-ins) and walking on ice cold floors, I knew I was home. A little later, after ordering sushi and then going my scooter to pick it up, I knew I was home because everyone waved at or acknowledged me.
The hardest thing about traveling as much as I do is the absence of everyday life and the insertion of an almost 24 hour a day consumer life. To have to pay for almost all trips in a taxi or a bus, live on a plane for hours, acquaint yourself with hotel cultures, search out every meal, find and go to the store for things you forgot makes you swim in the big stream in more ways than one.
As hard as that is, the best thing is to represent New Orleans out there and to see my fellow citizens in their own lovely towns. The addition to my bank of good meals or great walks is my own personal treat.
But the best moment of travel is that first walk again down Mystery to venture out to see my world again.
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