Interlude: Recoup & Regroup

March 13, 2013 by

“SHE CAN BE ROUGH, BUT SHE’S A SENSUAL LOVER”

The Triumph: A Failure in the Distance!

The Triumph:
A Failure in the Distance!

I left New Orleans a bit roughed up, but no worse for wear.  On the drive home, as I passed through Mobile, the universe sent me a humorous reminder that someone always has it worse.  Just before I entered the Mobile Bay Tunnel on I-10, I spied a Carnival Cruise ship docked along the industrial waterfront where it was surrounded by cranes, looking derelict and abandoned.  I laughed aloud.  Who else could this be but the good lady Triumph?  As I had healed at the Captain’s Metairie home after Mardi Gras, we had watched daily as she had been slowly towed to Mobile, adding our own comments to news reports of the squalid conditions onboard: Urinating in the showers, defecating in bags, sleeping on deck to escape the stench, eating… [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Travel

TKO in N.O.: End of Round 1

March 7, 2013 by

“HELLO, I’M BROOKE’S DUMB-AS-DIRT FRIEND!”

How I Appeared to Tara By The Time I Reached The Apartment Showing

How I Appeared to Tara By The Time I Reached The Apartment Showing

While exiting the parking garage, right before crunching in the side of my truck, I had received a phone call that I assumed was Tara, my realtor, asking where I was.  Instead of answering, I had increased my haste resulting in my accident.  Now, as I headed down St. Charles Avenue, I checked my messages and discovered that the call was only a Craigslist renter informing me that her rental room wouldn’t be open until May.  Doh!

Cursing my foolishness, I checked the map on my phone to see where my Fucher Street destination intersected St. Charles.  When I arrived, however, I didn’t see the address listed on any of the houses.  I was already angry and not thinking clearly on top of being embarrassed for being late.  Now I found myself driving up and down the street, which changed  to one-way and then reversed directions after a few blocks (are you kidding me?!).  Addresses are in numerical order.  What kind of idiot can’t find a sequentially numbered house?!  My phone rang again.  It was Tara.  She had seen a truck with Florida tags pass…a couple of times…and assumed it was me.  Ugh!   Hello, I’m Brooke’s dumb-as-dirt friend, Eric! [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Travel

Train Wrecks, Figurative & Otherwise….

March 6, 2013 by

LIFTED UP BY WHAT BROUGHT CLINTON DOWN

View The Royal St. Charles Hotel in a larger map

As I headed to my hotel on St. Charles Avenue, just a block away from the French Quarter, I should have been in paradise.  This was the most central spot I’d ever stayed at in New Orleans and things were still in their post-Mardi Gras lull, so none of the good clubs or restaurants would be crowded.  My lingering cold had me frustrated, though, and when you are sick, you crave comfort and familiarity.  Instead I was in a strange city and had been staying in a strange house.  The Captain and Peggy are the most gracious hosts imaginable, but in hindsight I would have been better served heading back to Jacksonville once I was well enough to drive with plans of returning to find housing once healthy again.  I was convinced, however, that I needed an abode before departing so I headed downtown for three nights–a bad decision that would domino the way such mistakes do when you can’t think clearly. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Food & Cocktails, Travel

Flat-On-My-Ash Wednesday

March 3, 2013 by

“THAT MARDI GRAS WILL KILL YOU!”

My Booty From The Rex Parade: A Good Haul But I Was Paying the Price of Plunder

My Booty From The Rex Parade: A Good Haul But I Was Paying the Price of Plunder

I had begun feeling rough Sunday morning, but was too invested in Mardi Gras to take a break.  As luck would have it, it rained sporadically every day thereafter, yet I pushed on despite my increasing congestion and decreasing energy, traversing half the city on Mardi Gras day while stopping to rest on the sidewalk when I felt my fever spike.  I fought and ignored my body so I could experience the Full Monty.  Now it was my body’s turn for revenge. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography Tagged With: , , , , ,

My Day of Mardi Gras, Part 4: Finale on Frenchman (Luck of the Indians)

February 28, 2013 by

WHAT IS AND WHAT NEVER SHOULD BE (BOURBON V. FRENCHMAN)

Me? A Music Nerd?!

Me? A Music Nerd?!

I have always loved music, with my passion blooming into obsession in adolescence as my shyness and insecurity discovered a constant, non-judgmental companion.  In my early twenties I discovered jazz, and I was just beginning to explore New Orleans brass rhythms when I first visited the city in 1998.  Being the music nerd that I am, I rushed to Bourbon Street ready to embrace jazz history and modern innovation.  Instead I found seedy strip clubs, cheesy daiquiri bars, corny t-shirt shops, and sleazy dive bars full of bands playing the same stringy-haired southern rock you could find in any bar south of Philly.  (I swear these same damn bands were playing Duval Street on my first trip to Key West where I expected to find steel drums and the next young Buffett!  Doh!)

One of my reasons for writing this blog is that, while I’ve come to love New Orleans, it’s not an easy city to get to know.  Jazzfest was the perfect gateway because it encapsulates all that is great about the food, music, and culture in a confined, accessible area, but beyond this fleeting utopia it took effort, research, and years of visiting to begin to crack the code of a city that can be as intimidating as it is welcoming.  Thus, I aspire to provide a point of entry for uninitiated but curious readers who would otherwise step onto Bourbon, say “This is it?” and head home wondering what all the fuss is about.  So, if you are such a reader, take note: Frenchman Street is [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Food & Cocktails, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

My Day of Mardi Gras, Part 3: Drawn & French Quartered

February 27, 2013 by

RAIN, RUN-OFF, & OTHER SUBSTANCES YOU’D RATHER NOT IDENTIFY (WHAT ARE PIRATE HOBOS MADE OF?)

Crossing Canal

Crossing Canal

As I reached Canal Street, newly baptized in hot chocolate and ready to cross into the Quarter, I found myself trapped.  The truck parade was still limping along (it had started around noon and it was now past 4pm!) down roads lined with metal barricades.  Emerging from St. Charles, the parade turned up Canal, rolling out of sight and creating a blockade that could take miles to circumnavigate. My feet were already throbbing and my cold certainly wasn’t improving. I’d spent over two hours and countless miles to get this far, so law and order would have to accommodate me at this point rather than vice versa.

Police presence, however, was strong this close to parade ground zero, for there is always a crush of tourists and over-enthusiastic locals on Canal Street radiating up and down the blocks adjacent to Bourbon.  I headed north until I saw that people were beginning to leap barriers and rush up to floats with outstretched arms.  Reaching a point where the breach was large enough to provide cover, I leaned over the iron railing and sat my hobo pack on a discarded, crushed box.  Rain was still misting down and the streets–notorious for potholes in this town–were covered with puddles of rain, run-off, and other substances you’d rather not identify, [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Food & Cocktails, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

My Day of Mardi Gras, Part 2: From Families to Freaks on St. Charles

February 24, 2013 by

AS SERIOUS AS A MAN DRESSED LIKE A PIRATE HOBO CAN BE

The Pirate Hobo Sets Off On His Mardi Gras Mission

The Pirate Hobo Sets Off On His Mardi Gras Mission

It had rained during our lunch respite, but the crowds remained strong and steady if not overwhelming as I left Superior Seafood and began to wander down St. Charles Avenue.  The truck parade was chugging along–a good two hours strong–and would still be in its final stages a couple of hours later as I reached Canal Street, blocking my entrance into the French Quarter.  It was a little melancholy leaving my friends again and setting off alone into one of the greatest communal celebrations in our nation.  I’d always attended Mardi Gras with friends, the last time with some of my dearest on this planet, but this time I was on a mission as opposed to just hanging out.  Despite slinging a hobo pack over my pirate-clad shoulder, I was serious about documenting as much as I could before midnight struck. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

My Day of Mardi Gras, Part 1: From Missing Zulu To Bead Dogs & Bead Babies on St. Charles

February 21, 2013 by

THE TREME BONE’S CONNECTED TO THE — RIO BONE….

The Mardi Gras Pirate Hobo Strikes Again

The Mardi Gras Pirate Hobo Strikes Again

Although Mardi Gras season tends to run late into the night, Mardi Gras day itself is much like Christmas–the excitement begins at the crack of dawn (or earlier), with the festivities already ebbing by late afternoon.  Yes, some people rage on until midnight, just as some cling to Christmas till the waning hours, but the last parade wraps up in the early afternoon, prompting the feasts and reunions in the neutral ground to gradually clear.  Soon the roads are largely deserted except for Bourbon, Frenchman, and (allegedly) those surrounding the Backstreet Cultural Museum in Treme.  I’m sure a few other spots continue to thrive, but generally celebration tends to move to house parties and bars. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Lundi Gras is the Day, but Danny Cattan is THE Man!

February 19, 2013 by

WHEN THE WORLD IS RAINING DOWN ON ME…

Let it go! Let it Go! Let it Go!

Let it go! Let it Go! Let it Go!

When the world is coming down on me, I let it go!   –Cowboy Mouth, “Jenny Says”

As Cowboy Mouth rocked my Lundi Gras troubles away, two friends from Rocckus, Megan and Amanda from New York (where their brother Chris had already  returned), appeared out of nowhere dressed in gowns for that night’s Orpheus ball.  When it began to drizzle Amanda pulled out a poncho but Megan had forgotten hers, so I offered my jacket as I opened an umbrella in quiet admiration:  It takes dedication to rock out in the rain in evening-wear.   In return, the sisters offered a red spoon to throw during “Everybody Loves Jill” but I proudly/embarrassedly pulled out one of my own, carried from Jacksonville in hopes that Cowboy Mouth would be playing somewhere.  How about right outside my hotel?!  Thank you guardian Mardi Gras angel!

Rocckus Reunites in the Rain with Red Spoons Ready

Rocckus Reunites in the Rain with Red Spoons Ready

Soon the show came to its typical explosive conclusion with “Jenny Says,” Cowboy Mouth’s one radio hit from the mid-nineties and my introduction to the band several years before I otherwise discovered New Orleans music.  It remains their signature song, played penultimately in concert (pre-Katrina it was the final song, but the storm changed everything) by a band that understands why people continue to attend live shows in the digital age.  During this cleverly crafted bit of pop-catharsis Fred LeBlanc has fans [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Greatest Hits, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Up-Lifted At Lundi Gras (Are You WITH ME?!?!)

February 17, 2013 by

Monday morning I awoke for the last time in my big, comfy bed in the Hilton with a cold still clawing at my throat thanks to Saturday night’s debauchery; but I at last felt rested and filled with possibility.  Today, after all, was Lundi Gras.

YES MA’AM, THOSE ARE IN FACT BLACK MEN IN BLACK FACE

Kings of Rex & Zulu Meet On a Drizzly Mardi Gras (Thus apologies for fuzzy photography!)

Kings of Rex & Zulu Meet On a Drizzly Lundi Gras

For most of its history, the day before Mardi Gras was an off-day filled with scarce activity.  In 1987, however, the King of Rex, Mardi Gras’ oldest Krewe that parades Mardi Gras morning, resumed an old tradition of arriving via boat the day before Mardi Gras.  At the same time, a journalist had stumbled on an obscure term used in a remote neighborhoods and attached it to the festivities.  Thus Lundi Gras (Fat Monday) was born and carnival season took its next quantum leap forward.  The revived arrival now took place at the gigantic Riverwalk Marketplace (what would have seemed science fiction absurdity in the early twentieth century when Rex last arrived via water) and grew into a day of concerts and festivities.  Soon King of Zulu began to meet with the King of Rex upon his arrival, though I’ve yet to stumble upon just how far back this tradition dates.  Zulu, an African-American organization born out of defiance much like the Indians, is the second-oldest marching Krewe, thus making this meeting a mildly reassuring gesture (though only mildly ’cause it feels like just that–a gesture) of racial unity during an event largely dominated by white riders wearing hoods and robed costumes (no one said Mardi Gras can’t be oddly creepy too.)  Of all these robed and hooded parade costumes, Rex’s are the most regal, but their lack of clownishness actually gives them more implied menace, and it doesn’t help that Rex’s lieutenants ride on horseback. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Autobiography, Food & Cocktails, History & Trivia, Travel Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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