I’ve always been perplexed by people who take copious photographs of their cat and then want to show them. It’s so queer. And sure enough, here I find myself taking photographs of Blekica and wanting to share them.
And speaking of queer, on my way home from yoga, I saw two mobile homes pull off of the I-10 exit by the Quarter, with very attractive men in front – the gays are coming, the gays are coming (hide your tacky clothes).
Southern Decadence kicked off today with lots of activities around the French Quarter and beyond planned culminating in a parade on Sunday. This is the time of year when the city is flooded with beautiful young men. The history of Southern Decadence goes back to 1978 and while it is more known among the young gay men, truly it is like any other festival here in New Orleans where people wear costumes, pour out into the streets, listen to music and have a good time:
Since it was founded in 1781, New Orleans has marched to the beat of its own drum. For two centuries, those in control of the Louisiana state government have tried in vain to impose their prejudices on a city that is French, Spanish, Creole, African, Catholic, pagan and very gay (in both senses of the word). If nothing else, New Orleans knows how to throw a party, from the world-famous Mardi Gras to other, more specialized celebrations.
One of these celebrations began quite inauspiciously in August of 1972, by a group of friends living in a ramshackle cottage house at 2110 Barracks Street in the Treme section of New Orleans, just outside of the French Quarter. It was in desperate need of repair, and the rent was $100 per month. At any given time the residents numbered anywhere from six to ten, and it was still sometimes difficult to come up with the rent.
The large bathroom became a natural gathering place in the house. It had no shower, only a clawfoot tub, but it also had a sofa. With from six to ten residents, and one bathtub, everyone became close friends. While one soaked in the tub, another would recline on the couch and read A Streetcar Named Desire aloud. The Tennessee Williams play inspired the residents to fondly name the house “Belle Reve”?in honor of Blanche DuBois’ Mississippi plantation.
And so it was, on a sultry August afternoon in 1972, that this band of friends decided to plan an amusement. According to author James T. Spears, writing in Rebels, Rubyfruit and Rhinestones: Queering Space in the Stonewall South, this “motley crew of outcasts” began Southern Decadence as a going away party for a friend named Michael Evers, and to shut up a new “Belle Reve” tenant (from New York) who kept complaining about the New Orleans heat. As a riff on the “Belle Reve” theme, the group named the event a “Southern Decadence Party: Come As Your Favorite Southern Decadent,” requiring all participants to dress in costume as their favorite “decadent Southern” character. According to Spears, “The party began late that Sunday afternoon, with the expectation that the next day (Labor Day) would allow for recovery. Forty or fifty people drank, smoked, and carried on near the big fig tree … even though Maureen (the New Yorker) still complained about the heat.” [You can read the rest on their website – http://www.southerndecadence.net/history.htm]
I was on my way to yoga and WWOZ’s DJ was about to play When The Saints Come Marching In and he said, “I’m gonna just sit here and keep playing music otherwise we’d all just be depressed.
Breaking news from the NYT:
Coast Guard Says Oil Rig Exploded in Gulf of Mexico, A.P. Reports
An offshore oil rig exploded on Thursday in the Gulf of Mexico, west of the site of the April blast that caused the massive oil spill, the Coast Guard told the Associated Press.
Coast Guard Petty Officer Casey Ranel said that the blast was reported by a commercial helicopter company on Thursday morning. Seven helicopters, two airplanes and four boats are en route to the site, about 80 miles south of Vermilion Bay along the central Louisiana coast.
A friend was telling me the other day that she went to work for her company because on a fluke she saw a sign on their headquarters that said they had won the Malcolm Baldridge National Award – she said, “I’m a goober who just thinks quality is so important particularly when running an organization.”
I was thinking about loving your job and being excited about the possibilities of future growth within an organization. That notion is starting to seem like an anachronism as I speak to people I have known for more than a decade about their working environment and their disillusionment.
I think we are in a malaise much in the way Jimmy Carter called it back in the late 70s – and recently I saw our economics compared to the 70s – a friend today said that chance favors those in motion, but I wanted to correct her and say motion is not what is rewarded, because the tap dancing manager is in motion, chance favors the prepared, but like most things in life these days even an age old adage begs the question: “how does one prepare for an uncertain future?” Chance?
I went to the park with Loca and Heidi this morning and my head was booming from this allergy or cold or whatever that I caught yesterday and can’t seem to shake. I ran into a fellow dog walker and she said to me that she had just found out yesterday she has been furloughed from her job (read: laid off). We walked together and talked and she told me that she would okay, she’s nearing retirement and had a little money from her mother’s inheritance. She asked how my mom was doing because we haven’t really spoken since late last year, only passing each other in the park recently. I said she died at the end of November and that I can’t even talk about it because I’ve been riding a new wave of grief as I’ve been dealing with her grave.
She said her mother had passed years ago and she still cries. “Both of my parents are gone. When my dad died it was hard, but my mother, well, I still can’t get over it. As a matter of fact,” she said as we were passing a monument marker in the park, “I still cry over MK (her dog). She used to always pee right there by that marker. And I swear the first year anniversary of her death I came to the park that morning and a little yellow flower was blooming in the very spot.”
Grief is a funny thing – there is no prescribed time to say “done, grief’s over” and sometimes you just have to surf the blue waves as they come knowing that life does go on, and time does help, and that flowers bloom in nitrogen heavy soil.
Michelle opened up a new yoga studio in MidCity on Canal Street. Actually, Libby will be the main person there but tonight was the grand opening and I went along with 100 other yoga followers. What an incredible space – it is in an old post office with a huge WPA mural across one entire side – the mural is about the making of sound and spans prehistoric and all races – it’s quite an amazing display.
The theme tonight was of the power of water – the politics of water – and the vibration that comes from living submerged, alongside, and so fully inundated by water like we are here in New Orleans. It’s what makes our musical instruments find a tongue of their own, it’s what makes us move so fluidly through our lives, and it is a powerful healing force.
Check out the new MidCity Swan River – it’s really a great place filled with a lot of great people. Of course, I did have a moment having read the article about John Friend in the NYT Magazine a few Sundays ago that everyone was a bit over the top on the touchy feely feel good vibe – but you know what – why not? Hell touchy feely is much better than sour and curmudgeon any old day.
We are now on the 4th season of the Wire and we’re already sad to know that it will end soon (only five seasons), but in a way it might be a good thing. The other night I dreamed Omar and I were being stalked by a killer. What bleeds through this drama more than anything is the sadness both T and I feel about the kids – their lives, or lack of one, brought up in the streets with a world view that is dark and sorrowful. We talked again about fostering a child but I had reservations before that I was up to the task and now I have reservations about introducing anything to upset Tin’s perfect world. Sigh. Fear is no friend of mine.
Meanwhile, I was at the dentist for my routine check up and brought copious photos of Tin for everyone to see and I picked up a magazine to read while I was waiting and there was an article about a 74 year old woman who adopted an 8 year old boy from Ethiopia. Her husband died around the same time of this connection and she talked about how the little boy had saved her life because her husband was so important to her. Don’t I know it – had Tin not come around right after Mom passed, I’d have felt my sorrow heavy for a long time. But every day I feel that my mother is channeled through Tin, much in the way this woman talks about how her son channels her husband.
I know us older parents adopting children are not the norm, but I have to believe that if everyone who was over 50 and had capacity adopted one of the children in the world who needs love, a home, support and a chance, the world would be a better place tomorrow. That I know for sure.
For now, two dogs, two cats, one partner, and one son are enough for me – my life is full and complete. But maybe when I’m 74, I might think about another one.
Saw this quote this morning and it made me smile:
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways – Chardonnay in one hand – chocolate in the other – body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO-HOO, what a ride!!”