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OK, So, well, it's New Orleans and, well,


Mayhaw Man
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So, well, like umm, if this seems to take me a while to get to it, it's, well, just going to take a while.

First, my man Chris Rose had a great column in the paper, summing up, again, for the zillionth time, just how many of us felt this past week about what we were doing standing on the side of the road, night after night (I went to, really, every single parade that went down St Charles Ave this year. Every one. Every damned one). And you know what, my 12 year old trooper, swell, fun loving, bizarrely adult for a 12 year old kid, went along with me for almost all of them and the ones that we weren't together for, he was down the Avenue with his buddies watching it. We have, like, I don't know, oh, 200 lbs of beads, frisbees, cups, blinkie beads (including the highly desirable Krewe De Tat skull blinkie medallion-oh yeah! Soon to be a collectors item), boas, superballs and myriad other geegaws bestowed on us by the masked float riders. Lucky thing too, the attic in Abita was cleaned out of 15 years of Mardi Gras by the storm, so it's time to start stocking up. Someday, when archaelogists from another time come down here and find us, ala Pompeii, all buried in the mud, they will probably postulate important theories on those beads that were, obviously, held in such high esteem by our culture that everyone kept them hidden in their attics. So Go read his column and enjoy the battle of the Titans-The Bacchus People vs. The Endymion Clan

Rollin Garcia, owner of Bullet's Bar in the hard hit 7th Ward, summed it up best for me today when being interviewed by Channel 4's Dave McNamara-When asked about his earlier thoughts that maybe having Mardi Gras wasn't the best thing for the city, McNamara pointed out to Mr. Garcia that he looked like he had changed his mind as he had a pair of women's panties on his head and the 7th Ward Hard Head Hunters masking outside of his bar. Garcia responded, "Well, yeah, you know how it is. I'm all up in it now. This is the greatest day ever!"

I'm with Rollin. It was.

Cathartic is the only word that I can come up with that even comes close to making sense out of what we just got through doing (or to be more accurate, I got through-many will be doing whatever it is that they do in the French Quarter at night until 12, when the cops will line up on Canal and start their solemn march down Bourbon with the bullhorns blaring, "Mardi Gras is now over. Go Home. Or go somewhere, but you can't stay here!" It's a very quaint little tradition and one that I have only seen one time and I can tell you that my memory of that is pretty dim, but I do remember it-or they tell me that I do, anyway)

It's been a crappy 6 months. Many of you who are seeing the images on TV of Mardi Gras today are probably wondering, rightly I suppose, what the hell we are doing out on the street BBQing, dancing, marching, throwing valuable trinkets and garbage into our streets when the place is a wreck, 2/3 of it is uninhabitable, and we don't even get our mail on a regular basis and haven't seen magazines in months. Well, OK. That's a fair observation. What we are doing is this:

We're doing what we do. We're doing what we have been doing for many, many years and what we will be doing until the last levee is gone and there is nothing left but muddy carnival throws buried in the muck. We'll be here. Doing this. Exactly this. We're glad that you come, and we hope that you come back soon, but even if you don't, we'll still be here.

We ain't going nowhere, us.

Later, I'll be back with a tale of food-good food, opulent food, and some really crazy food (nutria tacos, anyone?. I'm working on it now.

Brooks Hamaker, aka "Mayhaw Man"

There's a train everyday, leaving either way...

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You're doing great what you're doing. Watching on TV we felt a gut wrenching sorrow that we couldn't be there with you to party a bit, eat a bit and help with whatever.

NOs' heart skip a beat since September but is recovering well, if slowly and painfully. It's in our thoughts and prayers still.

The human mouth is called a pie hole. The human being is called a couch potato... They drive the food, they wear the food... That keeps the food hot, that keeps the food cold. That is the altar where they worship the food, that's what they eat when they've eaten too much food, that gets rid of the guilt triggered by eating more food. Food, food, food... Over the Hedge
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Brooks I have to say that I have read as many of your posts as I see while surfing thru this incredible resource that is eG. Since the tragedy that was Katrina et al I have been even more aware of you and the part of the world you call home. I wish I had more material things that I could contribute to help you and the thousands of others in the same or worse circumstances. I have laughed and cried as I have read yours and others stories, and seen on TV some of the reality that is New Orleans these days.. My admiration and best wishes to all.

colestove

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A lot of money was spent on fireworks and security on July 4, 2002 in New York, and nobody thought it was a waste. The human spirit needs sustenance, so Party on! (Or, I should say, Laissez les bon temps rouler!) I'll look forward to reading more about that great food that was to be had down there.

Michael aka "Pan"

 

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Brooks I have to say that I have read as many of your posts as I see while surfing thru this incredible resource that is eG.  Since the tragedy that was Katrina et al I have been even more aware of you and the part of the world you call home.  I wish I had more material things that I could contribute to help you and the thousands of others in the same or worse circumstances.  I have laughed and cried as I have read yours and others stories, and seen on TV some of the reality that is New Orleans these days.. My admiration and best wishes to all.

colestove

Word.
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A lot of money was spent on fireworks and security on July 4, 2002 in New York, and nobody thought it was a waste. The human spirit needs sustenance, so Party on! (Or, I should say, Laissez les bon temps rouler!) I'll look forward to reading more about that great food that was to be had down there.

Allow me to quote Michael's post, he said it better than I could.

Brooks, thank you, once again for allowing us a glimpse of reality there. Your writing remains so incredibly eloquent and passionate, you have made me laugh and cry over the past 6 months. My hearfelt thanks for sharing with us here. My love of southern food is likely well documented, my Fat Tuesday meal up here in the north was shrimp & grits....not traditional, but darn good. :wub:

Barbara Laidlaw aka "Jake"

Good friends help you move, real friends help you move bodies.

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