hello. today i am recovering, painfully, from mardi gras in new orleans. somewhat surprisingly, my main source of pain is gas--i feel totally distended and have the occasional shooting pain in my interior.
yesterday i promenaded around shamelessly wrapped in black and yellow boas, and with a crown, dressed as a queen bee. my sweetie was a worker bee. many many tourists asked if they could get their pictures taken with us. if you know someone who was there, and they show you a picture of themselves posing with a pair of bees, that's us.
i have spent a lot of time in new orleans, though never officially lived in it. i have a terrible sense of direction, and when i'm with a person or persons who knows their way around, i don't even bother to try; i just follow and do my best to keep morale up. as a result, i couldn't navigate my way around new orleans beyond the same several blocks i'm always in if my life depended on it. in conversations about this city which seems to invite more claims of authenticity than other cities do, i know the names of restaurants, and thanks to native friends i know history and traditions and stuff, and i know vibe, but then am always revealed as a poser when we have to discuss location.
relatedly, mardi gras revealed to me more than anything else in recent memory that i am a yankee, and maybe even a puritan. a great lakes yankee, at that, although i would never, ever, ever ever wear tube socks and tennis shoes with jeans. i feel hot easily, don't like feathers near my face, and quickly get tired of just ambling around. my "a"'s are flat. i'd rather look than be looked at. people nursing in public and afterward letting their boob remain naked make me blush. i stare. i like seasons. i wonder what my email says even as i am boogie-ing behind a jazz band in the street. one of my main goals during this non-goal-driven day was to see brad and angelina. (nothin' doin'.) big giant leaves creep me out. if i am standing in line at a place of commerce, i expect to be helped within ten minutes.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
I firmly believe that Lent is (and is intended to be experienced as) the long, painful, hangover to Mardi Gras.
Happily for me: I rarely get hangovers.
Unhappily: I did not celebrate Mardi Gras.
More happily still: I did not, nor did I even for the splittest split second consider, giving up alcohol for Lent. See ya at the bar!
any pictures of the bees available?
re; yankee greatlakes puritan - gotchya!
f: no, i'll see YOU at the bar!
adr: i thought you'd relate to that.
you can see the buzz queen at http://www.flickr.com/photos/justinwolfe
Post a Comment