The dogs are usually hyper alert to things outside. Their beds are by the window and Belle in particular sits and gazes out all day long. When either one of them sees or hears anything suspicious--a passing cat, someone walking a rival dog past (Oh no they didn't!) or something really threatening like the UPS truck, a school bus, a garbage truck or their personal nemesis the mailman, they sound off in tandem like it's World War Three.
But last night, they were completely silent as I worked on assembling a dresser in my bedroom. They didn't even react to the drums and the chants outside that finally caught MY ear and made me go look. Sure enough, Murphy was still napping and Belle was casually watching as a dozen Mardi Gras Indians from the 7th Ward's Monogram Hunters paraded right up the street, with half the neighborhood following them.
Excuse the poor quality shots--it was getting dark out and the camera phone wasn't making it happen.
Indian culture is big in "real" New Orleans, beyond the facade that the tourists and those in nice gentrified neighborhoods see. They've been doing it since before WW1, and they work all year on these elaborate suits made of beads and feathers just for Mardi Gras, St. Jospeh's Day and "Super Sunday", which was supposed to have been this past Sunday but will now be this coming Sunday due to bad weather last week-end. This tribe is the 7th Ward Monogram Hunters, one of the oldest tribes. Several of my neighbors are members.
This probably explains why the watchdogs did not bark--they knew it was our own tribe passing by. At least that's the excuse I'm making for their lazy asses today.
Come back Sunday for a ton more Indian shots and lore as I'll be up at Super Sunday for that.
In New Orleans, it means that the Mardi Gras Indians come out...and they paraded big time in central city today. Here's just a few of the many tribes that came together at A.L. Davis Park.
I tried. I really did. Pneumonia sucks, and breathing is hard. But it was Mardi Gras day, and I live in a neighborhood where some of the original Mardi Gras Indian tribes originated. So what do I get right outside my house yesterday morning?
First there's a small parade...And then the Indians start to appear.
This is an old tradition, going back to when the Mardi Gras parades were still unofficially segregated. Black people, not feeling welcome, formed their own parade groups and masked themselves as Indians. This was an homage to the Indians of old in the swamps outside of town who sheltered and adopted runaway slaves back in the day.
Originally these tribes fought each other, and many were injured or killed every year. It was a time for settling scores and grudges in the neighborhoods and the last thing you wanted to see was Indians on your block.
Over the years it changed though. Costumes became so ornate and expensive--each one is hand-made anew every year--that no one wanted to fight and damage them. So now the "battles" consist of tribes coming together and taunting each other good-naturedly about which of them is "prettiest" and who looks the best. And these costumes can weigh as much as a hundred pounds and creating them can take up the entire year between Mardi Gras seasons.
Big Chief.
Wildman.
Here, two chiefs come together to argue over who is prettiest.
This is the REAL Mardi Gras culture--stuff that few tourists and even most locals are never going to see. And I got to see a bunch of it, because it kicked off right outside my house.
OK, I'm still damp 24 hours later, but I survived a day of Jazz Fest.
I was invited to accompany my new crazy cat neighbor/aging hippie and full-time writer Beth--a truly wonderful person--and her friend Lolly. (And no, she had no adverbs with her. You know I had to ask anyone named Lolly.) Lolly was from New Jersey, and I scored extra bonus points when she told me this by asking "which exit?"
But we made the quick drive up to the Fairgrounds under clouds which promised a serious soaking...and they did deliver.
Part of the venue. Imagine a dozen or more concerts going on all at once in the same park.
Add food, t-shirts, booze and rain/mud and you've got Jazz Fest.
Seventy-five bucks a day for tickets. And hundreds of thousands of people pay it during the two week-ends that this event goes on.
The rain first drove us into the Gospel Tent, where we heard the Jones Sisters rocking it out.
After a while, the rain stopped, so we wandered a bit. Then Beth and Lolly popped into one hall to hear a band that Beth knew and I went off to get more food and beer. Then the clouds opened up again and I got so wet that I could have jumped in the river to dry off. But on the plus side, the beer line got real short so I loaded up my cargo pants pockets with cans of beer and I was happy for a while.
I listened to a brass band for a while, out in the rain, because...well hell, I was already at my saturation point. Why not?
Back in the hall, a jazz band played, and an impromptu Second Line dance broke out.
It's all fun and games until someone breaks a hip.
And yeah, we joined in.
More wanderings...more music. And I had my beer.
It was more than a little muddy, but that didn't really seem to stop these folks.
