There’s little of import to report over here in Camp Ashes. A real, for true, honest-to-god, wet, grey winter has descended on the Red Stick, which has left me with the desire to do little more than make stews (an excellent turkey/potato affair was conjured over the weekend), drink dark beers (mad props to this death-defying wonder) and/or whiskey*, watch movies and read.
Word on the streets is that there’s a Mardi Gras season in full swing, but damn if between the weather and the season starting so early in the year I haven’t felt like attending a parade yet. But I’m saving it all up for this weekend by kicking off Friday night with the Southdown’s parade right outside my front door, then diving into the Screwmosa** fueled whirlwind that is the Spanish Town parade on Saturday morning with that merry band of Pretty Faking brigands, the Gorjus Furies, and their entourage.
On Sunday, assuming all of my faculties reboot successfully after what is always a rather tumultuous afternoon post Spanish Town parade, it’s an early shot to New Orleans to be on Henry Clay in time for the passing of Thoth, which has to be my all time favorite Mardi Gras parade. A lot of that has to do with its size and location: it’s big enough to be a full scale New Orleans Mardi Gras production but small enough to be quite intimate on the smaller streets of Uptown. There’s also plenty of extracurricular activities in the area. An Underpass Gang founder and his family have a crawfish boil every year a block off the parade route over on Calhoun that I’ve been attending since 1994, making it my most observed Mardi Gras tradition to date. Wander another two blocks over into Audubon Park and there’s a house party in full swing, with plenty of food and booze just lying around for the taking and a band on the back deck (which 3 times out of 5 is zydeco favorite Rockin’ Dopsie, Junior). If the weather is right, there’s a lot of fun to be had in those four square blocks on a sun-spangled afternoon at America’s biggest party. I’m hoping that even with Mardi Gras reporting in at the first of February that maybe Fortune’s sun might shine upon us yet.
Somewhere in there the NFL is playing their Super Bowl, which I have go ahead and admit, my excitement for amounts to an emphatic ‘meh.’ The Giants? They are headed by Eli Manning, who I learned to love to hate during his days as an Ole Miss Rebel. I have to admit I’m actually enjoying that he’s doing well in the post-season, but secretly I think my joy comes from the fact that if he were to continue to stumble I would have to start feeling sorry for him, and wouldn’t be able to curse him in good conscience every time his face appears on the TV screen. Then there are the Patriots, shooting for 19-0, the first perfect season in the 16 game schedule era of the NFL. Would it be an accomplishment for them to pull it off? Sure, but I don’t care enough to actually pull for them to accomplish it. I think they’ve got enough of America on their side in that fight. So, with no interest in seeing either team win, maybe I could just pull for a good game? Sorry, but I really don’t see the Giants being able to find enough holes in the Patriots defense to make it close, so I don’t really even feel like putting forth the effort to even pull for a good game. I hope that I’m proved wrong and while I’m weaving my way to Bacchus I’m missing the best damn Super Bowl ever. The thing is, if Mardi Gras works out like it should then I will have no problem not remembering what anyone tells me happens in the game on Sunday night and I’ll just watch the game on the trusty old DVR on Monday and be none the poorer for it.
** Which my spell-checker thinks should be the word Screwworm. Vulgarities aside maybe somebody thinks this year’s batch needs some tequila.