Chuc Mung Sinh Nhat!*

David:

In the languages of our city (those that I can think of early in the morning)

Spanish:
Cumpleaños feliz,
Te deseamos a tí,
Y que cumplas muchos años,
Muchos años feliz.

French (Cajun):
Joyeux anniversaire,
Joyeux anniversaire,
Joyeux anniversaire David O,
Joyeux anniversaire!

Gaelic:
La-breithe mhaith agat! or Co` latha breith sona dhut! or Breithla Shona Dhuit!

Greek:
Efticharismena Gennethlia!

and of course, Vietnamese:
Chuc Mung Sinh Nhat!

Punky Brewster:
Happy B-Day!


*forgot to add that I only speak three of the languages above. Those being a wee little Spanish, a bit more Freanch and a whole lot of Punky. The rest was researched.

About Those Teddy Bears

Awhile back, I talked about all
the stuffed animals that were and
are strewn about our city.

Just a little something related:

Fairy Goth Moth

gouache and cut paper. 2005

Growing up to be someone's Fairy Goth Mother.

Insect: The Bird Moth Species

So I was outside, trying to photograph these Bird Moths I made, but it is really breezy today and they kept flying off. Amazingly, they really glide! Especially the Blue Tip.


Flock of Moths






Owl Moth





Blue Tip Moth






Tiger Moth

Farm Week!

There has been a bit of back and forth of farm stories between Nola Nikland and Slimbolala Land. It all started with a post on Slimbo involving hacking a snake to bits. Then it moved on to a story of a boy and a nasty rooster. Today, we hear of the stanky pink dog. I have added two stories of my own to keep the ball rolling.

Helen and Scags, Two Poor and Unfortunate Chicken Souls

When I was little, I had never seen a real chicken, and certainly did not connect that alien-looking thing that we ate to what I was introduced to one day when my aunt gave us two chickens, Helen and Scags*.

We kept them in our cellar, where I rollerskated (fat wheels) round and round in circles while the chickens either chased or were chased by me (when you spin in circles, there is no real way of determining the aggressor, really). Helen and Scags were part of the family -you know, pets.

One day, Dad grabbed them and brought them out to where he chopped wood. Well, you know what happened next. My first defining experience with chickens went from pet, to headless runner, to dinner with a few feather-sticks stuck in the skin to really distinguish it from the store bought aliens.

It was really weird to see them running around like that and it definitely jumpstarted my metaphysical thought bubbles. That's how I learned that chickens are real AND we eat the suckers, too. I think this early childhood memory was a force behind my ten year stint as a vegan.

*names have been changed to protect the chicken family's privacy


Perfect Jennifer Le Peu*

My cousin grew up on a farm. I hated her for it (jealous, me!), because all she wanted was to be a ballerina and all I wanted was to jump out off the second floor of the barn and into the hay for the rest of my life. It wasn't fair.

I lived on a mountain; I shouldn't complain. I had caves and streams to discover and big foot and wood witches to banish. BUT, there were no horses, cows sheep or anything (except a few chickens -and you heard what happened to those poor creatures). Jen had it all, but all she wanted was fur coats, lipstick and tutus.

Well, we were hanging out playing some game that was designed so that she could order me and my cousin around (she was a whole year older and therefore the boss of all things; her brother was born twenty days before me). The game involved a whole lot of watching her do cartwheels and pirouettes.

It was all quite boring until she merrily cartwheeled into a cow flap, face first. Yep. She ate shit and I learned that braggarts get their just desserts. Yummy.

*Title borrowed in order to feel closer to Slimbo...heh, heh, hands rub.

Don't Forget New Orleans, Now...

Don't let Mardi Gras fool you, we may have spirit, but we are still a wreck.

We are all rearranged,

our guts are exposed,

and our smiles are altered.

Zulu

After ripping through the Saint Anne parade, I ran (and I mean RAN -which means blurry pictures!) along to Basin street to meet up with the Zulu secondline that spun off the parade. Everyone was hanging out, dancing, laughing and making merry. I was reminded of an incident that occured the night we watched the Muses parade under the I-10 bridge. Will, of our evacution host family, approached a tractor driver who was pulling a float. I told him that we should be thankful for drivers as we had a shortage this year. Will chatted him up as the parade sat idle and the first thing the guy said was, "That nigger Nagin said this is a chocolate city -I ain't seen nothin' but white faces all the way down here." Strangely, we were the only white faces there under the bridge....which Will pointed out to the man before backing off from him in dismay.

As I trotted along the Zulu secondline route, I thought that though it is true that along the uptown route faces are very white, as you head further downtown into different neighborhoods, you hit a mix and patches of people from other cultures who are standing in places they have chosen to stand at for years.

On Mardi Gras day, there are different places to stand for people with differnet interests. If you love huge, over the top floats and throws, you go to Rex. If you love costumes (me!) you head over to Saint Anne. If you want to catch the Zulu parade -one that was created as a response to the exclusive Krewes of Carnivale, then you head over to another part of town. But there are plenty of folks who grab bikes, park and dart between all the events, as I do -or maybe mean to do, but get caught up in one event and find themselves swept away in (like my friend Hilary, who stayed with Zulu and the Indians all day, having meant to go to Saint Anne, too).

The culture of New Orleans is rich, full of haters, yes, but the cultures rise above such sentiments in displays of beauty you won't ever find in one place, anywhere, on one day.

That's why I want to die here. Spread my ashes in this city of mine, Where les fleurs du mal do and will always rise.

"In 1912 a group of women, said by some to be prostitutes from uptown began to wear Satin dress with big bow on their skirts and dresses as they paraded. They were called the Baby Dolls. Soon other women began to join them. Eventually men began to wear the baby doll style and march with the women!" From (wbgh blog)


Ms. Antoinette K-Doe has resurrected the tradition of the baby dolls. Many were worried that she wouldn't be out this year, but there she is on the left! These are the K-Doe Baby Dolls.




Oh, how lovely:

1

2

3

4

Winding Down

Tomorrow will be the last of costume week. I will be ending my presentation of Mardi Gras 2006 with a few pictures from the Zulu secondline. But first, a few good snaps:

Yes, that's Anderson Cooper -but what you dont see is the fact that the lil' miss he's talking to is wearing a playboy bunny suit...cottontail and everything. The tongue says it all.

I didn't realize it at the time, but that's John's hat poking out the middle of that group of maggots.

Group Costumes

I love group costumes!!! This was a group of kitties coming through the parade. Everyone obviously put a bunch of time and effort into these costumes. Crafty, crafty.

eyelashes

Friends First

Chloe

Jason

Dickie and Christine
They win the OOPS-We-Wore-a-Katrina-Costume-and-Didn't-Know-It-Award

John. He went to Shreveport and his talented grandma sewed him up a FEMA suit. Proper hems and everything.

He made the roof-hat

Denise (Lemieux Gallery) and Steve (Mat-n-Naddies*)

Zack the King Cake Baby

Dedication: 75 degrees and he wore a onesie bodysuit and the baldy skin.

Ana the Shooting Star

Alex McMurray the Canada and his friend...the crab(?)

Brokeback Joren (sp? never seen his name in print)

Brokeback Robby

Pretty Little Sumpin's Kate and Katherine

Mary T

It was great to see all our friends who ame back in from their new places for the party.
Until Jazzfest!

Bill and Nik A
Photo by Sarah Roahen

Bill and I, as usual, waited until the last minute to make our costumes. I was supposed to be a litter bug but only got as far as making the dress and saran wrap wings with a few bugs stuck in them. Billy was a Hazmat-Fez-70s-Tennis-Shorts-Wearing-Super-Hero:

Billy and Nikki B
photo by Dickie Bourke

*Denise and Steve were our across the street neighbors when we lived in the Treme. Matt & Naddie's catered our wedding. Sadly, a huge tree smushed the restaurant during Katrina.

Matt & Naddie's

Menu made by Hilary Howell