Posts Tagged ‘easter’

I really had no idea that peep manipulation was so widespread, and then I saw the Washington Post has an annual contest- this year there were 1100+ entries of people who’ve done elaborate things with the marshmallow Easter candies. There are flickr groups, and many many bad puns around them:

But I knew peeps had really hit the big time when I saw the Mardi Gras dioramas:

Happy Easter!

I hadn’t had lilies before and didn’t realize that they’re sort of like poinsettias. What looks like blooms are actually new leaves coming in. They begin rolled up into a tube (in this case the colors remind me of a peach), and slowly unravel and darken until it becomes another leaf.

Click to check out the detail.

We thought we were going to miss all the goings on in the French Quarter this year, but as we returned from Bywater, we passed by the gay parade lining up and having a wonderful time, so naturally we had to stop and join the party for a little bit.

The morning parade is more of your standard idea of an Easter parade- big hats, lots of pastels, and because it’s New Orleans, beads.

The afternoon parade- this one- is rowdy and raucus, full of attitude, short on throws, but that’s just fine. There are Drag Queens by the score, leather guys, supportive local businesses and parents, and who knows who else.

Several bemused tourists wandered by, wondering what on earth was going on. Locals honked and cheered as they drove by on Rampart Street. A parade member, a guy on a decorated Segway (remember those?) berated a somewhat uncomfortable cop on a motorcyle: “That’s because you’re just a mean old white man, that’s all!” The ever-increasingly uncomfortable cop was quite young, and the berater was also white, so I have no idea what that might’ve been about, but in the spirit of the day, everything was let slide.

If you missed it, you missed quite the time, but there’s always the slideshow after the jump.

And so concludes Easter ’08!
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We’d been alerted to a new parading group here in the city by our good friend Beth, who is still in exile and gets totally, completely excited about such things. In her honor, we knew we just had to go!

They paraded down and took their name from St. Claude, which used to be called GoodChildren (Bons Enfants).

Luckily they were running late, because their first year was not quite as big a parade as we’re used to in the city, but that’s okay- about a hundred or so enthusiastic folks went on by, clearly having a wonderful time.

But that’s how these things go… by next year, word will have gotten around and it’ll be twice as big- by the 3rd year, it’ll be a vast bohemian expanse.

And just think, we’ll be able to say, “You should’ve been there when they started…”

Slideshow after the jump.
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The Fairgounds open on Thanksgiving day and close on Easter- opening day is more of a big deal than closing, but that’s okay- we hadn’t gone all season, so off we went.

Not particularly heavy betters, we went for the fun of the thing. Charlie broke even, and had a good time figuring out the racing forms. As for me, if you see a photo here with a whole bunch of horses in, you can rest assured that I had a few bucks on the last one in the pack.

I’d brought the camera along for the parades afterward and played with the fast-action mode and got a few interesting photos.

More after the jump, but you won’t miss much if you pass. A few interesting faces, that sort of thing.
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Sunday was quite the busy day. There were Mardi Gras Indians, romps around the city, dinner with friends, shopping for Alison.

Each of which pales beside something that took about 10 seconds to actually happen. Lunch was being delivered from a local sandwich place, so naturally the dogs went bananas when the bell rang.

This is S.O.P. If somebody ever just breaks into my house, the dogs will figure they must belong there but if the thief rings the doorbell first there’ll be hell to pay.

So dogs are freaking out. Delivery dude is leaning on the bell. I’m knocking everybody back so I can get to the kid to make it stop when…it happens.

In slo-mo : I push the dogs back and unlock the door, unleashing a final barrage of hopping and yapping. One of them loses their balance and topples backward into the bird cage.

Zulu is catapulted out of the cage, up into the air…and out the open door. He FLEW across the street, smacking into the house there, a distance of maybe 40 feet.

Understand that he doesn’t fly- his wings have been clipped since he was a chick. Without this doggie propelled shotgun blast out of his cage it wouldn’t have, nay, couldn’t have happened. I don’t think anyone was more surprised than he was.

Luckily there were no cars coming, because I bolted out after him, coaxing him out from between their fence and the house. “Peep.” he said quietly. “uh…peep.” This is not his usual tone. He was freaked. That made two of us.

He seems to be just fine, nothing hurt except his sense of world order. He stayed in the cage for a full 24 hours, refusing to budge.

And then he found a target. He decided he HATES this perfectly innocent Easter frog. He had been scared of it before, but I guess he’s decided he’s got to regain his manhood, so the frog is feeling his mighty wrath.

All the while, of course, the poor froggy continues to look chipper and thrilled to be there. Whatever, Kermit. You’re a therapeutic tool, and your life has been given up for the betterment of birdkind.