Posts Tagged ‘French Quarter’

Last year I missed this event, and honestly, I would have again this year if not for a friend who was dead set on going. So down to the French Quarter we went, along with 5,000 people who’d gotten up before 7 on a sweltering July Saturday for the privilege of being beaten on by plastic bat wielding roller derby girls.

Clearly, the New Orleans participants have rather different concerns than their brethren in Pamplona. While a cocktail might not be the wisest choice before having to zigzag in front of a ton of hurtling bovine, the runners here weren’t so concerned about sobriety. Nearby bars were doing a brisk business in sangria, bloody marys and beer while the Rolling Elvi and lovely girls in bull helmets were arriving on the scene. A big blue bull mascot was doing a rather…uh…interesting dance that highlighted his uncastrated state.

I happened to catch the eye of a woman in running attire. Clearly a tourist and not used to such things at such hours, she’d pulled up short and was walking cautiously up to the crowd, so I smiled and waved her over to join everyone, but she stayed back on the sidewalk, beckoning me over instead. I’m not sure why I thought an explanation would convince her we weren’t nuts, but I did my best. She took the information in, considering.

“You know,” she said after a long, thoughtful pause, “we couldn’t do this in New York. Too aggressive. Someone would bring a real bat, the runners would fight back. People would get hurt for real.” She looked at the size of the crowd and the few cops scattered around. “You really don’t think that’ll happen here?”

I laughed. “No way, and besides- these are roller derby girls! They can kick the asses of pretty much anybody here.” She didn’t quite seem to know how to take that, so I added, “It’s too mellow, everybody’s just out for a good time, no worries.”

“You know, you people should be the longest lived people on the planet. You know how to have a good time, everybody’s relaxed, friendly. It’s not the same rat race, and it it’s not like it is at home- nobody’s asked me what I do, nobody seems to much care how much I make.” She continued surveying the crowd carefully. “There are all kinds of people here and they’re just having fun- it’s all that stuff the doctors tell you to do, stop and smell the roses, all that.”

A group of men dragged their wagon past us, a huge cooler barely wedged inside. A random Elvi sauntered up to them, had a beer planted in his hand and, raising a toast to the donation, he wandered back to his scooter.

“Yeah,” she said. “If you’d all just take it easy on the drink and the fried food, you people would live forever.”

Somebody fell into the cop at the corner, and he took it in stride. They took a picture with him, and life went on. “You have some great policemen here,” she said.

That one made my eyebrows go up- it’s not a phrase one often hears here(shirt on Bourbon St reads: “NOPD: Not Our Problem, Dude.”), and coming from a middle aged black lady it seemed somewhat surreal, but she was completely sincere.

“Very good with people,” she said, nodding. “I’ve been watching them dealing with drunken idiots, and I don’t know how they do it. They’re always in control, friendly, personable. I’ve been amazed.”

“Um, yeah. They have a lot of practice, I guess- we have a lot of festivals and parades, so they really are the best at crowd control. Absolutely.”

By then things were ready to get underway and my new friend scooted out of the way and onto a sidestreet. The “bulls” were getting their instructions- runners would be sent out in a steady stream and every 45 seconds or so an airhorn would blow, signalling the release of a half dozen bulls.

And so it was:

It was hysterical- when the airhorn blasted, everybody but everybody screamed like crazy- and the people were really running… like, RUNNING running.

Running with go cups, true, but hey. Sure, maybe we could be the longest lived people on Earth, but if you take away our food and our drink, maybe you take away the magic.

In the end, maybe it’s best not to tamper with the delicate formula, and just let New Orleans be New Orleans.

After thinking about the Gulf so much I decided to I needed a little communing with the the Aquarium of the Americas…

Moving quickly past the smiling sting rays…

and the Lionfish being stalked…

beyond the curious penguins plotting their escape… Read the rest of this entry »

Last week Rob was in town, and we were graciously invited to come down to One Eyed Jacks to watch him and Exodus (with GoatWhore opening. Really.). They’re out on the road with Megadeth but had an evening off and decided to make a pitstop in a more intimate venue.

A show that starts at 11:30 on a weeknight? Wow. That’s a rough night for the olds. But Rob had kindly scoped out a spot out of the fray, so Charlie and I took our Geritol and headed out, happy to see him regardless of the hour.

Backstage at the club was about what you’d expect:

Not exactly the lap of luxury, but they guys got in late afternoon and took off right after the show, so nobody really cared.

How was the show, you ask? Well, too loud for my poor camera, which in thrash metal= excellent:

The club’s small, but the audience was dedicated- still going strong at 1am on a Wednesday night. The band was impressed, but then again they hadn’t been through New Orleans since before Katrina, so I think the fans would’ve stayed all night, they were just so glad the band was here.

And with that ::poof:: they were gone, on the bus and outta there after signing a few autographs and packing up, hopefully to return soon on a longer, more social visit.

This is another eBay ‘slide.’ It was listed as a group of older New Orleans slides, but they arrived burned onto a CD with no originals and I discovered he sells them over and over, retaining the rights. So while I don’t actually “own” this, it seems to be okay as per the TOS to post as long as I give credit and don’t get paid. I surely don’t get paid for the blog, and here’s the link to the seller.

I’m not really sure how I feel about this whole process, but I will admit I haven’t seen these pictures anywhere else, and there are a few that are just amazing and really worth sharing.

I love old photos of New Orleans. Comparing what was to what is is always amazing, and ebay often offers up batches that have been scooped up from garage sales and whatnot.

But it is a definite crapshoot. Since I only buy lots, the sellers will choose 2 or three shots out of a big batch to show off in their ad, and they’ve selected what they believe to be the best of the bunch… but of course, their idea of what constitutes ‘the best’ is a whole lot different than mine. Let’s be honest- Jackson Square doesn’t change a whole lot, and my main fear is that I’ll open a batch only to find that I’ve paid $20 for 3 dozen shots of Cafe du Monde.

Pretty much every package has a few shots that are really great, and looking at the people and cars is always interesting. I’ve come to realize that the more fashionable you are today, the harder it’ll bite you on the ass later.

I’m powerless- I must develop some sort of storyline around the sets- especially the ones where there are lots of people.

These ladies, for instance, clearly had themselves a kickass time:

It was from a 1967 scrapbook, and I need to scan in some of the stuff they collected- lots of bar napkins and scribbled notes. They were clearly young, uninhibited, and enjoying it. Good on ‘em- they’d be in their 60s now and I’d like to think of them reminiscing and chuckling about their misspent youth.

But the last batch I received? I bought it totally blind- the seller picked it up at an estate sale, the photos formed a full carousel and were labeled “New Orleans Vacation,” but he hadn’t scanned in any actual photos. Still- out of 100 slides, there had to be some interesting things, right? To be fair, yes, there were a few. But mostly it was just…strange. Also, sadly, they must’ve been stored somewhere damp, because they were the most deteriorated shots I’ve bought so far.

This family, which appears to be a couple & their grandkid, took most of their photos of highways. Or city streets…out of their car window, complete with exciting highlights of traffic, their hood, and windshield wiper. These people managed to get the only bland, lifeless photos of the city I’ve ever seen.

Most of them looked like this:

And this:

This one is accidentally interesting, because it happens to catch the Superdome under construction:

Once they parked and actually got out of the car, we have yet more exciting stuff, like this guy’s chest and dog…but you can’t see the French Quarter or architecture or…well, or anything of interest:

And that’s pretty much how it goes…until they hit Bourbon Street. and boy, they really thought the smut was exciting!

We liked the Sho-Bar and its dancing girls:

And REALLY liked the Topless & Bottomless Boys & Girls (there were several shots of it, all from this far away):

(btw, “boys and girls?” Ew. Sounds like Chester the Molester’s destination of choice.)

And the one, the only closeup in the entire batch of 100 is amazing. They didn’t take a close shot of grandma, or of the kid. Not of a building, or architectural detail. The one thing interesting enough to get close to was a teeshirt shop window, witty as ever:

Which is, actually, sort of interesting. From an anthropological point of view, it teaches us that things are same as they ever were. Tacky ye shall have with ye always. Although it’s somewhat more interesting tack, I guess. The ‘fly United’ was certainly different.

Charlie thinks it says something profound about middle America, circa 1973. Lord, I really hope not, lest I end up with more packages like these.

(oops. I just realized this never got moved out of drafts. Publishing now, though late. Mea Culpea.)

Last week Charlie and I lucked into seats at the Prytania Theater for the big Saints-Vikings game. This was huge. It was the first time the game was being shown at a movie theater in New Orleans and we just happened to show up to watch a movie the night they put the announcement up.

The Prytania is the last single screen, independently owned theater in New Orleans. It rocks. The owner’s always around, wearing his crazy ties and keeping his eye on everything. The balcony is small but cool, and an old organ still sits up front, beside the screen.

They’d decided to open the theater up for a viewing of the big game on the huge screen- for free. They were under the impression that as long as they didn’t charge they weren’t violating any rules, but since then the NFL has stomped on them, which is utterly ridiculous. They’ve hit them with a cease-and- decist order among other things and things aren’t looking good for a repeat for the Superbowl.

At any rate the Prytania hadn’t ever taken as much abuse as it got that night with stomping feet, screaming and running around. The Who Dats shook the walls.

And when they won? forget it.

At that point it was decided we should head down the the French Quarter and see what it was like. Not surprisingly, it was like this:

This place is going to be insane for the next two weeks. More insane, I mean. Come for a visit if you can- the real party’s gonna be here, not in Miami, and surely not in Indy.

Beth is the world’s biggest fan of True Blood. She throws viewing parties every week, complete with a patented drink concocted for your viewing pleasure, so when I saw this shirt there was no question who it was destined for:

Happy Birthday, Beth!

Another eBay slide, which I love. Taken in 1976, it’s something that still happens today; kids (particularly poor black kids) attach metallic caps to the bottoms of their shoes and tap dance on the cobblestones.

Here the local kids seem to be teaching the tourists to dance along with them in front of St. Louis Cathedral.