Fruit o’ the Loon
’07 Installment # 4
If I fail to offend everyone, I’m sorry.
POTPOURRI
OVER-TRAINING AND/OR OVER-EDUCATING STIFLES INDIVIDUAL ARTISTIC EXPRESSION? (This IS a contentious question)
Three areas of artistic expression (that the Loon can think of) seem to have suffered from too much training. They are fiction writing, jazz musicianship and Lindy Hop dancing.
Author Margaret Atwood has published in numerous forms, including poetry, short stories, children’s literature, thrillers, romance, criticism, and Sci-Fi. She explained, “I think I‘m this way because I never went to creative writing school and nobody told me not to. Nobody told me, ‘You have to specialize’ or ‘For heaven’s sake, control yourself.’” Does attending creative writing courses at Iowa State create lit-clones? No! but more lit-clones are made there than would naturally occur if writers just felt their un-aided way toward their muses. The Loon is no fan of the so-called modern novel—he has largely abandoned reading fiction. The Loon advises, let a thousand different literary flowers blossom, so he can pick the prettiest.
The Loon has come to realize that many of his favorite jazz musicians have been either “musical primitives” (those who usually start playing quite young, and cannot easily benefit from formal music training), or those who were largely, and perhaps voluntarily, self-taught. Let’s call those “musical stubborns”. Several self-starters come to mind, pianists, Gene Harris, Errol Garner and Dave McKenna; saxophonists, Charlie Parker and Scott Hamilton, drummer, Buddy Rich and guitarist Cal Collins. To me, each of these musicians is different in a pleasing way. They each have a unique and readily recognizable style of playing. That is not to say that all unique jazz stylists are self-taught, but those which are self-taught seem to have a more highly personalized way of playing. That is not to say that I enjoy the music of all self-taught jazz musicians, just that those I especially enjoy are often self-taught. Others have held the opinion that colleges known for education of jazz musicians are cranking out readily-interchangeable jazz-clones.
Lindy Hop is a “street dance”. A “street dance” is one which arises largely de novo, is assembled by an amalgamation of new movements and those of dances which proceeded it, and matures without being benefited (or stifled) by instruction. Lindy Hop originated in Harlem in the late ‘20s, flourished in the 1930s and 1940s, and then fell into disfavor along with the popular jazz (swing) which accompanied it. Lindy Hop was then dragged out of retirement and revived in the ’80s. It has grown slowly in popularity ever since. The dance has moved through a number of stages of neo-evolution, some of which depended on the influence of especially charismatic dancers, some of which depended on regional preoccupation with certain affected stylisms in the dance. The increase of popularity of Lindy Hop has been matched with a mirror increase in Lindy Hop instruction. As a result, Lindy Hop is now less of a “street dance” as it has been codified by instruction. Dare the Loon say “strait-jacketed”? To be sure, Lindy Hop has enjoyed or suffered a succession of stylistic waves which have swept over the dance. Let’s call these “clone fadisms”? Lindy Hop is organic and will evolve independent of anyone’s wishes. So, what’s the problem? Well, the problem is not with the entire dance which seems to be evolving en-mass, aided therein with improvement of individual dancer skills. However, improved skills do not directly relate to the creation of personal artistic styles. What seems to be lost in all of this instruction is the free expression of the individual dancer. Were the Loon crowned Grand Emperor Poobah of Lindy Hop, he would mandate that training must cease whenever a dancer reaches the intermediate stage. Dance teachers, flame me if you wish, and I know you have to make a living, but if you must hang on to your students in order to eat, please loosen up the style leash a little, by teaching the dance style-free. Dance teachers, read on. I have thrown you a bone with some meat still left on it. See, street dances which were largely unaided by instruction have come to be founts of individualism, both in types of movements and in stylistic expression. However, as in most things, there is a down-side. Street dances which have developed without training seem to hit a developmental wall. Each dancer achieves a personal style which becomes fixed in perpetuity, and then, the entire dance becomes evolution-proofed. He take-away message, controversial as it is, teachers grow the dance, they encourage students to the point where they can take off their 6-count training wheels, and to the degree that each individual teacher turns out students different in part from every other teacher, teachers promote variation in the dance. So, what is the Loon’s point?????? He can’t seem to remember—Golly! It’s such a long paragraph. Is the Loon way off base and about to be tagged out?
VOODOO, WISHFUL THINKING, SIGNS, OMENS, SUPERSTITIONS, AND MAGICAL POWERS
The Loon is heading for New Orleans, the only place he knows where you can easily buy Voodoo stuff, e.g., “going away powders” (powders which when sprinkled on the doorstep of a no longer pleasing lover, will make the bum lover go away). You can also buy other supernatural specifics, e.g., powders, potions or paraphernalia for a particular purpose (a little doll and some pins to make your boss uncomfortable, or a knife to put under the pillow of a woman in labor so her pain will be cut in half). However, if you unsure what specific to buy, you can always pick up some all-purpose “goofus dust”. All you need is some wishful thinking, or a spell to be cast, and then sprinkle the dust appropriately. Incidentally, the Loon owns a vial of “goofus dust”, so don’t tick him off.
Some people are always on the look-out for signs of good fortune, or for omens that the feces chunks are about to hit the fan blade. These ill-defined signs and omens seem to be impromptu roll-your-own superstitions, or, if you prefer, superstitions in the making. Some folks put great stock in superstitions, just as some people put great stock in Astrological predictions. The best Astrological de-bunker I ever heard was an exchange between two people, one an astrological believer and the other an unbeliever, and the believer didn’t know the birthday of the unbeliever. The unbeliever challenged the believer, by saying, “people born under different astrological signs are supposed to be distinctively different, and you know me pretty well. So, tell what sign I was born under?” The chances are 1 in 12 the believer could guess right, however, the first and second guesses where wrong. I would love to see a large study done in this same way, but alas, science has bigger and more important bones to gnaw-–or do they? Is it not the role of science to both seek the truth AND debunk that which masquerades as truth? Some folks say all this hokum is harmless? In a way, “yes”. In a way, “no”, but If hokum reduces the general acceptance of rational thought and argument, then hokum is, indeed, harmful. So THERE!
“GAY”, “BRIGHT” GIMMIE A BREAK!
Male homosexuals have commandeered the adjective “gay” as general name for themselves. Thus they have rendered largely worthless “gay”’s descriptive connotations. Similarly, Atheists are trying to commandeer “bright”, and by adding a suffix “s” to nounize it into a name for themselves. Look, Gays could have used any word they wished, why use one which falsely connotes that every gay is gay. Likewise, I doubt all atheists are smart, and so, they should choose another name. I am sad about the loss of the descriptive use of these words, and wish people would make up new words to name themselves, and leave the rest of us with a full measure of descriptive words—we need more, not less, adjectives. How silly does it sound it to call a “gay” sad or a “bright” dumb? Sorry, I’m just ‘specially fussy today.
CYNICISM
Much herein with is lifted from “True Nonbelievers” by Elizabeth Swaboda in the Nov/Dec “Psychology Today”.
There is a fine line between skepticism and cynicism, and only hard-core doubters know where it is. Cynics are getting a bad rap, not improved by Rick Bayan, who wrote. “The world belongs to people with IQs of 120. Anything much greater or lesser amounts to a liability.” He has a website “The Cynic’s Sanctuary” which is a home for disgruntled idealists, subversive wits, professional misfits, skeptical jesters, curmudgeons and misanthropes.” Some famous cynics are Nietzsche (was he ever), Dorothy Parker and Oscar Wilde. Cynics die younger of heart disease, probably uttering with their last breath “Oh! bless’d relief.”
Molly Ivins wrote, “It is hard to argue against cynics—they always sound smarter than optimists because they have so much evidence on their side. Speaking of Molly, she just passed, and while Molly and I shared few political views, I would give an arm for her gift of language. And she was funny. Indeed, she was to Texas as Lewis Grizzard was to Georgia. May they both R.I.P.
N’AWLINS—YA GOTTA LOVE IT
New Orleans sports beaucoup live music, and many bands have unusual names. Indeed, N’awlins provides a mother lode of “funny” band names. Soon as I get here, I glom a copy of the Friday paper with its weekly entertainment section, “The Lagniappe”, plus copies of the two free alternative weekly tabloids, “Where Y’at” and “The Gambit Weekly” so’s I can check out the band names. Here is a sampling: “Walter Wolfman” Washington and the Roadmasters”, “Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers” (a good band), two more good ‘uns that we have danced to, "Johnny Angel and the Screamin' Demons”, and “Bobby Cure and the Summertime Blues”. And then there is “Kenny Holiday and the Rolling Blackouts”, “Zapf Dingbats”, “The Dear & Departed”, “Mickey and the Motorcars”, “Pig Pen and the Pork Chops”, “Elliot Cohn’s Cosmic Sweat Society”, “Danny Alexander & his Partners in Crime”, “Benny Grunch and the Bunch”, “Big Rubba Bubba”, “VaVaVoom”, “Schwartz and the Palace of Sin”, “Debi & The Deacons” , “Gal Holiday and the Honky Tonk Review”, “The Other Planets”, ”The Queers”, “Heart Attack”, “Chris Polechek and the Hubcap Kings”, “Monty Banks and the High Rollers”, "Geno Delafose & French Rockin' Boogies”, “3 Legged Dog”, “Reckless Kelly”, “Sheena and Swampdogs”, “John Sketch and the Dirty Notes”, “Big Head Todd”, The Hot Pots”, “Lips and the Trips”, “Balsawood Flyers”, Rockin’ Jerry and the Spice of Life”, “Jon Clarey and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen” and two who will entertain for the Vieux Doo Ball, “Billy Luso and the Restless Natives”, and Big Chief Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias”. Two bands we danced to this week were “David Brooks and the Syncopated Percolators” and “Palmetto Bug* Stompers”, which is a nifty sextet which harkens to street “spasm bands” playing early in the 20th century. Ya gotta love N’awlins.
* Palmetto Bug is the common name for Blattidae americana, the largest and most handsome cockroach found in the United States. A full grown Palmetto Bug can be almost two inches long, three and a half with the antennae, and they are found in abundance in south Louisiana. When The Loon worked in Covington Louisiana and was still drinking out of his mind, he used to catch Palmetto Bugs and put them in his secretary’s top desk drawer. (A public confession is good for the soul)
The craziness of the Mardi Gras parade season is upon the city; they call it “Cahnival (silent “r”). This year, Mardi Gras is on Tuesday Feb 20th, but the parades will start on Feb 3rd .I counted 50 parades slated for the New Orleans area, and some of the big ones have as many as 40 floats, and that’s not counting the marching bands, second lines, clowns, and Flambeaus who dance and prance for thrown money while holding flaming torches aloft.
The Feb 3rd kick-off parade is put on by the Krewe du Vieux, and topped off with an evening event, ”The Vieux Doo Ball”. Many Krewe of Vieux members will be variously ill-attired, some may have costume malfunctions, and others, doubtless, will don faux-moon plastic buttocks—it is cold here. The Krewe of Vieux is the anti-parade parade, rather like the “Doo Dah Parade” in Pasadena mocks the Rose Bowl Parade. Krewe of Vieux mocks the historic formal parades krewed by New Orleans socialites. Krewe of Vieux floats are drawn by mules, and the parade theme this year is “Habitat for Insanity”, a rip at the government’s tardy efforts at re-housing New Orleanians. This parade just drips satire; indeed the name of one sub-krewe is “Spermes, and Drips and Discharges”. Give you a feel for what is going on? There are 20 sub-krewes; one for each float, and they have a free hand to use a variety of attention getters, ranging from high “camp” to low blasphemy. Do people become upset and protest? Is a pig’s butt pork? But, please tell me, when was satire not designed to sting?
Another anti-parade parade is the 15th Annual parade of the Mystical Krewe of Barkus, a parade of pets which mocks the more famous parade of the Krewe of Bacchus. Mystical Krewe of Barkus favors thrown to the pleading bystanders who scream “Throw me somethin', Mistah.” (note again missing “r”) will be rubber dog turds. The Queen of this year’s Mystical Krewe of Barkus is a mongrel yaller bitch with one blue and one brown eye. Ya jus’ gotta love N’awlins.
New Orleans is dirty and the streets are all busted up; just like before Katrina. Some traffic lights are laying down on the job (in the gutter with lights still working); it is hell to find a street name sign facing the right way; people don’t mow their lawns; parking can be a travail (however, the N’awlins parking fairy has made his or her eyes to look down benevolently upon Rudy and I); some places in the French Quarter stink of sewage; you can’t hold a coherent conversation on the street for all that loud jazz pouring out of the clubs; Damn I love this town and have since 1955 when Little Bear, George and I drove 20 straight hours from Cape Girardeau Mo to be in New Orleans for the last weekend before Fat Tuesday. George and I fell asleep in our chairs at 2 AM in a joint listening to great jazz, and somebody stole our hats, but I still love this town. I lost my pregnant wife for 4 hours during a Fat Tuesday crush on Canal, but I still love this town. I’ve been threatened by cops to get my ass out of the street and onto the sidewalk, but I still love this town. There is an undercurrent of irreverence in New Orleans that seems to re-enforce my personality. Y’all stiff-necks stay away; I love N’awlins.
NOTABLE QUOTES (not to imply endorsement by the Loon)
1. “The things outsiders (outlanders) find absurd or threatening about California—the self-fashioned spiritual practices, the body-builder/action star Governor, the crazy diets, the junk bonds, the endless supply of new fictions, the UCLA and Palo Alto-born Internet—do share a certain grandiosity, a ridiculous desire to change the world, or at least ones self, Better not to admit to such ambitions, or so goes the story easterners love to repeat: the story of the disillusioned California dreamer.” James Fallow
This run-on soft vitriol was found in an article in “The Atlantic” and was about—can you believe this?—attempts to develop data-management programs. Does everyone have an attitude? Well, the Loon do, but it ain’t the same as James Fallow’s.
2. “Modernity, it turns out, built a metropolis with a form so unprecedented that residents and critics still refuse to consider it a real city; a suburb without a core—which is to say, not a suburb at all…” “The suburb is not, as Frank Lloyd Wright and others imagined a place to escape the city; it is the city….” “By the end of the 20th century more than half of all Americans were living in metropolitan areas of more than a million people.” This sideways slap at L.A. was also found in an article in “The Atlantic”. The Loon knows that you have to spend a little time in the ‘burbia run amok called L.A. in order to learn of its many charms. The Loon can provide a list on demand.
Allen Hall, the Loon
February 6, 2007, under a cloudless blue sky in New Orleans.
’07 Installment # 4
If I fail to offend everyone, I’m sorry.
POTPOURRI
OVER-TRAINING AND/OR OVER-EDUCATING STIFLES INDIVIDUAL ARTISTIC EXPRESSION? (This IS a contentious question)
Three areas of artistic expression (that the Loon can think of) seem to have suffered from too much training. They are fiction writing, jazz musicianship and Lindy Hop dancing.
Author Margaret Atwood has published in numerous forms, including poetry, short stories, children’s literature, thrillers, romance, criticism, and Sci-Fi. She explained, “I think I‘m this way because I never went to creative writing school and nobody told me not to. Nobody told me, ‘You have to specialize’ or ‘For heaven’s sake, control yourself.’” Does attending creative writing courses at Iowa State create lit-clones? No! but more lit-clones are made there than would naturally occur if writers just felt their un-aided way toward their muses. The Loon is no fan of the so-called modern novel—he has largely abandoned reading fiction. The Loon advises, let a thousand different literary flowers blossom, so he can pick the prettiest.
The Loon has come to realize that many of his favorite jazz musicians have been either “musical primitives” (those who usually start playing quite young, and cannot easily benefit from formal music training), or those who were largely, and perhaps voluntarily, self-taught. Let’s call those “musical stubborns”. Several self-starters come to mind, pianists, Gene Harris, Errol Garner and Dave McKenna; saxophonists, Charlie Parker and Scott Hamilton, drummer, Buddy Rich and guitarist Cal Collins. To me, each of these musicians is different in a pleasing way. They each have a unique and readily recognizable style of playing. That is not to say that all unique jazz stylists are self-taught, but those which are self-taught seem to have a more highly personalized way of playing. That is not to say that I enjoy the music of all self-taught jazz musicians, just that those I especially enjoy are often self-taught. Others have held the opinion that colleges known for education of jazz musicians are cranking out readily-interchangeable jazz-clones.
Lindy Hop is a “street dance”. A “street dance” is one which arises largely de novo, is assembled by an amalgamation of new movements and those of dances which proceeded it, and matures without being benefited (or stifled) by instruction. Lindy Hop originated in Harlem in the late ‘20s, flourished in the 1930s and 1940s, and then fell into disfavor along with the popular jazz (swing) which accompanied it. Lindy Hop was then dragged out of retirement and revived in the ’80s. It has grown slowly in popularity ever since. The dance has moved through a number of stages of neo-evolution, some of which depended on the influence of especially charismatic dancers, some of which depended on regional preoccupation with certain affected stylisms in the dance. The increase of popularity of Lindy Hop has been matched with a mirror increase in Lindy Hop instruction. As a result, Lindy Hop is now less of a “street dance” as it has been codified by instruction. Dare the Loon say “strait-jacketed”? To be sure, Lindy Hop has enjoyed or suffered a succession of stylistic waves which have swept over the dance. Let’s call these “clone fadisms”? Lindy Hop is organic and will evolve independent of anyone’s wishes. So, what’s the problem? Well, the problem is not with the entire dance which seems to be evolving en-mass, aided therein with improvement of individual dancer skills. However, improved skills do not directly relate to the creation of personal artistic styles. What seems to be lost in all of this instruction is the free expression of the individual dancer. Were the Loon crowned Grand Emperor Poobah of Lindy Hop, he would mandate that training must cease whenever a dancer reaches the intermediate stage. Dance teachers, flame me if you wish, and I know you have to make a living, but if you must hang on to your students in order to eat, please loosen up the style leash a little, by teaching the dance style-free. Dance teachers, read on. I have thrown you a bone with some meat still left on it. See, street dances which were largely unaided by instruction have come to be founts of individualism, both in types of movements and in stylistic expression. However, as in most things, there is a down-side. Street dances which have developed without training seem to hit a developmental wall. Each dancer achieves a personal style which becomes fixed in perpetuity, and then, the entire dance becomes evolution-proofed. He take-away message, controversial as it is, teachers grow the dance, they encourage students to the point where they can take off their 6-count training wheels, and to the degree that each individual teacher turns out students different in part from every other teacher, teachers promote variation in the dance. So, what is the Loon’s point?????? He can’t seem to remember—Golly! It’s such a long paragraph. Is the Loon way off base and about to be tagged out?
VOODOO, WISHFUL THINKING, SIGNS, OMENS, SUPERSTITIONS, AND MAGICAL POWERS
The Loon is heading for New Orleans, the only place he knows where you can easily buy Voodoo stuff, e.g., “going away powders” (powders which when sprinkled on the doorstep of a no longer pleasing lover, will make the bum lover go away). You can also buy other supernatural specifics, e.g., powders, potions or paraphernalia for a particular purpose (a little doll and some pins to make your boss uncomfortable, or a knife to put under the pillow of a woman in labor so her pain will be cut in half). However, if you unsure what specific to buy, you can always pick up some all-purpose “goofus dust”. All you need is some wishful thinking, or a spell to be cast, and then sprinkle the dust appropriately. Incidentally, the Loon owns a vial of “goofus dust”, so don’t tick him off.
Some people are always on the look-out for signs of good fortune, or for omens that the feces chunks are about to hit the fan blade. These ill-defined signs and omens seem to be impromptu roll-your-own superstitions, or, if you prefer, superstitions in the making. Some folks put great stock in superstitions, just as some people put great stock in Astrological predictions. The best Astrological de-bunker I ever heard was an exchange between two people, one an astrological believer and the other an unbeliever, and the believer didn’t know the birthday of the unbeliever. The unbeliever challenged the believer, by saying, “people born under different astrological signs are supposed to be distinctively different, and you know me pretty well. So, tell what sign I was born under?” The chances are 1 in 12 the believer could guess right, however, the first and second guesses where wrong. I would love to see a large study done in this same way, but alas, science has bigger and more important bones to gnaw-–or do they? Is it not the role of science to both seek the truth AND debunk that which masquerades as truth? Some folks say all this hokum is harmless? In a way, “yes”. In a way, “no”, but If hokum reduces the general acceptance of rational thought and argument, then hokum is, indeed, harmful. So THERE!
“GAY”, “BRIGHT” GIMMIE A BREAK!
Male homosexuals have commandeered the adjective “gay” as general name for themselves. Thus they have rendered largely worthless “gay”’s descriptive connotations. Similarly, Atheists are trying to commandeer “bright”, and by adding a suffix “s” to nounize it into a name for themselves. Look, Gays could have used any word they wished, why use one which falsely connotes that every gay is gay. Likewise, I doubt all atheists are smart, and so, they should choose another name. I am sad about the loss of the descriptive use of these words, and wish people would make up new words to name themselves, and leave the rest of us with a full measure of descriptive words—we need more, not less, adjectives. How silly does it sound it to call a “gay” sad or a “bright” dumb? Sorry, I’m just ‘specially fussy today.
CYNICISM
Much herein with is lifted from “True Nonbelievers” by Elizabeth Swaboda in the Nov/Dec “Psychology Today”.
There is a fine line between skepticism and cynicism, and only hard-core doubters know where it is. Cynics are getting a bad rap, not improved by Rick Bayan, who wrote. “The world belongs to people with IQs of 120. Anything much greater or lesser amounts to a liability.” He has a website “The Cynic’s Sanctuary” which is a home for disgruntled idealists, subversive wits, professional misfits, skeptical jesters, curmudgeons and misanthropes.” Some famous cynics are Nietzsche (was he ever), Dorothy Parker and Oscar Wilde. Cynics die younger of heart disease, probably uttering with their last breath “Oh! bless’d relief.”
Molly Ivins wrote, “It is hard to argue against cynics—they always sound smarter than optimists because they have so much evidence on their side. Speaking of Molly, she just passed, and while Molly and I shared few political views, I would give an arm for her gift of language. And she was funny. Indeed, she was to Texas as Lewis Grizzard was to Georgia. May they both R.I.P.
N’AWLINS—YA GOTTA LOVE IT
New Orleans sports beaucoup live music, and many bands have unusual names. Indeed, N’awlins provides a mother lode of “funny” band names. Soon as I get here, I glom a copy of the Friday paper with its weekly entertainment section, “The Lagniappe”, plus copies of the two free alternative weekly tabloids, “Where Y’at” and “The Gambit Weekly” so’s I can check out the band names. Here is a sampling: “Walter Wolfman” Washington and the Roadmasters”, “Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers” (a good band), two more good ‘uns that we have danced to, "Johnny Angel and the Screamin' Demons”, and “Bobby Cure and the Summertime Blues”. And then there is “Kenny Holiday and the Rolling Blackouts”, “Zapf Dingbats”, “The Dear & Departed”, “Mickey and the Motorcars”, “Pig Pen and the Pork Chops”, “Elliot Cohn’s Cosmic Sweat Society”, “Danny Alexander & his Partners in Crime”, “Benny Grunch and the Bunch”, “Big Rubba Bubba”, “VaVaVoom”, “Schwartz and the Palace of Sin”, “Debi & The Deacons” , “Gal Holiday and the Honky Tonk Review”, “The Other Planets”, ”The Queers”, “Heart Attack”, “Chris Polechek and the Hubcap Kings”, “Monty Banks and the High Rollers”, "Geno Delafose & French Rockin' Boogies”, “3 Legged Dog”, “Reckless Kelly”, “Sheena and Swampdogs”, “John Sketch and the Dirty Notes”, “Big Head Todd”, The Hot Pots”, “Lips and the Trips”, “Balsawood Flyers”, Rockin’ Jerry and the Spice of Life”, “Jon Clarey and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen” and two who will entertain for the Vieux Doo Ball, “Billy Luso and the Restless Natives”, and Big Chief Bo Dollis and the Wild Magnolias”. Two bands we danced to this week were “David Brooks and the Syncopated Percolators” and “Palmetto Bug* Stompers”, which is a nifty sextet which harkens to street “spasm bands” playing early in the 20th century. Ya gotta love N’awlins.
* Palmetto Bug is the common name for Blattidae americana, the largest and most handsome cockroach found in the United States. A full grown Palmetto Bug can be almost two inches long, three and a half with the antennae, and they are found in abundance in south Louisiana. When The Loon worked in Covington Louisiana and was still drinking out of his mind, he used to catch Palmetto Bugs and put them in his secretary’s top desk drawer. (A public confession is good for the soul)
The craziness of the Mardi Gras parade season is upon the city; they call it “Cahnival (silent “r”). This year, Mardi Gras is on Tuesday Feb 20th, but the parades will start on Feb 3rd .I counted 50 parades slated for the New Orleans area, and some of the big ones have as many as 40 floats, and that’s not counting the marching bands, second lines, clowns, and Flambeaus who dance and prance for thrown money while holding flaming torches aloft.
The Feb 3rd kick-off parade is put on by the Krewe du Vieux, and topped off with an evening event, ”The Vieux Doo Ball”. Many Krewe of Vieux members will be variously ill-attired, some may have costume malfunctions, and others, doubtless, will don faux-moon plastic buttocks—it is cold here. The Krewe of Vieux is the anti-parade parade, rather like the “Doo Dah Parade” in Pasadena mocks the Rose Bowl Parade. Krewe of Vieux mocks the historic formal parades krewed by New Orleans socialites. Krewe of Vieux floats are drawn by mules, and the parade theme this year is “Habitat for Insanity”, a rip at the government’s tardy efforts at re-housing New Orleanians. This parade just drips satire; indeed the name of one sub-krewe is “Spermes, and Drips and Discharges”. Give you a feel for what is going on? There are 20 sub-krewes; one for each float, and they have a free hand to use a variety of attention getters, ranging from high “camp” to low blasphemy. Do people become upset and protest? Is a pig’s butt pork? But, please tell me, when was satire not designed to sting?
Another anti-parade parade is the 15th Annual parade of the Mystical Krewe of Barkus, a parade of pets which mocks the more famous parade of the Krewe of Bacchus. Mystical Krewe of Barkus favors thrown to the pleading bystanders who scream “Throw me somethin', Mistah.” (note again missing “r”) will be rubber dog turds. The Queen of this year’s Mystical Krewe of Barkus is a mongrel yaller bitch with one blue and one brown eye. Ya jus’ gotta love N’awlins.
New Orleans is dirty and the streets are all busted up; just like before Katrina. Some traffic lights are laying down on the job (in the gutter with lights still working); it is hell to find a street name sign facing the right way; people don’t mow their lawns; parking can be a travail (however, the N’awlins parking fairy has made his or her eyes to look down benevolently upon Rudy and I); some places in the French Quarter stink of sewage; you can’t hold a coherent conversation on the street for all that loud jazz pouring out of the clubs; Damn I love this town and have since 1955 when Little Bear, George and I drove 20 straight hours from Cape Girardeau Mo to be in New Orleans for the last weekend before Fat Tuesday. George and I fell asleep in our chairs at 2 AM in a joint listening to great jazz, and somebody stole our hats, but I still love this town. I lost my pregnant wife for 4 hours during a Fat Tuesday crush on Canal, but I still love this town. I’ve been threatened by cops to get my ass out of the street and onto the sidewalk, but I still love this town. There is an undercurrent of irreverence in New Orleans that seems to re-enforce my personality. Y’all stiff-necks stay away; I love N’awlins.
NOTABLE QUOTES (not to imply endorsement by the Loon)
1. “The things outsiders (outlanders) find absurd or threatening about California—the self-fashioned spiritual practices, the body-builder/action star Governor, the crazy diets, the junk bonds, the endless supply of new fictions, the UCLA and Palo Alto-born Internet—do share a certain grandiosity, a ridiculous desire to change the world, or at least ones self, Better not to admit to such ambitions, or so goes the story easterners love to repeat: the story of the disillusioned California dreamer.” James Fallow
This run-on soft vitriol was found in an article in “The Atlantic” and was about—can you believe this?—attempts to develop data-management programs. Does everyone have an attitude? Well, the Loon do, but it ain’t the same as James Fallow’s.
2. “Modernity, it turns out, built a metropolis with a form so unprecedented that residents and critics still refuse to consider it a real city; a suburb without a core—which is to say, not a suburb at all…” “The suburb is not, as Frank Lloyd Wright and others imagined a place to escape the city; it is the city….” “By the end of the 20th century more than half of all Americans were living in metropolitan areas of more than a million people.” This sideways slap at L.A. was also found in an article in “The Atlantic”. The Loon knows that you have to spend a little time in the ‘burbia run amok called L.A. in order to learn of its many charms. The Loon can provide a list on demand.
Allen Hall, the Loon
February 6, 2007, under a cloudless blue sky in New Orleans.
posted by Allen Hall at 4:06 PM
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