Skip to main content

The carnival of it all

I just returned from New Orleans.  Interesting city, which got me thinking - what has become of the cities of our grandparents and great-grandparents?  Would they recognize the world in which we live every day?  What would they think of it and why?

I ponder these thoughts in relation to wandering Vieux Carre', or the French Quarter, over the course of several days.  My first reaction was some level of disappointment.  My second reaction was some level of intrigue.  My third reaction was some level of comfort in the waves of humanity that have washed over the quarter.  My fourth reaction was some feeling of blankness for what the quarter has now become.  It led me to read a book on the quarter called Madame Vieux Carre': The French Quarter in the Twentieth Century.  I was curious as to what the twentieth century had brought to that part of the city and what life after Hurricane Katrina looked like.  In short, fullness to emptiness.  Today's quarter is effectively a shell of the past, from 5,000 residents now down to 1,200.  From middle-class and working-class "full-timers" to upper-class "part-timers" who come in and out of condos a few times a year.  From "sporting people" who mixed discretely with madams and their women in the quarter, to rites of passage for college kids with beads, boobs, and booze.  Somehow, the quarter has maintained a certain joie de vivre, which still attracts the same sorts today as it did yesteryear, those who let lascivious pursuits carry them to points of oblivion.

We stayed for the first weekend of Mardi Gras, witnessing the Krewe du Vieux and its "naughty satire" parade by on Royal Street.  For a moment, with our masks on, we connected with that feeling, and surrendered for the moment, to something that I'm sure grandparents and great-grandparents would have understood - that feeling of being alive.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Party Like It's 1999

A coworker sent me a meeting invitation to the end of the world.  Fitting.  I'm not sure if I should accept or not (suppose it depends on your views of the end of the Mayan calendar ), but somehow it reminded me of the Prince song on a related subject . Fitting as well that this coworker was not born when Prince extolled the virtues of partying like it's 1999 (side note: I did party like it's 1999 while studying abroad in Milan at that time, which was a heady experience with the coming of the Euro and all.  How times have changed, how the mighty have fallen...).  Time change, sometimes faster than we think, and our cultural references become dated.  Perhaps just like the Mayan calendar falling out of fashion over the last few centuries, until its end becomes a modern cultural phenomenon - or not, depending on your view of things. In either case, it's worth partying like it's 1999 regardless because hey, it will be Friday when this all goes down, and Fridays

New York Pause

Heading to the Helmsley Sometimes I work in NYC, and this is my office.  More precisely, there is a desk in the upper floors of this distinctive building that has a major thoroughfare running through it that I inhabit while typing up documents and conducting meetings in the city.  It is nothing exceptional, usually the work and sometimes the desk at which I sit, but the surrounding city is commanding, ever-thriving, and never-still. If I pay close enough attention, I am reminded of the countless things that make this city unique among the many cities I have had the pleasure to live in and visit.  But on this brisk morning, when winter gusts barrel down Park Avenue as I hustle the blocks from Lex to the building entrance security guards, I pause long enough to snap this picture.  That pause is enough reminder that I am lucky to be here, and New York City is ready to give me its best shot (I'm still not sure if the city is better personified male or female).  But that is all t

In Memory of Rose

Pets have an uncanny ability of ingraining themselves into the fabric of a household, so much so that their disappearance can cause great grief and disorientation to their owners. Such is the case with Rose, who passed from our household on Sunday. An older dog when we took her in to our home last year, Rose was supposedly the runt of her litter, a fact confirmed by her diminutive 5-pound Pomeranian frame - too small for her breed but too big to be classified a "teacup." This suited her just fine, however, as she came to embody a singular personality as a dog among people, often little acknowledging some dogs and appearing frightened by others just as a hesitant human being might act around jumpy canines. Rose embodied all of what defines unconditional love. She was raucous when we would leave the house and even more raucous when we returned, partly due to separation anxiety but mostly due to her sadness and excitement of being around us; she let us know her affection b