Who Owns Mardi Gras?

The powers that be of Mardi Gras in Terrebonne Parish,  the largest Mardi Gras celebration outside the city of New Orleans, has decided, in an unprecedented move, to move the parades of Lundi Gras and Fat Tuesday to the Sunday before, four parades in one day. There will be no parades Monday or Tuesday. The weather is “supposed/will be bad.” They can and they did. But, do they own Mardi Gras or does the public?

To the riders who say, I spent “all that money,” only to be greeted by the few stray diehards, ask yourself, when you spend all that money on deer season and don’t kill a deer, is it the same?

Tourist, who were invited to our city, by our city, next time check our weather before you book the flight. It didn’t mean to tick you off by coming here for nothing. I guess it figured it has the oilfield money to back it up. Oh, wait. Never mind.

And, that religious thing, it was forty days and forty nights, not forty two. But, hey, things have moved up. Let’s have that crawfish boil on Wednesday instead of Good Friday and be done with it. Of course, that’s “if” the weather is supposed/will be bad.

For those who say Mardi Gras is not cancelled but only the parades have been moved, why not get the Easter Bunny to deliver his eggs on the Saturday before Easter. I mean if the weather is going to be a problem in South Louisiana let’s just scrap it all, call it “Mardi Houma”, and move everything to a sunny day picked in between February 12^th and  March 15^th.  I do advise you not to screw with the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, but then again, we can have that any time the Irish get drunk. Rain or shine.

What about the businesses? “Well, at least now the distributors can buy back all the extra stock I bought in preparation for the festivities,” that’s a quote I heard, by NO business owner in Terrebonne Parish.

Now, I do want to wish good luck to the last krewe to roll on Sunday. Hunker down at Southland Mall. You will be there waiting for three parades to move before you. It’s not your fault. I honestly hope you enjoy your day. I’m a purest when it comes to Mardi Gras. Look at my previous post.

I would have loved to been at the meeting as the powers voiced their opinions. Was the move because of the bad weather, the chance to get Mardi Gras over with, or was the money spent by krewe members far too much for them to be cheated from a miraculous ride, disrupting tradition?

Whatever it was, it has now been set, a weather related precedent for any festival, 5K run, or non-profit function. Get the city to move them for you, free of charge. Postpone them, wait fifteen minutes, or, if you’re worthy, the actual day of the event could change and accommodate not only you, but all those involved, because now we know, it can happen. It was done for Mardi Gras.

Here’s some good thoughts though, we give up drinking two days early for lent and at Rouse's and Cannata’s, the price of king cakes should plummet Monday morning.

 

           

Pomp and Mardi Gras

It’s another Mardi Gras without our matriarch, the woman who filled our lives with purple, green, and gold, sequins iridescent, and soft velvets of the rainbow. She made costumes, exquisitely, to bring joy, laughter, and of course, the pageantry of that once a year pomp and circumstance.
I’ve always liked that part. (She made me weird.)
I like to attend a parade on a crisp sunny afternoon, look up to a reviewing stand and see the maids dressed to the tee, debutantes for a day in an array of colors, their hats dipped just so completing their individual look. They always seem to hang along the rail, bright smiles and loving the crowd, chalice in hand, waving and enjoying what it means to be that part of Fat Tuesday. I’ve never seen a maid who wasn’t having fun.
Also on the reviewing stand are the dukes, past or present, handsome in their black ties and tails, tuxedos that have changed through the years, but still, dashing as they seem to feel, as they should, they are royalty for a day, and today there is an air about them, not the wild reveler when riding in their mystic krewe.
In the middle, always the Queen, stunning as she presides over her court, always outshining the others, if for no reason other than knowing she is for today the upper echelon. Queens, on a reviewing stand remind me of brides.
“All queens of Mardi Gras look beautiful and don’t you ever forget it.” I heard that as a young boy from the person who dealt with them. She knew they were our livelihood.     
And, yes, I enjoy the toast to the King and Queen. I know it stalls the parade but those who don’t understand are there for some other reason.
You see, the toast is when champagne glasses are raised, praises are made, and flowers are given to wives, daughters, friends, and dignitaries. A key to the city could be presented from a mayor or parish president, and all this pageantry, done high above revelers, I find freaking cool. And, when the toast is finished you can hear it, as they actually throw the glass down to the pavement to break it.
When I see the parade coming, I patiently wait through the motorcycles, dune buggies and clowns, and I smile when royalty stops at the reviewing stand and remember my childhood. It’s a part of my being; engraved from the earliest days. You could say it’s in my veins, not red, but the pomp and circumstance of purple, green, and gold.

 

Super Bowl 2015

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. Here are some rules if you’re throwing a Super Bowl party. If you’re inviting someone to your house, don’t screw it up.

1.     Play a drinking game. When the announcer mentions the words “deflated”, those who drink should take a sip. It must only be used when referring to the football, not when referencing the cheerleaders.

2.     It’s a given. One of the teams will score right before the end of the quarter, half, or end of the game, pissing off a person at the party who had those numbers in a pool. If someone else has the new numbers, they should pretend to sympathize till one of them leave the room.

3.  The referees will completely screw up a call. When instant replay overturns it, “try” to get your guests to get over it and move on. It’s a game. I did say, “try.”

4.     If everyone brings a dish to your party make sure everyone brings something expensive or something that took a long time to make. I’m having a party and thought I should throw that out there.

5.     If women are at your party, Tom Brady’s looks and his supermodel wife will come into play. Men, please, get ahead of this. Explain that the cute quarterback, if he loses, is going home to a freaking supermodel.

6.  If the game is a blow out, everyone except Colorado is screwed.  

7.  Don’t be perplexed when at least one announcer during the game says that every player on the field is the “Best player in the league” ignoring the fact he can’t explain why a team can lose at all.

8.  If anyone is watching only for the commercials, tell them, shame, shame, shame. You could have seen those on the internet.

9.   Belichick will cheat. You just won’t know how.

And finally,

10.  A wardrobe malfunction is something you can wish for. Hell, it's Katy Perry.

Call Your Mother

Tears fall on the keyboard as I lean forward to get a better look.
Squinting and frustrated, I finally make it larger.
I desperately want to see the memory,
It’s the face that shaped me.

 

“My youngest wearing glasses, maybe you’ll see your way to call me.”
“Mom, I’m sorry, but when I don’t call I feel guilty. Then I don't call."
“So, I should just call my son, right?"
“Yes, I would love to talk to you.”
“But when I call and ask questions you seem to be busy.”
“Well… only, when I am busy.”
“Oh, okay. Let me know, because when you’re not busy, I’ll just stick my foot up your ass.”

I miss my mother. She was very funny.

 

Too Young To Be Offended

      I was in bed watching television when my 4 year old granddaughter entered. It was after her bath and putting on her night gown.
      She said, “Paw Paw, my panties are too small.”
     Being fed a line like that, I had a great answer but I thought to myself that I wasn’t going to say it to a female, even one so young. So, I giggled. 
     "What are you laughing at, Paw Paw?"
     “Nothing,” I said, continuing to smile.
    “What are you laughing at?” she asked again.
    “Your panties are too small, huh?”
    “Yeah.”
    The comedian took over.
    I asked her, “What makes you think your panties are too small and your butt is not too big?”
   She went into hysterics, laughing, and repeating the punch line, too young to be offended.

   The next morning my wife texted me at work to let me know my granddaughter had the leg hole of the panties around her waist.

60 Seconds Inside a Bimbo's Head- Summer

Finally, summer is here and I am ready. Poolside, beachside, I am ready… Wait a minute, beachside is really “Beach, in front of” … How does that work? Are you in front of the beach or in front of the water?... Doesn’t matter, I’ll be rockin’ my new six hundred dollar swimsuit... Teddy seems ready. He sure put up some bucks. I’d have to work a week in that cubicle for that kind of money….Of course, I can cover Teddy in three short minutes…Small price to pay to lay out…literally…Wow, that comes out to, what, two hundred bucks a minute...I’m such a slut. Is that the price for my virtue, just two hundred dollars a minute? ... Well, a duh to myself… it’s a six hundred dollar swimsuit...I wonder if I ask Teddy to last longer, I could get a better swimsuit? Then I’d look good, like the swimsuit models in those weight loss commercials… They always rock their swimsuits……Gosh, I’m so fat…Maybe I could go an extra minute with Teddy for a really expensive sarong…One that really says summer is here…cause I’m ready.

Honoring Our Troops

            The Germans could never see us crouched low, eyes just above the grass. They were looking hard too, scanning the French countryside for the inferior Americans they would kill if they had a chance. Oh, we were scared, petrified. If Germans didn’t kill us my mother would have if we destroyed her award winning azaleas.

            That was the extent of my combat experience, child’s play, picking who would be a sergeant, corporal, or general. Born in 1960 I had the luxury of not being forced to fight. I did reach eighteen in 1978, the first year the government reinstated signing up for the draft. I remember going to the post office with high school buddies to sign the card. I certainly wasn’t worried about paying the ultimate price for my country. I was going to be an opera singer.

             Today, I do understand the ultimate price, dying, never to see your wife, your children grow up, your brother who protected you, the sister who gave you the girls point of view, the grandparents who spoiled you, the uncle who took you fishing, the aunt who when getting off the bus you ran to anticipating the present. The father who instilled “never say can’t”, “never quit”, “suck it up”, “shake it off”, or the mother who’s azaleas did get me in a heap of trouble.

            This weekend, let’s thank all of those who have served in the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard, and The National Guard.