Endymion Adventures
Feb. 22nd, 2009 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nolawitch58Never look a peak experience or a gift horse in the mouth. No case of mistaken identity or getting out of the house two hours late would dampen my enthusiasm for the parade and hanging out with my writer friends.
I did not leave my husband or our niece, Candace, behind when they delayed my plan to get down to the parade early. None of that family can be anything but late to everything. I knew that when I married into it. Though I was irritated, I didn't let it show much. They're a lot of fun to watch as they resemble a creature that thwarts itself in its goals at every turn. Put something on the kitchen counter, lose track of it while packing a backpack, hunt around for the object, unpack the backpack and put the object in, walk around with another object and lose track of it -- the show is endless in its frustrating hilarity. All I could think during the pre-parade proceedings was that nobody better blame me for making us late or I'll have to smack somebody.
Parking. There is none. Ever. For any parade in the city. We get to Canal Street and, surprise (no), there's no place to park. Drove up Canal Boulevard and ducked off on a side street. Maybe we can find a spot there. Nope. Parking tickets on most of the vehicles showed the folly of that idea. Back toward the cemeteries. What the hell. The Baptist church next to Greenwood Cemetery has a nice lot they charge $10 to park in and have a shuttle to take folks to the parade route. So what if the shuttle only goes to City Park and not down Canal. We're not crippled, just out of shape; we can walk it. Huff and puff and grumble and gripe. Both of them and they're younger than me. Fuck it. I take point and keep moving, hoping they can follow the idiotic hat I'm wearing in the crowd.
Costuming is an important tradition. If you at least make an effort, you'll be rewarded with more beads. I dug in my t-shirt drawer and found my bat shirt, located the bat ears that Vel brought me from Disney World and found my bat mask. I didn't have time to iron the shirt, leaving it wrinkled from being folded up in a drawer for over a year. That's OK. I'm a wrinkled old bat. The hat is a standard Mickey Mouse ear hat including bat wings with the ears and little fangs jutting out on the front. It's probably the goofiest thing I've ever had on my head since I was a child.
In addition to Bryan being there as would be expected since it's his house, Sabrina and Terri also showed up. Terri came by herself, and Sabrina had an entourage. We assumed that Tad had gone to the Metairie parades since he's got kids and lives out on the other side of the Metairie parade route. We arrived as the parade was passing and so settled in to drink and eat and socialize.
A great gaudy pageant rolled past, shouting and singing and drumming, thrumming with the best that life has to offer. REO Speedwagon passed on one of the early floats. I remember seeing them in concert over thirty years ago. They looked good. I retreated to the porch to hang out with Terri. We sat behind the giant palmetto plant and watched from a safe and quieter distance. We used the spot as a base to make forays into the house and out to visit with others. At some point the parade ground to a complete standstill. The garish lights on the float flickered minute after minute after minute while it sat forlornly next to the restless crowd. When a parade stops, so do the throws for the most part. Both sides of the parade contract are at a loss as to what to do besides drink. The riders can't throw because they'd risk having nothing left for the rest of the route. The parade goers know that at some level and so don't press much.
As sure as I've ever conjured or sensed the imminence of an incredible coicidence, while waiting in line to take a leak, I mentioned to the niece to always enjoy the epiphanously cool moment. Of course, it's easier to have those in a place as special as New Orleans. It didn't hurt that the surroundings were most conducive to such. Bryan had a large floor-standing candleabra completely filled and lit in the entry hall with a dragon statue at its base draped with beads. The light and perfection of the scene was sublime. My turn to use the loo came and went, and I waited for Candace to finish. As I waited, I saw a guy with a huge, white, pompadour wig stride into the hallway, and I swear he looked just like David Tennant. Yes, I had been drinking.
Of course, it wasn't, but the hilarity of the situation increased. I couldn't chase after him as I was waiting for Candace. "Oh my god," I said. "I think the actor David Tennant just came to this party." She said, "Who?" I wanted to say, "Yes," but she wouldn't have gotten the joke. I got the same reaction from Bryan and Terri. "Who?" I stalked him around the house trying to hear his voice for confirmation that it was him. No luck. He must have been a low talker. It was fun for the short while it lasted to think that a famous actor from England would be in my friend's house during Mardi Gras. My brush with fame bubble was burst when the guy turned out to be a friend of one of Bryan's friends. Then I remember the YouTube video of the young Scottish fellow who looked like Tennant and proclaimed Tennant was stalking him. He's an attractive archetype.
Terri and I had a lovely long conversation in which we discussed the concept of archetypes. Think about it. There are lots of people who are a lot like a lot of other people. We are like other people. All that exists are archetypes. We are aspects of those archetypes. The reason we feel connected to some people when we first meet them is that our archetypes resonate at the same level. It's like a radio frequency. You can tune in more or less for a few wavelengths surrounding the channel, but they'll be weak. At some point, you move off the channel when the outer limit of the frequency is reached. That's the point at which we stop relating to other archetypes, even though we may be sympatico with them in other respects.
By the end of the evening, we had such a wonderful time for such a rocky start.
I did not leave my husband or our niece, Candace, behind when they delayed my plan to get down to the parade early. None of that family can be anything but late to everything. I knew that when I married into it. Though I was irritated, I didn't let it show much. They're a lot of fun to watch as they resemble a creature that thwarts itself in its goals at every turn. Put something on the kitchen counter, lose track of it while packing a backpack, hunt around for the object, unpack the backpack and put the object in, walk around with another object and lose track of it -- the show is endless in its frustrating hilarity. All I could think during the pre-parade proceedings was that nobody better blame me for making us late or I'll have to smack somebody.
Parking. There is none. Ever. For any parade in the city. We get to Canal Street and, surprise (no), there's no place to park. Drove up Canal Boulevard and ducked off on a side street. Maybe we can find a spot there. Nope. Parking tickets on most of the vehicles showed the folly of that idea. Back toward the cemeteries. What the hell. The Baptist church next to Greenwood Cemetery has a nice lot they charge $10 to park in and have a shuttle to take folks to the parade route. So what if the shuttle only goes to City Park and not down Canal. We're not crippled, just out of shape; we can walk it. Huff and puff and grumble and gripe. Both of them and they're younger than me. Fuck it. I take point and keep moving, hoping they can follow the idiotic hat I'm wearing in the crowd.
Costuming is an important tradition. If you at least make an effort, you'll be rewarded with more beads. I dug in my t-shirt drawer and found my bat shirt, located the bat ears that Vel brought me from Disney World and found my bat mask. I didn't have time to iron the shirt, leaving it wrinkled from being folded up in a drawer for over a year. That's OK. I'm a wrinkled old bat. The hat is a standard Mickey Mouse ear hat including bat wings with the ears and little fangs jutting out on the front. It's probably the goofiest thing I've ever had on my head since I was a child.
In addition to Bryan being there as would be expected since it's his house, Sabrina and Terri also showed up. Terri came by herself, and Sabrina had an entourage. We assumed that Tad had gone to the Metairie parades since he's got kids and lives out on the other side of the Metairie parade route. We arrived as the parade was passing and so settled in to drink and eat and socialize.
A great gaudy pageant rolled past, shouting and singing and drumming, thrumming with the best that life has to offer. REO Speedwagon passed on one of the early floats. I remember seeing them in concert over thirty years ago. They looked good. I retreated to the porch to hang out with Terri. We sat behind the giant palmetto plant and watched from a safe and quieter distance. We used the spot as a base to make forays into the house and out to visit with others. At some point the parade ground to a complete standstill. The garish lights on the float flickered minute after minute after minute while it sat forlornly next to the restless crowd. When a parade stops, so do the throws for the most part. Both sides of the parade contract are at a loss as to what to do besides drink. The riders can't throw because they'd risk having nothing left for the rest of the route. The parade goers know that at some level and so don't press much.
As sure as I've ever conjured or sensed the imminence of an incredible coicidence, while waiting in line to take a leak, I mentioned to the niece to always enjoy the epiphanously cool moment. Of course, it's easier to have those in a place as special as New Orleans. It didn't hurt that the surroundings were most conducive to such. Bryan had a large floor-standing candleabra completely filled and lit in the entry hall with a dragon statue at its base draped with beads. The light and perfection of the scene was sublime. My turn to use the loo came and went, and I waited for Candace to finish. As I waited, I saw a guy with a huge, white, pompadour wig stride into the hallway, and I swear he looked just like David Tennant. Yes, I had been drinking.
Of course, it wasn't, but the hilarity of the situation increased. I couldn't chase after him as I was waiting for Candace. "Oh my god," I said. "I think the actor David Tennant just came to this party." She said, "Who?" I wanted to say, "Yes," but she wouldn't have gotten the joke. I got the same reaction from Bryan and Terri. "Who?" I stalked him around the house trying to hear his voice for confirmation that it was him. No luck. He must have been a low talker. It was fun for the short while it lasted to think that a famous actor from England would be in my friend's house during Mardi Gras. My brush with fame bubble was burst when the guy turned out to be a friend of one of Bryan's friends. Then I remember the YouTube video of the young Scottish fellow who looked like Tennant and proclaimed Tennant was stalking him. He's an attractive archetype.
Terri and I had a lovely long conversation in which we discussed the concept of archetypes. Think about it. There are lots of people who are a lot like a lot of other people. We are like other people. All that exists are archetypes. We are aspects of those archetypes. The reason we feel connected to some people when we first meet them is that our archetypes resonate at the same level. It's like a radio frequency. You can tune in more or less for a few wavelengths surrounding the channel, but they'll be weak. At some point, you move off the channel when the outer limit of the frequency is reached. That's the point at which we stop relating to other archetypes, even though we may be sympatico with them in other respects.
By the end of the evening, we had such a wonderful time for such a rocky start.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 06:27 pm (UTC)*ENVIES*
Thanks for the report!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-23 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-22 07:47 pm (UTC)thanks for brightening my afternoon.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-23 08:05 am (UTC)Glad you had such a good time.