I’m gonna be in that number

The beast is loose. I can feel it when I leave my house. Carnival is in full swing. And I have very mixed feelings about it this year. My friend, Lexie, who first arrived in New Orleans doing animal rescue in the Lower 9th Ward a week after THE STORM, now has the answer to her question about why every single neighborhood, no matter how destroyed, had shiny plastic beads all over the place. It was one of life’s mysteries for Lexie until this past week. I presented her before the Barkus parade with two pair of vintage 1950’s Mardi Gras beads…the glass kind…that we used to have to catch mid-air or they would be shattered on the pavement.

Being here in New Orleans it is apparent that Mardi Gras MUST go on. But to tell the truth I feel like we are faking it a little. And although I have always had a tendency to cry for marching bands, bagpipes and even the weeping Indian in the “don’t be a litter bug” commercials, I am choked with emotion beyond my control at the thought of those who aren’t with us this year. And those who will never be with us again. When I’m in the up swing of my hopefully temporary Katrina bi-polar disorder, I can laugh at the idea of Carnival celebrations and king cakes in places like Des Moines and Missoula where evacuees have landed and will no doubt celebrate. When I’m in that frame of mind. I imagine hundreds of cities in the infant stages of Mardi Gras celebrations that will take root and bloom into glorious, huge, branches of our Carnival, much the same way ours took root from celebrations in Europe. When I’m in funky town, it’s easier to think about our losses. For one thing, there will be no St. Augustine Marching 100. No St. Augustine Church for that matter.

All I can do is what I always do. Pull out my boxes of costumes and wigs for out of town visitors to borrow and get ready for the party. My bedroom looks like a Las Vegas show girl exploded in there and my new Fifi Mahoney masterpiece is ready for pick up.

ALSO, today I saw the guy with the umbrella hat and the megaphone who preaches the gospel on Canal Street. I’m not even into all that and I honked and waved like he was a long lost uncle. He smiled and gave me the thumbs up. Maybe everything will be okay, after all.