I had a good morning at the pool, and a wander across the Quarter to get a soap dish(again). I’m starting to develop some empathy for the kids at the pool who always seem to come home with one sock. I ran through the clothes store advertising 50% off Saints gear, but they were pretty much cleared out.
It was warm enough in the courtyard that I was able to sit out and eat lunch, and got to meet a potential new neighbor being shown Chris and Joanna’s place. I am glad to see that they are looking for renters instead of Airbnbing.
I took a walk through the Marigny to the Costume Shop next to the Mardi Gras Supermarket. It is the retail space at the front of the Muses float barn, and has a consignment section and a bunch of pieces and parts like feathers, belts, glitter, and makeup. I resisted for now a pink dress and a jester tunic, both of which would make interesting additions to the costume closet, but did get sone feathers to plume up my bowler hat and a couple of simple masks to decorate. I’m on the trail of a King Tut/African costume using the King Tut hat, a dashiki and either the black kilt or black shorts, and a black and gold glitter costume with the black and gold glitter jacket, bowler with feathers, mask, and a gold shirt, perhaps gold pants, perhaps black pants. I have yet to really find a Mardi Gras home or theme, so I’m hoping these will be adaptable into wherever I end up. I will be looking for a glue gun.
I stopped in Mimi’s on the way home, and confirmed the good craik. It is important to keep track of such things. I planned to walk the Quarter, visiting Susie at Johnnie White’s and having a good drink at Tujague’s, ending at dba for Aurora Nealand, but got a text fromChris to meet at the R Bar. I hung out with the Touro Street Irregulars as Chris and Lauren shot pool, and had their excellent street jambalaya. I didn’t make it to music, but it was probably the better part of valor.
I walked the Marigny in the morning, heading for a garage sale, but nothing jumped out. The size 12 Doc Martens with platform heels were definitely the best thing there, but unless I went back for the little pink dress I am not sure what to wear them with, or what messages I would be sending. It is good to be exploring the other neighborhoods, or our neighborhood the other way, being reminded that places like Mimi’s, the Friendly Bar, Cake Cafe, Feelings Cafe, and other fun spots are no farther than the crowds on Jackson Square or Bourbon Street.
After a quick stop at the hardware store, where I got the last hot glue gun in the place, apparently not the only person in town getting ready for Mardi Gras. I took the long way home, surfing the crowds on Bourbon Street. I ended up at Tujague’s, where Melissa kindly comped me an old fashioned. I was greeted as a friend at the bar by a guy I didn’t know who immediately started a better than usual bar conversation. Brian was from Toronto, escaping the cold with his wife and another couple. He asked a lot of questions about New Orleans, starting with the “why don’t they clean the place up and really make a killing?” After a short answer about killing the goose, he asked for a tour of the better places to go in town. I agreed, telling him that he would have to buy the drinks. That is a dangerous proposition with Canadians, as it turned to an endless stream of whiskey. I walked them down Decatur, stopping at a couple of the more interesting art galleries and the Balcony Music Club for a short set of good electric blues. I was able to answer their questions about history and geography, and to find some cool stuff. We ended up on Frenchmen Street at dba and the art market, when Brian’s endless stream of whiskey caught up with him, and they ubered home. It was a fun group to run into and hang around with for a couple of hours.
I went to an opening party of an exhibit at the art gallery across from the R Bar with Chris Seker. They had a three piece band and good food and free beer. It was crowded with locals, about a quarter of whom in costume, coming or going to some Mardi Gras festivities. It is surreal to be a little too drunk hanging around in a crowd of people in horse costumes.
Chris and I went out on Frenchmen Street the next day after a chore day of house cleaning and a little costume bling shopping-gold glitter makeup and sequins. He was stalking a friend, Jamie Ellis, a singer-songwriter with a great gravelly Janice-style voice, who was performing almost solo at the Royal Frenchmen, the fancy hotel on the corner. She was almost solo, because her boyfriend was tending bar, and providing percussion by shaking cocktails with ice. We also saw Dinosaurchestra at the Brasserie. It was a good venue for those guys, and it was good to see them somewhere other than dba. Chris was impressed that I knew the bands and musicians on the street. We ran into Eddie, a friend of Chris’s who is a NOPD guy. He was a little out of control, getting thrown out of the Royal Frenchmen for being rude to a woman. I didn’t see exactly what happened, but he was definitely 86ed. He reminded me of some of the cops I knew who got in trouble mid-career who learned the wrong lesson from a decade of police work-that the rules don’t apply to them. It’s true sometimes, like when you are driving a patrol car fast, but mostly the apparent lack of boundaries just means you are getting burned out and don’t see the signposts anymore.
Tonight I meet a fraternity brother, Brad “Bucky” Borman, for a drink at the Carousel Bar.