Day 107: Forget Nagin, I’m Voting For Chris Rose

In 1859, Mark Twain said in a letter to a friend, “An American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi Gras in New Orleans.”

Today, another great American speaks loud and clear once again. I give you selected bits of his eloquence that Mardi Gras 2006 will happen, why and how detractors should consider emotional high colonics. Carnival season is something this city does and does well. Katrina’s aftermath has left us in a state of discomposure and indignity; let’s not have this shred of honor taken away from us as well.

Chris Rose: We’re having Mardi Gras and that’s final

The Mardi Gras thing. It’s not on the table. It’s not a point of negotiation or a bargaining chip. We’re going to have it and that’s that. End of discussion.

… Some folks say it sends the wrong message [who are these people?], but here’s the thing about that: New Orleans is in a very complicated situation as far as “sending a message” goes these days. It’s a tricky two-way street.

On one hand, it is vital to our very survival that the world outside of here understand just how profoundly and completely destroyed this city is right now, with desolate power grids and hundreds of thousands of residents living elsewhere and in limbo.

… On the other hand, we need to send a message that we are still New Orleans. We are the soul of America. We embody the triumph of the human spirit. Hell, we ARE Mardi Gras.

And to all of you aunties who have secretly watched way too many of your kids’ Girls Gone Wild tapes, I give you the new mayor of my house (hey, at least he doesn’t vacillate and now is when we need articulation):

To encapsulate the notion of Mardi Gras as nothing more than a big drunk is to take the simple and stupid way out, and I, for one, am getting tired of staying stuck on simple and stupid.

Mardi Gras is not a parade. Mardi Gras is not girls flashing on French Quarter balconies. Mardi Gras is not an alcoholic binge.

Mardi Gras is bars and restaurants changing out all the CDs in their jukeboxes to Professor Longhair and the Neville Brothers, and it is annual front-porch crawfish boils hours before the parades so your stomach and attitude reach a state of grace, and it is returning to the same street corner, year after year, and standing next to the same people, year after year …

It’s wearing frightful color combinations in public and rolling your eyes at the guy in your office who — like clockwork, year after year — denies that he got the baby in the king cake …

Mardi Gras is the love of life. It is the harmonic convergence of our food, our music, our creativity, our eccentricity, our neighborhoods and our joy of living. All at once.

Lots of over-frosted hair and boob flashing going on here
From Life On The Mississippi by Mark Twain . Boston: James R. Osgood and Company, 1883
Image courtesy of Documenting the American South at UNC

Do you now know why people go back to New Orleans year after year to enjoy the heart, soul and exuberance capable of Americans? Do you now know why I love this city? No, it’s not because of Mardi Gras, Jazzfest, crawfish or cocktails … it’s for people like Chris Rose who possess a sensibility and sophistication so deep yet will run down the street wearing a purple, green and gold boa and sequined sunglasses to share food, beverages and happiness with his neighbors in a heartbeat. New Orleans is the home of and the beacon for intelligent people who don’t take themselves seriously … well, except when Mardi Gras, Jazzfest, crawfish, cocktails and great fun are involved. New Orleans is where people don’t look at you funny for being who you are. New Orleans is hearty.

To those of you who say life isn’t a party, I say that you lose if you work hard but don’t play equally hard. Of course, I’m going to be overwhelmed and probably shed a lot of tears when I go home and as the first parade rolls by. But, you can’t let the misery take over your identity or that of New Orleans. You’ll miss out while I watch the floats go by as I hold my head up high … mostly to avoid getting beaned in the head by big, fat pearls. You can sit at home and cry while I dress up, walk and ride amongst friends and fling throws into the waiting arms of locals and tourists alike. Stage your protests while the sounds of brass bands drown out your misplaced anger (by the way, why aren’t you off rebuilding?)

Or, come out for a while, enjoy the fact that you’re alive, and as Rose says, “Fly the flag. Be in that number. This is our battle to win or lose. Hopefully, of one mind and one message. That we are still here. And that we are still New Orleans.”

Life is short, live it.