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Mystic Order of Memories February 19, 2012

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, New Orleans, Toulouse Street.
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” . . . MoM’s had always been one of my favorite things about Mardi Gras, a gathering of all who chose to live in the fabric of Mardi Gras and not just inhabit a costume for a few hours, a party only the resolutely dissolute can enjoy, or survive. MoM’s is what I hope Saturday night in Hell will be like, should I find myself stuck there between planes. But thousands in a shed did not hold up to the memories of hundreds in a hall in Arabi decades before. I don’t know if I will return to MoM’s, preferring this one true memory of carnival’s past. And then I can say well, I don’t go anymore, you know, but back when . . .”.
— ‘The Last Mardi Gras”, one of my contributions to A Howling in the Wires

I knew it wouldn’t be the same. I had seen the last MoMs with the Radiators as the band. I knew I didn’t have time to put together a proper costume last week. I knew I would likely be playing Daddy Taxi even though its not my week. I knew I had to get up only a few hours separated from the time I would likely get home, and clean house before my son comes over Sunday, at least vacuum and dust for his allergies, and clean the bathroom and probably mop the kitchen, too. I knew after I cleaned I ought to begin to type up my paper abstract for Chaucer, to see if I really had enough supporting material to write a paper on a subject that appears no where in the Annotated Bibliography of Chaucer’s The Knight’s Tale. I knew my responsibilities like the weight of of an elaborate costume.

I knew as I dropped off a car load of friends on Convention Center Boulevard I should have gone.

Goin’ Down the Road Feeling Bad

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