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Coming to Take You Away January 19, 2008

Posted by The Typist in Carnival, cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, Debrisville, French Quarter, Krewe du Vieux, Mardi Gras, New Orleans, Rebirth, Remember, Toulouse Street.
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The Magical Misery Tour is coming to take you away (coming to take you awaaayyy….). Perhaps, once you’ve seen us all out on the streets, you’ll think they should be coming to take us away. No matter. It’s time for the Krewe du Vieux to once again stain the shiny, Sidney-Torres washed streets of New Orleans and once again diminish the city’s magical brand as They City That Forgot to Care.

Our King is Ronald W. Lewis of the Lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans: Director, House of Dance & Feathers and President, Big 9 Social Aid & Pleasure Club.

The secret sub-subKrewe of B.L.O.G.* will once again celebrate by getting notoriously drunk and failing to each other at the ball. Our featured drink will be Absinthe. As the self-appointed captain of this nearly non-existant group, I proclaim Bec our Queen, since I’m so pickled she’s going to make it and march. Not as pickled, however, as I will be later tonight. My personal theme this year is Getting L.H. Really Drunk and Taking Embarrassing Pictures I Can Use To Advance My Career at the Bank. My costume is titled: Oh! Wendy? but only someone who thinks Capitol when they hear “hill” will figure out how the hell it fits into the Seeds of Decline’s theme of Fools on the Hill.

Don’t forget the new start time–6:30 PM–and the new route. route08.gif

And don’t forget the Krewe du Vieux Doo, at 2121 Chartres St., featuring 101 Runners (Mardi Gras Indian Funk), Juice with Special Guest J.D. Hill, Honey Island Swamp Band, and Late Night Trip by Quintron and Miss cat (whatever that is). Tickets are advance sale only at:

  • Mardi Gras Zone: 2706 Royal Street
  • Louisiana Music Factory: 210 Decatur Street
  • Up In Smoke: 4507 Magazine Street
  • Miss Claudia’s Vintage Clothing and Costumes
  • *B.L.O.G. is the Benevolent and Order of the Garrulous.

Happy Holidays from the Burning Pit December 20, 2007

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, Mid-City, New Orelans, New Orleans, NOLA, Odds&Sods, parody, Toulouse Street.
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Somebody stop me, please.

We tree king in orient car December 10, 2007

Posted by The Typist in New Orelans, New Orleans, NOLA, Toulouse Street, Xmas.
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“We tree king in orient car
smoking a Jamaican cigar.
Make you lazy and so crazy:
Man dig that crazy star, -ar…”

Ah, the sounds of a man hanging his Xmas lights, singing stupid lyrics as a defense against the deathless earworms of traditional Xmas Muzak. There’s just something about dripping sweat on a chilly day while untangling icicle lights up on tippy toe on the porch railing right where the power lines enter the house that brings out the stupid in all of us.

“We wish for some figgy pudding.
We wish for some figgy pudding.
We wish for some figgy pudding and a cold glass of beer.
Good tidings to you, so what’s here to eat.
Some nice figgy pudding and a piece of cold meat.”

My wife comes to the door and glares at me in jest (I hope), then turns up the Charlie Brown Xmas album and closes the door. The lamps on my beloved plastic ivy that decorates the door go out. I leave off filing the orientation tabs off of grounded plugs by rubbing them on the cement steps and starting wiggling bulbs.

“Jingle Bells, Rudolph smells.
Santa broke the sleigh.
Mrs. Claus is a mean old broad
who drinks a quart a day, -ay”.

“If you need something productive to do, you can come inside and help,” my wife suggests. Have to remember the unplug everything before I water the plants, I remind myself. Never had that problem in Fargo, but can’t say I miss climbing that 24 foot extension ladder on a windy, 10-degree day to string up the giant triangular arrangement that made a tree. I left half a kilowatt of lights behind with friends up north, where battling the darkness seemed even more important when twilight is at 4 pm and it’s dark when you get to work at 7:30 in the morning.

“Im’a mimute,” I mumble, cord clamped firmly in my teeth (uh, is this thing plugged in?), as I stretch around the triple columns at the corners of my Craftsman porch, reaching to stretch the last string of icicle lights to the last nail. I must have left these strings up last year while the neighbor was having his roof redone, as there’s a certain Dickensian black grit covering the white wires of the icycles.

Ah, done at last, my own little Folse Drive in Mid-City.

A Redneck Night Before Xmas December 17, 2006

Posted by The Typist in Christmas, New Orleans, NOLA, parody, Xmas.
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Was the night before Xmas in our trailer park,
An’ the street light was shot out, an’ boy was it dark.
The wind was a howlin’, the trailer was old,
So I drank me a beer so I wouldn’t feel cold.

The children was snuggled on their sleeper sofa,
And Momma was a snorin’ in front of her Oprah.
The tree had blown out all the fuses again,
So I dug out some pennies and jammed ’em right in.

I snuck in the kitchen to get me a beer
And some of that deer jerk I put up last year.
And me with my NASCAR Race Week in my lap,
I settled me down for a long winter’s crap.

When out by the door, I heard such a noise.
Sounds like Billy Bob coming home late with the boys.
I ran out the head with my pants still pulled down
And tripped over myself and Wham! I fell down.

Outside in the yard was a big F350
With all kinda’ lights that looked really nifty.
And tied to the hood of that beautiful truck
Was a fine lookin’ 24-point reindeer buck.

I hopped to the the kitchen, and what should appear
But some white haired old hobo a drinkin’ my beer.
Before I could say ‘What the hell are you doin’?’
He jumped like a flea right into the front room.

His suit was as red as the end of his nose,
And he had lots of black stains all on his clothes.
From the look of the guy and that flea hoppin’ trick
I knew right away that it must be St. Nick.

He didn’t say shit but just picked up his his sack
(An’ old Wal Mart bag with a big duct tape strap),
Dumped it out on the table and made a big pile
While guzzlin’ down my last beer with a smile.

For Becky Lou he had a great big surprise.
A doll beauty parlor built in a garage.
For Junior a NASCAR electric race track,
With a real workin’ pit crew around in the back.

Mama got matching housecoat, curlers and slippers
And a leopardskin outfit with all kinds a zippers.
And he gave me a wink as he slowly revealed
For me was a brand new Shakespeare spinnin’ reel!

He tossed back my last beer and belched with great glee
And hung up the pull tab right there on the tree.
He grabbed up his sack and slammed out the screen door,
So that half a the ornaments fell on the floor.

He jumped in his truck and he gave her the gun,
And with nary a word that old hobo was gone.
I went back in the trailer; didn’t know what to think.
There was no more beer left in the place now to drink.

But there in the trailer atop the TV
He had left me a whole case of Old Milwaukee,
With a note on the top that he wrote all hisself.
“Merry Xmas to all from that Old Redneck Elf!”

–MF Xmas ’00–