(...) Mardi Gras

If I wrote that there was a New Orleans event with music and parades; with beads being bartered for sights of skin; with crowded streets, costumed people and a general abandonment of good taste; you'd probably think "Mardi Gras."  And until you saw the pictures or I added some commentary on the demographic profile of the revelers, your thought would be correct.

Southern Decadence is often called the Gay Mardi Gras.  The comparison is fairly accurate, at least if you're talking about the Mardi Gras activities that take place on Bourbon St.  There's the same bold, alcohol induced lasciviousness in both events.  The main difference being the much higher ratio of men to women during Decadence, and maybe the notable difference in the number of genuine compliments on women's outfits coming from men.

This is not a story about gay people.  It is not a story about guys in dresses.  It's simply a story about people being free to do what they want, about people being free to do what makes them happy.  On this island in a sea of southern conservatism, these people got their party.

Maybe someday I'll write about my first encounter with Southern Decadence.  Friends came into town and a hurricane was only a day away...

Related article:
My earlier commentary on the people trying to bring negativity to this day.

Required Reading

"I am at this moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip."
— John Kennedy Toole (A Confederacy of Dunces)

The display tables at Barnes and Noble might lead one to assume that A Confederacy of Dunces is required reading for high schoolers in New Orleans. I can only hope that that is the case. There aren't many books that have caused me to laugh out loud my second time through, let alone merit a second reading. The characters and circumstances in the novel are as unique and curious as those surrounding its author and publication. A literary void as massive and unpredictable as Ignatius J. Reilly himself was left with the early end of his creator.

Just before I left for New Orleans, a friend recommended the book.   I didn't think much of it at the time, but several months later I stumbled across an old hardcover copy stuffed among the moldy merchandise in a thrift store's back room.  The title page was scrawled with personal notes from previous owners passing the book along to others.  One dollar spent and I can never look at a Lucky Dog vendor on Bourbon St., nor walk by the statue of Ignatius that stands on Canal St. without a chuckle and a nod.  I just might add my own note to the opening pages of this copy and send it back to the thrift store so that Fortuna may bestow it up some other unsuspecting reader.  

What.A.Game.

Well Saints fans, sometimes you get the gator, and sometimes the gator gets you.  Just replace "gator" with "falcon" in this case.  I'm off to practice my field goal kicking...

Tastes awful, but it's good for ya'

It's an interesting reality that most often, the things that are good for us are also a huge pain in the ass.   Go out for a jog?  Sure it's good for my long term health, but eating frosting out of the can is more immediately gratifying.  Read that book?  I can probably find somebody reenacting the Cliff's Notes version on YouTube.  Sure I'll learn less, but I'll learn less in much less time, leaving me more hours to watch ninja cat videos and musicalized versions of IQ draining crap.  Take that class?  Well, that brings us to to the point of this post.

I've taken a few photography classes at the New Orleans Academy of Fine Arts.  I like having a fixed day of the week to do photo-y stuff.  The most recent one I signed up for is called "finding your vision"...something, something, something...  It has more of a fine art tilt than I've previously been exposed to.  That creates a problem for me.  I've never considered myself an artist, nor do I envision myself pursing such purely "artistic" endeavors.  I'm not going to get into my philosophies on the arts here.  We all have our motivations for doing things, and those motivations can be vastly different.

We're supposed to try to pick a common theme for the class and then use the bi-weekly lecture topics to shoot a few images relating to that theme.  The images will be presented and we'll get feedback on whether we're being effective in communicating whatever it is that we're trying to say with our images.  Challenges:  (1) I have no idea what theme to use, and (2) I've never given much of a thought about what I'm trying to communicate with my pictures.  Sure, sure, every picture is supposed to tell a story, but can't I just enjoy capturing things, people, places, moments that are interesting to me?

This isn't going to be easy.  After one class, it was clear that I just don't think like an art school guy. I spend my entire work day using logic and data to accomplish things (not that it always works).  Sitting still is difficult enough for me (I'm the annoying guy drumming with my knife and fork at restaurants), but I can't even think of a decent analogy for having to sit still while listening to people subjectively interpret hypothetical images.  I get to enjoy this change of mindset after a nice long day of dealing normal work challenges; after work hours I could be spending eating pepperoni slices and watching MacGyver reruns.  Why do this?

Like exercising or reading or getting a full night of sleep, it's going to be a pain in the ass, but it'll be good for me.  Forcing yourself out of your comfort zone forces you to learn; to learn about yourself, or in the least, to learn about others.  After however many weeks this class goes, I'll probably have been stretched out of my comfort zone enough to admit that I've learned something even if I bitch about it every step of the way.  I think the old Popeye cartoons are a relevant analogy in this case.  That canned spinach must have tasted like crap, but it always helped him overcome his obstacles.  Hopefully this class will be as good for me as the steroid infused super-vegetables that Popeye used to find violent solutions to his problems.  I'll be sure to keep you posted.

**Side note -- as a result of setting up this picture I now know that my cat likes eating spinach.  Must formulate optimal blend of greenery and fish and sell recipe to cat food moguls.

Tuesday's Textures

Today is going to be a long day.  I wanted to remind myself ahead of time to slow down and appreciate whatever little things there are to be appreciated.  Take the time to absorb things with as many senses as you can; the memories will be more vivid.  I ran my hand along the flaking paint of this wall and can remember exactly what it felt like, where it was, and why I was there.

Taste can be a tricky sense to do this with.  Don't taste things that obviously shouldn't be tasted, such as paint and gutters.  Unless, of course, you want to make memories of a hospital, in which case, taste away.

Empire Building

I've used much of my time over the last two weekends building a foundation for the presence and presentation of my photographic alter ego.  There are so many ways to open yourself up to the world that at some point, you just have pick a place and get started.  You have to accept that you're a drop in one of many oceans.  The hope is that you can scatter enough drops out there that at some point they start overlapping and adding to one another.  

My first drops... 

www.photosteevo.com

www.photosteevo.blogspot.com

www.flickr.com/photos/sdhronek

www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=12416325

Old fashioned physical social networking devices are on their way (i.e. business cards), courtesy of Jenny.

Walking the gridiron

In my ongoing efforts to generate envy in those that love the Saints way more than I do, here are some pictures from last night in the Superdome.  I got to throw footballs, be on the big screen, and if one of the players finds a tortilla chip in the "0" of the 50 yard line, it's probably the one I dropped.