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Well, I'm not Catholic (except for a month, in the course of my mother's last marriage)... but I'm missing this Mardi Gras/Carnival experience tonight. Perhaps not the "Lenten" part of it. Usually, I pay no attention to the event... but my favorite jazz station had their zydeco DJ inflaming the airwaves at noon, while I was tootling around in the car. Conjuring up visions of Louisiana, the steamy deep south, firey food, and bacchanal. Talking trash with the ladies in the studio, keeping it light, increasing the pace... making me chuckle in traffic. No matter how rotten a mood I can stew in (and they can be verrry nasty), there is something about zydeco music that makes it impossible to remain in a foul humor. Unsophisticated... repetitive... and just plain kick ass. It must be rooted in the two most unlikely instruments in the world--the accordion and the washboard (more correctly, the froittoir), wheezing and scratching incessantly where no orchestra would go before. Somethin'. Whatever the reason, I walked in the door at work in a good mood... totally unheard of. Maybe I should move to the Big Easy. Or somewhere in the vicinity. Hereabouts, it feels like Lent, every day. Frankly, I'm spent with Lent. Speaking of bacchanal... I outgrew "fortified" wines long ago. Actually, I never had the taste for them, to begin with... syrupy sugar content and 18 percent alcohol is not my idea of a dream high. There was a time when a friend's dad, attempting to separate his work partner from a ghastly bottle of Richard's, poured us all a glass. Amazing, that something would taste the same entering your mouth, as it would leaving your stomach. All the more reason that I find this so amusing. |
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