Centroid*

You know what I like? I like:

1. demographics
2. maps
3. riding bicycles
4. New Orleans
5. Richard Campanella
6. the word "centroid"**
   

Which is why I find this article (about a bicycle tour of the migrations of New Orleans' population centroid from the city's inception to the present day, guided by Mr. Campanella himself) deliciously geekish and lovely.

* I wanted some clever pun for the title, but everything I came up with—"Staying Centroid", "The Centroid Less Traveled", etc.—just seemed hopelessly lame (or entirely nonsensical). So there you have it. "Centroid". That's the post-title. (Well, actually, "Centroid*". Ooh, meta!) Love it or leave it.

** Loosely/metaphorically speaking, the center of balance or gravity (though you can go here if you really want the full geek-o-logical breakdown).

Les Brusiers, Allways Lounge, Saturday

Hilarious flyer by Mary T.

What'd you give up for Lent? Les Brusiers gave up not-rocking (not that it was difficult, because we like totally always don't not-rock anyway), and we recommend that you do the same.*

Allways Lounge (across from the Hi-Ho), Saturday
New Dopey Singers – 9-ish p.m
Les Brusiers – later-ish p.m

Anyone wearing a banana suit gets in free. (Actually, anyone not wearing a banana suit also gets in free, but don't tell that to the banana suit guy, 'cause that sh... is funny.)

* That's the beauty of Lent. You get to choose what to give up. With an elementary grasp of logic and a well-placed negative modifier or three, it's easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.

Boy with skateboard

No. 2 Daughter turned six yesterday. My, my. Happy birthday, sh-boo-boo.

Mardi Gras 2010

Goodbye, Mardi Gras.























Hello, Lent. (Honestly, we're kind of glad you're here.)

Flambeaux warm the hands of Brother Martin's band as Krewe d'Etat lines up. The pre-parade is, in my opinion, one of the more interesting parts of the whole spectacle—all the different bands and paraders getting prepped. Last night was frigid by New Orleans standards, felt more acutely as everyone stood around waiting to get moving, but the two neighboring groups got together to make it a little more tolerable.

Dat Parade

Ooh, boy! What a victory parade—we sure were glad to be in that number. (And speaking of numbers, preliminary estimates peg the crowd at around 800,000 people. I believe it. We see plenty of crowds around here, but I've never seen one like that.)

Dat Victory

Words can't describe it, so I won't even try.* But a few points of note:

• The good will from people all around the country leading up to the game was wonderful.
  
• The absurdly skewed coverage by many in the national sports media, treating a Colts victory as a fait accompli before the game was even played, was extremely tiresome. They're surprised. We're not.
• The menu: a whole deep fried turkey, pork roast, gumbo z'herbes, potato skins, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, assorted chips and dip, king cake, whiskey sours, Ramos gin fizzes, etc., etc.
  
• The game was amazing:

Sweet victory

• Afterward, everyone poured out of their houses and the fun began:

Our normally quiet street turned into a raucous dance party. (I'm proud to say that my little car provided the big music for that mighty moment.) Note the emerging conga line.


The festivities brought traffic to a halt, but the traffic didn't seem to mind.

• Downtown was like nothing I've ever seen before and perhaps like nothing I'll ever see again.

More dancing in the street

• The reality finally hit me at 3:57 a.m. when I was alone in my kitchen and the radio was playing highlights and whew!
  
• A beautiful (gleefully sunny) Monday:

If the girls look tired, it's because they were (not as tired as the grown-ups, but it was a rough morning all around).

• We got the girls to school late,** and as I waited to sign them (yes, there was a line), who else should be there but our new mayor-elect Mitch Landrieu, having just delivered his own kid. (Oh, did I mention that in the midst of all of this madness we also had a super-important mayoral election?)
  
• And honestly, this thing is just getting started. The two weeks of excruciating nervous tension are over, and a commensurate release of joy is just getting underway, to continue straight on through to Fat Tuesday. (We're going to really need Lent when it finally rolls around.)
  

* Words can't describe it, but the New York Times gave it their best shot and got pretty close (though presumably, they maintained their journalistic decorum last night and consequently aren't nursing epic hangovers like certain other less neutral observers).

** It was impressive that we got them there at all. Plenty of schools closed for the day. And Sarah and I, like many of our fellow citizens, claimed the day as an unofficial holiday.

Dat Radio

I think I've listened to more sports radio in the past couple of weeks than I had in my previous thirty-seven years of my existence combined.* If I don't quit soon, I'm going to start talking like Bobby Hebert.

* Of course, it doesn't help that the main sports-and-news station is now just Saints-Saints-Saints-Saints. As I write this, they're interviewing the Saints chaplain whose giving tips on how best to pray for the Lord's Team. Q: Is it really okay to pray for the Saints to win? A: It's okay to pray for our coach and players to do their best and for their best to be better than the other team's best (which, if you parse that out, well...).

Anatomy of a Who Dat*

1. NFC Champions baseball cap, bought first thing Monday morning after standing in line since dawn (while still moderately drunk).
   
2. Ears ringing from the deafening crowd noise in the Super Dome.
   
3. Tracks of tears from crying like a baby when Hartley's kick split the uprights.
   
4. "Breesus" jersey.
   
5. Large, heart-stopping food item: If there was a Super Bowl of Hard-Eating Football Fans, Who Dats would win every year.
6. Large belly: All those large, heart-stopping food items have got to go somewhere. (Good thing that Breesus jersey has plenty of extra room.)
   
7. Heavy-duty sneaks: It takes some serious shoes to support that Who Dat for three solid hours of standing and screaming.
   
8. "Lucky" pair of underwear worn every game since Tom Dempsey's 1970 record-setting field goal.
   
9. Big beer: If there was a Super Bowl of Hard-Drinking Football Fans, Who Dats would win every year.
   
10. Crucifix: A multi-dimensional offense, fearsome defense, and effective special teams are great, but nothing beats having the Big Man on your side—the Hand of God swatting aside opponents' field goals, befuddling their players, favorably flipping coin tosses, etc.
    
11. Kernel of doubt and disbelief: "I can't believe it. It can't be. After forty-two years? Nuh-uh. I'm dreaming..."
    
12. Look of stunned joy: "The Saints... are going... to the Super Bowl."

* Sue dat.

Buddy & Bobby's Brawds: It was, on the whole, a rag-tag affair, but one exception was the 610 Stompers , a new addition to New Orleans' growing cohort of tongue-in-cheek parade groups, named for the stretch of highway that cuts through the lakeside suburbs in the north of the city. Spawned from a drunken epiphany in a bar, they perform synchronized pep squad style bust-a-grooves. (Follow that link!) Their slogan: "Ordinary men. Extraordinary moves." Genius.