There was a buzz in the air that felt immediately palpable during the streetcar ride towards the Central Business District. Accompanied by two friends, I was ready to re-initiate myself into the “parade mentality.” Mardi Gras is still weeks away, but the Chewbacchus parade in the French Quarter offered all the things that make parade season so unleashing: a deluge of liquor, a reverie of cigarettes, a coterie of creative costumes, and that lovely and distinct lack of regard for how foul you’ll feel the next morning.
All the sights and sounds of New Orleans and America seemed to coalesce as we got off the streetcar. Immediately, we were greeted – as if wanderers from a far-off land – by a demonstration of Black Israelites who had such inspiring posters that read “America will die by fire,” which only helped to warm the festive cockles of my heart and remind me of the “joy” encompassing the entire world, especially where unopposed ethno-states are involved.
As we made our way past the demonstration and began our walk down Canal St., we took in the glittering sights of neon testaments to unabashed wealth disparity: where “important” people spend thousands of dollars on luxury goods and fine dining, and the homeless are forced to huddle under balconies and down alleyways for warmth less than a mile away. Oh boy, how I love this time-honored season in New Orleans, even if it hasn’t officially started yet.
There were great masses of parade-goers, all lining the streets ready to partake in every ounce of screaming, begging, and pleading their bodies could muster in the cold – hoping to gain those treasured and lovely disposable trinkets that always end up polluting the city’s drainage system.
Before all that merriment could begin, however, it was time to settle a matter of greater importance than all else: securing that delicious and sacrosanct icon of bad mistakes made during parade season – a strawberry daiquiri. Journeying through the streets, like Marco Polo following the Silk Road to China, we finally chanced upon an establishment. Our liquor-hungry needs were met, and we were blessed with a decadent daiquiri that made the night feel ever so joyous.
While we passed the daiquiri around and made our way back to the parade route, I lit a cigarette in the hopes of staving off the biting and unusual chill of New Orleans in January. After passing Jackson Square and carving our path through crowd after crowd of drunk parade-goers and fashion-minded (in their minds, at least) individuals, we finally found a spot to enjoy Chewbacchus. All manner of sci-fi references, elaborate costumes, floats, throwback music, exotic dancing, and general pop-culture parading were abound that night. The cold continued to bite viciously, but the warmth of the liquor & cigarettes, the music in the air, the friendly faces surrounding me, and the pounding corporeal energy of the event made my blood run hotter than it has in a while. This is just what Krewe of Chewbacchus had in store, so with Mardi Gras right around the corner, I might just be in heaven.
