WHO DAT!!

I would be remiss if I didn't make mention of the fact that my (Superbowl champions) New Orleans Saints are squaring off tonight against the San Francisco 49ers, the city I formerly (and often begrudgingly) called home.  I had to laugh at the people who actually asked who I would be rooting for.  Seriously?  Is that even a question?

Oh, I forgot to tell you what happened at last week's game!  Jenelle and I decided to forgo Bar None, as it was disgustingly crowded three hours before the game and was only going to get worse.  We decided to go to dba in Brooklyn, another Saints outpost in NYC.  My friend James (also from New Orleans) met us down there as well.  We get there and I notice a guy running around who looks really familiar.  It took a little while, but I finally realized, holy shit, that's Jack.  He used to come into a bar I worked at ten fucking years ago.  I made a mental note to say hello when I got a minute.

Next thing I know, James is next to me saying, "Hey, wanderlust, have you met Jack?"

And I said, "As a matter of fact, I have.  I used to get Jack drunk ten years ago.  Shot of Jim Beam and a Budweiser, right Jack?"

The look on his face was priceless.

Of course he remembered me and of course we had lots of catching up to do.  Turns out he moved to San Francisco for a while and hated it too!  (OK, I'm being dramatic.  I didn't HATE living in SF.  Not all the time, anyway.  I just complained a lot)  He's much happier in NY, as am I.

That's the thing about New Orleans.  Once you've lived there a little while, it doesn't matter where you go.  If there's any sort of gathering involving New Orleans in any way, be it a Saints game, a crawfish boil, or oil-spill fundraiser, you WILL run into someone you know.  You just will.  Like it or not.  I once ran into a guy I used to HATE at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge in San Francisco.  Fortunately for all involved, he was way too drunk to remember who I was.

But it's a beautiful thing, and I love it.  Anyway, I've got to go.  I have a date with James and Jack and the rest of the Who Dat nation.  Bar None has no idea what it's in for.

GEAUX SAINTS!!

WHO DAT!!

Oh yeah baby.  It's that time of year again.  It begins tonight.

Some might say it began a few weeks ago, but I say pre-season, shmee-season.  I believe pre-season exists solely to make me paranoid about injuring our starters.  I was especially concerned about Drew, what with that whole Madden curse thing.  But I have faith in our boy.  I mean, this is the same quarterback who led us to the Superbowl.  The Saints.  To the Superbowl.  I still can't believe it...

Jenelle and I have a date tonight with the rest of the Who Dat Nation down at Bar None, a Saints stronghold in NYC.  I've heard that Vikings fans like to hang out there too, so tonight should be especially fun.  I am so excited my stomach is turning upside down.  Or maybe I'm just hungover.  Either way, I'm ready to STAND UP AND GET CRUNK!!  WHO DAT!! WE DAT!! YEAH YOU RIGHT!!

            

Happy anniversary!

Exactly four months ago today, the New Orleans Saints won the Superbowl.

Yes, we're still talking about that down here.  It's our first one.  Ever.  Forty-three fucking years.  As I've said before, we'll celebrate as long as we damn well please.  

More photos from that glorious, sacred night, which will forever remain legendary in New Orleans history:

                    

              
              

                      


Yes, that's St. Louis Cathedral flying an NFC Championship flag, and yes, that's the statue of Joan of Arc over on Decatur Street proudly displaying a Saints flag high above her head.  Why, you ask?  Because these are the SAINTS we're talking about, people.

WHO DAT!!

I told you. We're everywhere

Seen at a gas station somewhere around Granite Falls, North Carolina

                  

WHO DAT!!

We're everywhere...

Somewhere along I-81, Virginia

      

WHO DAT!!

Nostalgia

Finally made it to my old neighborhood the other day.  Life was good over there.  Fun times living at The Compound.  I have friends from San Francisco in town and I'm trying to show them as much of the city as I can, which is great, because I'm in the process of rediscovering the city myself.  I really haven't been back very long.

My former hood looks great, all the good stuff is still there, and now there's all kinds of new stuff to sort through.  I'm hugely pissed that the St. James Cheese Company didn't open until after I left.  If the St. James Cheese Company was three tiny New Orleans blocks away from my house when I lived there, I might never have left in the first place.  Lots of other cool stuff too.  I saw a sign outside of some new place on Magazine St. that said "boudin meatloaf."

What?  Boudin meatloaf?

I should have stopped.  Why the fuck didn't I stop?  When will I learn that my greatest regrets are always the things I didn't do?  I'm still kicking myself for not buying that jacket at that thrift store up the street eight years ago.  It was twenty bucks!  What the fuck was I thinking?!

Of course I went to see my old place.  My former landlord owned all the houses on the block.  I was surprised to see that they were being painted.  I didn't even recognize mine, it was quite unsettling.  I'm really hoping that it's primer I saw and not the final color.  Because if it is, it's hideous.  I was thrilled to see that my sticker hadn't been removed from the window, although the bastards got paint all over the bottom:

            

I'll bring something to scrape it off with next time I'm in the area.  Who dat!

Long overdue

Today I marched in one of the most significant jazz funerals this city has ever seen.  We've waited a long time for this one.  Best jazz funeral ever.  Whose death were we marching for?  The 'Aint's, of course.

The coffin, in all its glory...

                
We shall wear paper bags on our heads no more.

Yes.  We're STILL celebrating the Superbowl down here.  We'll be celebrating all year.  Forty-three years we've waited, OK?  We'll celebrate as long as we damn well please.

Some of you are asking, "What's a jazz funeral?"  Allow me to explain.

Around here, we don't have funerals.  We have parties.  We don't spend the day mourning a loved one's death.  We spend a day celebrating their life.  How does New Orleans like to celebrate things?  With music and parades.  What else?

A jazz funeral starts off somewhat somber.  The band generally breaks into "A Closer Walk With Thee" as the procession leaves the starting point.  But it's not long before they start to funk things up a little bit, and the funeral party following behind starts dancing.  It looks something like this:

The whole thing ends with a big party with even more music and dancing.  That's our reaction to pretty much everything around here.  Music and dancing.  It's a pretty good life.

Who dat!

Post-game

It was happening right in front of me, and I still couldn't believe it.  A headline we've been waiting forty-three years to see...

          

People were, ahh, happy.  Especially this guy...

            

More people in the French Quarter than I had ever seen.  Bourbon and St. Ann:

            



Standing on St. Louis:

                                 


Walking down Decatur:





The whole thing was pretty fucking surreal.

Yes they did. Who dat? WE DAT!!

Passion...

Who dat said females don't like football?

    

          

          

These wonderful women were their own one-car Saints parade, rolling down Royal St. throwing piles of beads to a happy crowd.  A perfectly logical thing to do.  I mean, that's what they were doing Sunday afternoon in Indianapolis, right?  What's that?  They weren't?

Oh.  Wow.  Sucks for them...

        
WHO DAT!!

Pre-game...

The French Quarter was at its best.  The chaos of Mardi Gras is a beautiful and wonderful thing, precisely because of the disorganized chaos of a million different kinds of parties happening all at once.  This was different, and a thousand times better.  It was the jubilation of Mardi Gras, but it was like our own (public) private party.  A million people celebrating one common cause, and all wearing the same costume.  BLACK AND GOLD PATROL!!

I've never seen so many happy people in one place.  Move over, Disneyworld...

  
                                        

                        

This guy is my hero.  I can't imagine being on crutches in the French Quarter this weekend.  Actually, yes I can.  Broken knees suck.

                    

The beauty of complete strangers hugging and kissing on the street never gets old to me.  Post-game, on Frenchmen St. some guy grabbed my friend and starting screaming and hugging him.  Then they grabbed each other's arms and started jumping up and down screaming, "WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!!"

"Earl," I said, "Who was that?"

He said, "I don't know.  But I feel closer to him now..."

It was a beautiful thing.  I myself have been picked up and spun around by so many random dudes this weekend I'm still dizzy.  These two were walking past each other and started shrieking and hugging.  For no apparent reason.  Oh yeah, wait a minute.  The Saints were about to play in the Superbowl!

              

The best part is, I hadn't even been back in town for twenty-four hours yet.  What a welcome home party!

          

WHO DAT!!

I really don't have any eloquent words for you right now.  The New Orleans Saints just won the Superbowl.

HOLY SHIT!!  WHO DAT!!  YEAH YOU RIGHT!!  HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIIIITTT!!

Satan must be ice-skating to work.

Last night, this city erupted into an explosion of ecstasy we never knew was possible until now.  It was Carnival times ten, Mardi Gras jacked up on steroids and speed.  Tears of joy everywhere.  Grown men crying, complete strangers, hugging and kissing and dancing in the streets.  Everybody high-fiving everybody.  Police cars, fire trucks, flashing their lights and waving.  Brass bands spontaneously breaking out all over town.  The screaming.  I'll never forget the screaming.

It was frantic.  Screams that had been building for over forty years, finally released.  It was the most beautiful night in the history of New Orleans, in the history of HISTORY.

I really can't even talk about it right now.  It's too soon.  I haven't had time to process it yet.  I'm still in a state of semi-disbelief...

          

It's not going to sink in until after the parade tomorrow.  Then, get ready.  This is going to turn into the "All Saints, All The Time" channel for a while.  Tune in for full Superbowl aftermath coverage right here, photos and video coming soon!

WHO DAT!!

Finish Strong

Because at the end of the day, that's all that really matters.

        
            

WHO DAT!!

Shadow Shot Sunday

 New Orleans, LA 
January 3rd, 2010, about three pm

The Calm Before the Storm

            

This was just a few minutes before I got a phone call that would turn my world upside down.  Crazy day, crazy past few weeks.  Total monkey circus.  Looks like things are settling down now.

  This was also a few minutes before the Saints lost their final game of the season, finishing at 3-13.  They may have dropped their last three, but they finished strong and that's what matters.  The New Orleans Saints are going to the Superbowl.  For the first time ever.  I wish I could explain what it means to this city.  What it means to me.  I couldn't have picked a better time to move back home...

WHO DAT!!  WHO DAT!! WHO DAT SAID DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS!! WHO DAT!!  WHO DAT!!

GEAUX SAINTS!!  BLACK AND GOLD SUPERBOWL!! WHO DAT!!

                                                                                                     http://heyharriet.blogspot.com/

You've got to be fucking kidding...

Seriously though.  I thought this was a joke when I first heard about it.  But no.

Oh come on!

  I don't even know what to say about that.  I would write the NFL an angry letter, but I really don't have time right now.

Instant replay

That's what's been happening in my brain all week.  I keep going over it, again and again.  Can't stop thinking about it.  The Moment.  When we realized that the kick was good and we were going to the Superbowl.  The screams of pure unadulterated joy, blended with a double shot of disbelief.  Everyone grabbing everyone else, friends, strangers, didn't matter.  Hugging, kissing, crying, everyone screaming,

"Holy shit!  Holy shit!  Holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT!!"

The waves of joy keep washing over me like a fucking tsunami.  This feeling, it's completely brand new to us.  The feeling of knowing that your team, YOUR TEAM, is going to the Superbowl.  Completely uncharted territory for each and every one of us.  It's great.  I like it.  I want more.

I'm not going to try to explain how deep the connection is between this city and this football team.  There have been so many articles about that floating around ESPN.com, NFL.com, etc. that it's exhausting.  If you're reading this and you're from South Louisiana, there's nothing to explain.

It's an unforgettable feeling, this moment we're all in right now.  Ten more days to ride this wave, Who Dats.  Hang on and enjoy the ride!  WHO DAT SAID DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS!! WHO DAT!! WHO DAT!!

Loudest venue in the NFL

But we already knew that.  Remember 119 decibals?

Saints fans are loud.  Really loud.  Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge in San Francisco after the Saints scored their first touchdown in yesterday's glorious win:




Yeah. Saints fans are loud. WHO DAT!!

WHO DAT!!

We got our Christmas wish!  It's gonna be a Black and Gold Superbowl!  Yeah you right!!

Holy shit.  Un-fucking-believable.  Forty-two years New Orleans has waited, suffered.  I myself spent many a painful afternoon in the Dome, enduring crushing loss after crushing loss.  Four long years I held season tickets.  Never made the playoffs once in those four years.  Never even came close.  I was, however, at that magical playoff game in 2001, when the Saints had their first ever playoff win.  That was the craziest I've seen the Dome in all my years as a who dat.  Last night?  I can't even imagine.

What a fucking game.  I really thought they were trying to kill Brett Favre for a minute there.

Here in San Francisco, the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge was like I'd never seen it before.  We screamed.  We yelled.  We hugged.  We kissed.  We cried.  We danced.  Oh, did we dance.  But you had probably guessed that already, huh?  We're from New Orleans.  Dancing is what we do.  We can't help ourselves.

I can't stop watching this video.  It brings tears to my eyes every time.  Especially when they start second lining down the street, about a minute and a half in.

Saints Video: Bourbon Street

  The headline to the article said that the celebration in the French Quarter was "like Mardi Gras on Red Bull."  Oh, how I wish I could have been there!

But I'm leaving San Francisco.  Moving home.  Just in time.  I drive out on the 31st.  I'll be home for the Black and Gold Superbowl.  I will be in my beloved city on the most important day in her recent history.  Yeah you right!

  

Still got it.  Never lost it.  WHO DAT!!

WHO DAT!!

Big game tomorrow.  Forecast looks good...

                      

Yeah you right.  We'll be at the Black Magic Voodoo Lounge, with the Black and Gold Patrol.  WHO DAT!!

                        

WHO DAT!!

One hell of a game.  Did you see that score?  45-14?  The Black Magic Voodoo Lounge was out of control.  So many people the party spilled out onto the street.  Someone brought Zapps spicy crawtators and a king cake.  It's fun to be a Saints fan in San Francisco!

I'm enjoying the deafening silence from all the non-believers we've been hearing from for the past two weeks.  All those smug statistics they kept throwing our way.  Blah blah blah.  Eat a big bag of monkey dicks!  Who dat wearin' dat black and gold?   Breesus saves!  Yeah you right!

A Christmas wish

...is the Saints in the Superbowl.  Happy happy, merry merry everyone.