The New York Times ran a really good article today that hits the nail on the head about the current state of our city. We're caught between life and death, a coma and a party, The Dead Zone and The Island.
This passage is especially heartbreaking:
Carl Henry, 42, is a member of the all-black Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club, one of the oldest and liveliest organizations in the Mardi Gras pantheon. Like so many others, including some of his Zulu colleagues, he is also a hurricane victim cum survivor: nine feet of water in his East New Orleans home. He and his family know the confines of a trailer.
For 20 years he has taken part in Zulu's Mardi Gras parade, tossing trinkets, called throws, from the floats, strutting, laughing. But this year he will not join the parade because, he says, "It's not the right time."
"I don't feel comfortable," Mr. Henry says. "The money I would spend on trinkets I would put to better use for me and my family. That's just my situation."
Still, when Zulu conducts its post-parade march up Orleans Avenue, past the deserted shotgun houses, past the shuttered doors of the Dooky Chase restaurant, past the "Now Open" banner of the Busy Bee food store, Mr. Henry will be at the club, waiting to welcome his brothers home.
It's important for all New Orleanians to participate in this year's Carnival as much as they can. I've been through a lot of shit this year but I can't wait to put on my New Suit and march down the boulevard with my NOLA brothers and sisters.
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