February 15th 2007 - I am but a jackdaw among the muses

O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
--William Shakespeare
King Henry V. Prologue.

I would especially like to recourt the Muse of poetry, who ran off with the mailman four years ago, and drops me only a scribbled postcard from time to time.
--John Updike

February 15, 2007
9:27PM
I stepped out of work briefly, around 9pm, to catch site of the Krewe de Muse parade.
The Krewe of Muse is the only all girl parade that travels at night. See more about it here:
http://www.kreweofmuses.org/
(note: these are last years floats)
Fun fact: In this part of Uptown all the streets are named after famous muses. As Krewe of Muse points out, this is a city that pronounces almost all of them incorrectly. For example, and something I find very ironic, the muse of eloquence and poetry, Calliope, is the name of a major street here that runs under the 90 connector & i10. They pronounce Calliope: Kal-ee-ope. Hm, eloquent.
Other muses now streets are Clio (pronounced Kly-oh), Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene (pronounced Melp-oh-mean), Polyhymnia, Terpischore, Thalia and Urania)
Our offices are about one block from St. Charles (on Prytania between Clio & Erato).
In that little corner of St. Charles next to Emeril’s Restaurant and across from the Popeyes (yes they’re on the same block) the crowds are fairly thin, so it’s easy to hop out of work and see a bit of the parades as they go by. If not, they are viewable from the POC’s office window. If there were a balcony there it would be prime real estate in a city that rents them out by the day during the Mardi Gras season.
That corner is not the best place for beads as most Krewe’s seem to save them, fearing they won’t have enough for the end, until they hit Lee Circle and then a bit later, Canal. Of course when they reach the end, usually on Canal or right off, they go nuts unloading everything that’s left. I need to see one parade down there before I leave.
Mardis Gras is not about amateur drunks and tourists, about Bourbon Street and under age boobies and gaudily decorated décolletage, made only more apparent b/c the ladies faces are masked. Its about political statements and community, about family and neighbors…or at least up until they body-check one another in a full out rugby tackle for some plastic baubles.
9:38pm
Back in the office. We still haven’t wrapped. I was warned that when in a controllable atmosphere, Fincher will shoot until everyone drops dead if he is allowed. Crew call was at 9:30am, so theoretically we should be wrapping shortly, actually around now, but the first shot after lunch wasn’t until 4:53pm, so in the sarcastic words of Tyler from editing, “Ah, have fun guys” Yes, that’s right, I see images of 2am and it ain’t pretty. Theo’s pizzas are probably being rushed to set by either Hiro or Derrick or Nathan as I write this, or whatever pizza joint is out there in Harahan as they’re at the NIMS center today. This might be a $200MM picture, but Fincher still shoots like he’s on a $6MM budget, most of the money is going on the screen, and its pizza as second meal.
10:14pm
Ah, we’re on the Abbey. Hallelujah. Yet, that doesn’t really mean much. He could be on that for the next two hours. I’ll get excited when I hear we’re on the Martini.
10:25pm
I find that any day that Brad is shooting is a much longer day. I’ve heard rumors of the arduous hours in make-up. Since he ages backwards, making him look 60 and 30 in the same day takes serious prosthetics and fabulous lighting, all of which takes a significant amount of time.

Back in the office, away from the energy of the parade, it’s a strange sensation to sit in dim light (the Christmas lights being our majority source; we now call them Mardis Gras lights) with only Justin, the hum of the heating vent (yes its actually 32 degrees outside) and this computer to keep me company. It’s quiet in here, except for the muted noise of revelers and brass, baton twirler’s chants and drum lines emanating through the blinds.
Peaceful and uplifting in a city of chaos and travesty; New Orleans, my consummate contradictory muse.