NEW ORLEANS KNOWS HOW TO PARTY...

this weekend was a bonafide cityfest- WHITE LINEN, to be exact. streets full of beautiful men and women donning white linen suits complete with the requisite brim hat and cigar, sheaths and flowy numbers in all its regal pompodour parading down the boulevards like an open invite catwalk. dancing in the streets, jazz music billowing out over the curbs, open museum galleries along frenchman street displaying modern and contemporary art...children, babies, grand-elderly, young, rich, poor, black, white, yellow, college-aged, urban professionals, hipsters and hippies alike all joined together in worship and celebration of the night dedicated to wearing the color of white. new orleans knows how to party, farealz.

after mashing self-made bacardi mojitos at the Ducati and Vespa motorcycle store in the downtown warehouse district where lovely lady crooners strummed their guitar releasing sweet music to the indulgent crowd, we made our way to the MET gala where we danced our asses off to the likes of jazzy-blues-trip hoppin DJ Soul Sister and the Booty Patrol Dancers. god, guys, if only i had photos, because the place was poppin off like a champagne cork, people tearing up the dance floor and an exquisite sweeping center staircase spiraling upwards to rooms filled wth lobster-bisque macaroni and cheese and shrimp cocktails... i barely noticed the art, as the place was filled with a contagious energy, an effervescent and sprightly verve that only feuled the atmosphere and the charged swelling crowd.

hit up a mellow hiphop show at a french quarter bar post gala, where a local group called Grass Roots dropped rhymes and spit flows with intelligent delectation. we sipped on red stripes and nodded our heads in rhythm to the beat as members revved up the crowd. chopped it up with a few locals as we talked vis a vis equal parts social politics to regional hip hop music. good times all around and then headed home where i plunked downward into a marshmellow of goosedown ready to greet sweet, melodic slumber.

it's a new week and it's time to groove baby, so let's just dance, dance, dance to the rhythm of the beat...

tchau.
J