Wednesday, September 03, 2003
SOUTHERN DECADENCE, A Gay Tribute to Mardi Gras
Southern Decadence brings in over 100,000 gays, mostly men, to New Orleans in the ugliest time of the season to party in the French Quarter—Labor Day weekend. Humidity is at the highest. It rains every day. And it’s hot. Very, very hot.
The event took on a special, non-weather challenge in it’s 31st year because of a small, but very vocal, group of religious fundamentalists from outside the French Quarter, led by the appropriately named Rev. Storm. His goal was to blow into the Quarter and clean up Bourbon Street, and particularly the few blocks on Bourbon (homo hangouts to the Reverend) where some proud boys would observe the Mardi Gras custom of dropping trousers for beads.
The police have been pestered to be get more excited about lawbreakers this year. But it’s not really challenging or interesting police work, let alone collecting the evidence. The police could just look for the guy with the most beads and wait for 45 seconds as he works the balcony crowds for more cheap beads, and the police would know that they ‘re headed for trouser trouble.
Reverend Storm was not content to snake his way through the packed streets, brushing against hot, sweaty, bare-chested boys with just his big bullhorn bellowing, but he thought that two of his minions, his Storm troopers, carrying 10 ft tall placards with Bible verses would sway the crowd. The signs talked about the “wages of sins” and then Levitical admonitions about lying down with a man. I don’t know if Storm thought his mastery of the Scriptures (if not always his grammar) and forcefulness would sway these swishers and sodomites or he just wanted media coverage. Let me think about that . . . . OK, Media coverage. Over the course of the 3 day event, some homo heretics started following his Storm troopers with their own improvised signs.
More Madonna, Less Jesus.
Reverend, get off my back if you don’t want to play.
Where can I buy those Leviticus 501’s?
Storm only gives lip service to Sodom.
Do the Wages of Sin have FICA withheld?
So lying with a man is bad. How about just kneeling?
The Reverend’s entourage was clearly not ready for what they were up against. When Storm got to the nexus of the competing dance bars on Bourbon street with full, mega powered techno music blaring out of every open door and window, the Reverend’s horn was no match for the professional sound systems dominating the street. Or a bar would play an ABBA number which would cause the majority of the sweaty street crowd to sing along at the tops of their lungs. No Storm converts this weekend.
Grandma Grouches
Another more subtle tactic that the Reverend used was to station stern looking grandmothers, with tightly pulled back hair, at various iniquitous intersections. These old women would stand there and look disapprovingly on the crowd. It was a downer for awhile, but then some guys started shouting “Grandma, show us your tits!” and then some guys would walk by, collaring the women with beads. Whether they got tired of the attention, or got embarrassed that the Reverend might think they had “earned” the beads, they slowly disappeared. Just as well, the bars don’t close ever this weekend.
Southern Decadence brings in over 100,000 gays, mostly men, to New Orleans in the ugliest time of the season to party in the French Quarter—Labor Day weekend. Humidity is at the highest. It rains every day. And it’s hot. Very, very hot.
The event took on a special, non-weather challenge in it’s 31st year because of a small, but very vocal, group of religious fundamentalists from outside the French Quarter, led by the appropriately named Rev. Storm. His goal was to blow into the Quarter and clean up Bourbon Street, and particularly the few blocks on Bourbon (homo hangouts to the Reverend) where some proud boys would observe the Mardi Gras custom of dropping trousers for beads.
The police have been pestered to be get more excited about lawbreakers this year. But it’s not really challenging or interesting police work, let alone collecting the evidence. The police could just look for the guy with the most beads and wait for 45 seconds as he works the balcony crowds for more cheap beads, and the police would know that they ‘re headed for trouser trouble.
Reverend Storm was not content to snake his way through the packed streets, brushing against hot, sweaty, bare-chested boys with just his big bullhorn bellowing, but he thought that two of his minions, his Storm troopers, carrying 10 ft tall placards with Bible verses would sway the crowd. The signs talked about the “wages of sins” and then Levitical admonitions about lying down with a man. I don’t know if Storm thought his mastery of the Scriptures (if not always his grammar) and forcefulness would sway these swishers and sodomites or he just wanted media coverage. Let me think about that . . . . OK, Media coverage. Over the course of the 3 day event, some homo heretics started following his Storm troopers with their own improvised signs.
More Madonna, Less Jesus.
Reverend, get off my back if you don’t want to play.
Where can I buy those Leviticus 501’s?
Storm only gives lip service to Sodom.
Do the Wages of Sin have FICA withheld?
So lying with a man is bad. How about just kneeling?
The Reverend’s entourage was clearly not ready for what they were up against. When Storm got to the nexus of the competing dance bars on Bourbon street with full, mega powered techno music blaring out of every open door and window, the Reverend’s horn was no match for the professional sound systems dominating the street. Or a bar would play an ABBA number which would cause the majority of the sweaty street crowd to sing along at the tops of their lungs. No Storm converts this weekend.
Grandma Grouches
Another more subtle tactic that the Reverend used was to station stern looking grandmothers, with tightly pulled back hair, at various iniquitous intersections. These old women would stand there and look disapprovingly on the crowd. It was a downer for awhile, but then some guys started shouting “Grandma, show us your tits!” and then some guys would walk by, collaring the women with beads. Whether they got tired of the attention, or got embarrassed that the Reverend might think they had “earned” the beads, they slowly disappeared. Just as well, the bars don’t close ever this weekend.
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