A fruitful busk

Last Sunday we spent a little while busking at Jackson Square. One thing learned: our target audience is children. We attract them with our juggling, engage directly with them by asking “What would you like to hear a story about?” or “What is your favorite thing in the whole world?”, we start telling the story and have the kids’ attention before the parents can successfully get away, the kids are entertained by the story, the parents feel glad that we’ve kept the kids entertained for a couple of minutes plus feel entertained themselves, and they feel obligated to give us money for that entertainment. It works so well.

Sunday we had an excellent experience performing. We told several stories that earned us several dollars per story. This suddenly seems possible. Unfortunately once an hour had passed, an artist sent by other artists told us we couldn’t be where we were and that we should move along. It’s very difficult to be on the streets. Oh, well.

Brendan has a slight cold. Where has my immune system gone?

New Year's Eve in New Orleans

Last night Brendan observed that we were witnessing an interesting juxtaposition of a bonfire representing lawlessness and freedom burning in a very contained setting, controlled by the fire department, with police fences all around it to keep the crowds at a safe distance. The Christmas tree bonfire on New Year’s Eve in New Orleans is a more than 40 year tradition, though no one knows for sure when it began. This was the first year the juxtaposition of permission and wildness occurred to this degree. It was in the news recently because the police were going to cancel it because they felt it had become too dangerous, instead a compromise was reached and the police and fire departments were put in charge of it. You can read an article about that here.

Leading up to New Year’s Eve, I’d been reading through the New Orleans’ couchsurfing community posts to see what people were going to be doing. Everyone who is a couchsurfer living in New Orlenas said out-of-towners and New Orleanians alike must come to the Christmas tree bonfire. It is what all the natives do and is therefore an authentic New Orleans experience.

So we did not miss it. We--and this is Brendan, me, Wes (Brendan’s dad) and Peg (Brendan’s mom)--stopped for dessert and wine at The Olde College Inn first, then went to the bonfire around 11pm and found a primo parking spot. Our first 20 minutes there were spent in the line for the porta-potties, and then we got as close as we could to the bonfire pyre, which was not yet burning.

Some minor rule-breaking going on.

We randomly happened to choose a spot right next to a couchsurfer we met last month at a potluck, and he introduced us to another couchsurfer standing there and then we stood around taking pictures and enjoying being a part of a many yeared tradition, surrounded by people chanting “Last year was better! Last year was better!” (party poopers) on one side of us, and a man trying to get people to jump the barricades on the other. That man was later arrested when he did just so.

This woman, who also hopped into the forbidden zone, did not get caught.

A streaker woman did get caught, unfortunately. She had nearly made it back over the fence to the safety of the crowds. The fire began shortly before midnight, to everyone’s thrill. It was started by firefighters using flares. It got quite big at points, and we were close enough to feel its heat.

There was such an energy in this crowd. I guess it’s the first time I’ve been amongst a large crowd on a New Year’s Eve. And this particular crowd felt very disctinct from crowds I’ve been in on other holidays. They had fought for this tradition to continue and had won. It was quite different from years past, from what I read, but people were having fun anyway. There was still a rebellious undertone to it, even though few people were actually breaking the rules. The crowd almost seemed proud of those that did get arrested for breaking the rules. Well, except for the girlfriend of the guy that jumped the fence near us. She was very upsetly pushing her way through the crowd to follow him and stepped on Peg’s foot in the process.


The couchsurfer we met shared champagne with us and we counted down the end of 2008 with an exultatory group of New Orleanians and visitors working in strange yet concilatory cooperation with police and firefighters. Brendan and I welcomed the new year with a kiss amidst a cheering crowd.