#mine are round and relatively big but i feel like smaller ones would suit me a bit better

[teddybeartoji]

i want (need) new glasses so badly but i HAAAATEEEEEE shopping for them it's always so awkward when the workers just glare at you the whole entire time lmao i understand that they have to keep an eye on the customers bc well what if somebody steals/breaks them right but man you don't have to shoot lasers into me

[timetoresurface]

secrets (3) / BBH

Y/N x CEO BAEKHYUN

4k ( a bit smaller, but there is a lot going on, so I wanted to start fresh in the next chapter )

My very first awkward sexy timessssss

Will be more...

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5

Hopping from one job to another, you really wanted to keep your position at Banking and Finance. If you would have to describe your perfect work environment, it definitely wouldn’t be at that stupid finance magazine that had the worst coffee machine in history. But hey, it did pay the bills, and that’s what everyone does, right? A perfect job doesn’t exist, right? A perfect life doesn’t exist, right? Only in cheap romantic comedies was life perfect, and you certainly weren’t in any. At least the last time you checked.

“What are you doing here?” You asked Baekhyun after two perfectly made cocktails were put in front of you. He looked puzzled by your question.

“I asked you out for a drink. I think I’m kind of supposed to be here.” He nervously laughed, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Why was he playing dumb? Or maybe he is just foolish.

“That’s not what I meant. What are you doing here? In this area?” You tried again.

“You mean this country?” He asked you softly, and you quickly nodded your head while taking a sip. He still hadn’t touched his drink, but you didn’t want to push him at this moment. He looked deep in thought. 

“I just wanted to see how the other office is doing.” He explained softly.

“That’s bullshit.” Apparently, you really were a lightweight as the alcohol made you bolder in the first seconds of consumption.

“And why do you think that?” He didn’t look fazed by your words. He looked more interested than annoyed.

“I’ve heard people gossiping about you, and they all say you haven’t done anything for Banking and Finance for the past two years.” You babbled quickly, barely room for a breath between your words.

“And you believe them?” You couldn’t read his expression, but his eyebrows gave a sad feeling.

“I do, actually. I thought I was foolish to not know who my boss was, but your name has never even been mentioned. You haven’t written a single thing, and you haven’t been to an event in the past two years.” You continued your investigation. Who is Baekhyun?

“I’m flattered that you couldn’t stop yourself from googling my name.” He was now playing with you, but you couldn’t let him win. 

“I didn’t. Everyone else in the building did, and I simply listened.” It was a simple statement, but quite a big lie. Yes, other colleagues were talking about him, but you were the one to dig deeper. You needed to know more about the man who knew your dirty secrets.

“But you still remember everything. I still take that as a win.” He told you while playing with his drink. He must really not like cocktails.

“It was actually quite hard to avoid you today. I couldn’t not listen.” You mumbled.

“Still, the gossip must have sparked an interest as you’re here with me.” He finally took a sip of the goddamn cocktail. “After hours, if I may add.”

“How’s the cocktail?” You asked him.

“Don’t try to change the subject when you’re the one being grilled.” He laughed, and the sound made the corners of your mouth turn upwards. He did have a beautiful laugh.

“I really like mine. I’ve never tried this one here before, but maybe this could be my new favourite.” You looked into his eyes while taking another sip. His gaze never leaving you, following your every movement.

“What’s your favourite?” He asked you while resting his head on his hand, moving a bit more toward you. He was so close you could smell his aftershave, and boy, were you lightheaded. 

“The one you’re drinking.” You spoke while shifting a bit further away from the dangerously good-looking man.

“I’m flattered.” His hand was playing with the fruit in his drink, mesmerizing you with the way his fingers looked. His fingers were long and slender, unlike others' his fingers were thin and frail.

“You should be.” You finally said after a minute of silence.

“So, you’ve listened and remembered the gossip about me. You’ve given me your favourite cocktail. Are you always this straightforward?” He took another sip so he could analyze your reaction to his words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you’re insinuating that I like you, you’re dead wrong.” Ending all eye contact after your words, you scanned the place. You had almost forgotten you were in a public space with your boss. It's a bar, but everyone is attempting to appear proper in their high-end suits and attire. You and Baekhyun were the only ones that looked normal... but 'normal' is relative, right? Baekhyun was born to stand out, but that's okay for you.

“I wasn’t insinuating anything. I was just stating facts.” He told you while his hand was trying to get your attention by touching your arm softly. You inspected his long fingers stroking your wrist, they seemed to go well together. If that makes any sense. 

“You don’t have to finish the drink if you don’t like it.” The atmosphere was getting too heavy for your fragile tipsy state.

“But I do.” He told you while nodding his head enthusiastically like a little kid who had too much sugar. Maybe the cocktail had too much sugar in it for little Baekhyun to handle.

“But you said you don’t like cocktails.” You tried to reason with him. He didn’t need to finish his drink if he didn’t like it. 

“I don’t.” He confirmed, and you almost wanted to tear your hair out in frustration.

“Order something else then.” You reasoned again.

“But I like this one.” Now he was trying to reason with you. He even took another sip of the cocktail, but it was evident he didn’t like the taste of it. The corners of his mouth turned slightly down, and he had only taken a little sip from the drink.

“Are you always so difficult?” You asked him, annoyed, but he just laughed it off. His laugh making your insides feel a little funny.

“Tell me something about yourself.” He finally said after a few minutes of awkward staring at each other. His eyes were scanning your face like it was the most exciting thing in his world. It probably was as he was the CEO of a banking magazine. 

“That’s so vague, and you already know enough about me.” You told him with a smile on your face, remembering the last time you two had seen each other. “Tell me something about you.” You threw back his question.

“I don’t think there is anything I can tell you don’t already know.” He told you, and you couldn’t help but laugh. He was right. You did already know a lot about him. 

“Try me?” You smiled softly at him, and he seemed to melt a little underneath his CEO appearance. He turned more human again, and you liked the relaxed vibe he was giving off at this moment.

“I’m your boss.” He told you right before tensing up again. The laidback guy you had seen just a few minutes ago, disappearing again. It made you wonder what was going on in that pretty little head of his. It looked like he was struggling with something, but you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Thanks for stating the obvious, but you don’t have to be in this moment.” You told him earnestly. 

“I would like that. I don’t like to play the CEO part.” He started to look more relax by your words, but there was still something holding him back. Where was the guy from half an hour ago? The one who was pushing your limits just for fun. 

“But you play it so well. The whole office was buzzing about your arrival. They all want to be noticed by you. You must be doing something right for everyone to freak out.” You explained to him, but his eyes didn’t show you the reaction you had hoped your words would convey.

“Is it a bad thing to say that I don’t care about them?” He drank the whole cocktail in one go and motioned the bartender for another round. 

“Maybe a little, but at least you’re being honest.” You told him softly while locking eyes again. “Is there anything you do care about?” You asked him, breaking the eye contact as things were getting too intense for you once more.

“There are a lot of things, but right now, I care about keeping my company entertained.” His shoulders seemed to lose a bit of tension, and you felt proud of yourself. You were proud because you could lighten his mood, even if it was just for tonight.

“You’re doing a terrible job.” You laughed while nudging his side playfully. 

“I need at least three of these cocktails before I start dancing on tables.” He scooted a little bit closer while resting his hands on your shoulder, making you shiver. 

“Bartender!” You exclaimed happily, making Baekhyun laugh that beautiful laugh of his again. You could listen to his low chuckle for hours if he’d let you. “Can we have another round?” The bartender looked sceptically at your half-filled glasses but nodded his head.

“You sure like to drink.” He commented when two new glasses were put in front of you. You blushed slightly at his comment, feeling exposed under his intense gaze. You couldn’t get used to the way he was looking at you. When was the last time someone had looked at you like you were something out of this world? Maybe the barista with his little crush, but he didn’t really know you. You had told him one thing about you, and it was a little white lie. You had told him you kick boxed every Thursday, and that was only because you had heard him speak about his kickboxing.

“Let’s keep it a secret between us.” You whispered with your finger over your mouth, slightly giggling at your own stupidity. 

“You really are something, aren’t you?” He said so quietly you almost missed his words.

“I”m full of surprises.” You told him.

“I couldn’t agree more. Do you have some other dark secrets hidden inside that pretty little head of yours?” He popped his elbows on the bar and rested his head in his hands again. You had a clear view of the rings that adorned his fingers, and you had to scold yourself to stop looking at his hands. 

“Maybe it is time for you to give me a secret.” You forced your eyes to up to his face and were surprised by his dazzling smile. A smile that is not just for anyone, but only for someone you hold close to your heart. It made your head dizzy, but this could also be blamed on the rate of drinking.

“A secret for a secret?” He asked amusingly. He licked his lips, and you could only stare at his actions.  

“Exactly.” You told him softly, trying not to show how his actions made your mind go somewhere else. You quickly tried to shake the feeling off while taking another sip of your drink.

“Let me think.” He drowned the last of his cocktail.

“I’ll give you five seconds.” You told him after drinking your glass empty.

“What would be my punishment if I don’t tell you something in five seconds?” He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows, and your eyes landed on his lips again. His perfectly shaped lips that seemed so damn kissable. They were a bit pink because of the drink, but that only added more to the illusion.

“Do you really want to figure that out?” You shamelessly flirted with the dark-haired man. 

“Maybe I do.” His voice was more low. He tried to get a little bit closer again, but this time you let him.

“Three.” You started counting out loud, which made him chuckle. He closed his eyes, trying to think of anything to say to satisfy your curiosity. 

“Two.” You continued, and his eyes flickered open in panic. 

“I used to be married.” He blurted out with a slight blush covering his ears.

“I thought you still were.” You told him. It was something that had caught your eye when you were searching the internet for anything Baekhyun related. 

“That’s the secret. I’m not anymore.” He motioned the bartender for another round with a simple hand gesture. 

“How come?” You asked him, barely hiding your curiosity. 

“It was never love.” He explained softly while staring down at his hands which rested peacefully in his lap. 

“How could two get married if there was no love? Isn’t that what marriage is for?” Your voice grew in intensity, but Baekhyun let it slip. He didn’t seem to understand it himself. 

“Sometimes, other factors are at play.” A new set of drinks were put in between you, and he immediately took a large sip.

“Like what?” You asked him in confusion. His gaze shifted from his glass to you, and his eyes portrayed something you couldn’t quite understand. 

“Money.”

“Money is more important than love?” You exclaimed softly. Why would someone do that? Isn’t love the reason why we were put on this earth?

“To my family, it is.” He didn’t seem too happy with his words, either. There was a short moment of eye contact. Like he was pleading for you to not judge him too hard. 

“That’s sad.” You finally told him, ending the wordless conversation you just had.

“It is, isn’t it?” He took another sip, and you started to worry. Drinking should be done at a slow, relaxed pace, and Baekhyun was definitely not following that rule right now.

“If the marriage was so important, why are you not married anymore?” You asked him again, not wanting the conversation to end.

“Isn’t it time for your secret?” He asked you, immediately switching from a beaten dog to a happy pup who was about to receive a treat. His change in demeanour was going to give you whiplash at this rate.

“I’ve already told you enough secrets.���

“But you said a secret for a secret.” He pleaded with puppy eyes, and you almost wanted to cave. 

“You said that.” You told him emphasizing you.

“You agreed.” He said, also underlining you.

“I did, but I have already told you enough secrets about myself. It was you who still owed me.”

“I get where you’re coming from, but I think my secret was bigger in size than all your secrets put together.” He tried to reason with you, but you weren’t having it. 

“You still haven’t told me the complete secret.” You simply pointed out, which made him think for a little bit. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you more if you give me something.” He finally said, his eyes gazing over at your pink lips because of the alcohol.

“What is it that you want from me?” You asked him softly while leaning a bit forward. He seemed to be carefully considering his words before speaking. You could almost hear the little gears in his head, trying to make sense of the situation. Or maybe it were your gears which were working just as hard as his seem to do at this moment.

He must have come to a conclusion because suddenly his hand was softly brushing a lost stray of hair behind your ear. His touch affected you more than you had anticipated. His fingers seemed to leave a red mark wherever he had touched your skin, and you liked it. You didn’t move, afraid you’d scare him off. You didn’t want him to stop, you wanted him to explore some of the boundaries that were already crumbling between you two.

“Why must you be attractive, and so interesting at the same time. You’re making it hard for me to not kiss you.”

“Maybe I want you to kiss me.”

“If you’d let me kiss you, it won’t end there. I’m a greedy person.”

“Maybe I’m just as much of a selfish person as you are.”

“Can we have the bill, please,” Baekhyun called out, breaking the contact you just had. There is something between the two of you, and you desperately wanted to explore what that something was. Apparently, Baekhyun thought differently as he left you alone while he went and paid the bill. 

Many thoughts ran through your mind. Did you cross a line here? Didn’t he cross the line first? Why did he leave you, and why did he want to go? Nothing has happened yet. He could’ve just told you he didn’t like your tone or something. Maybe you were too suggestive, but then again, he started the game. You were merely finishing what he initiated. 

“Let's go.” Baekhyun firmly said while grabbing his things. You quickly searched for your stuff and followed him outside. What was going on in his head? You had a great time tonight, and you thought he did too, so why did he want to leave so desperately? 

“Baekhyun look, I’m sorry if…” You started to apologize, but you were quickly interrupted by Baekhyun’s lips on yours. You didn’t really kiss him back at first, but he was determined to make you. Your whole body tingled, the feel of his frame leaning on yours as his arms wrapped around you felt almost forbidden. He pulled you in, claiming your mouth again with a hungry and intense passion you had been deprived off for so long. Your whole body reacted to him instinctively. Your toes curled, your eyes were solely focused on his, and his smell was even more addictive. The kiss silenced all your thoughts, and it made you want more.

He shuddered, and there was a sound from the back of his throat, a mixture of a moan and a growl. He deepened the kiss, parting your lips. He pushed you against the wall, sealing the space between you. You pressed against him, digging your fingers through his hair. You wanted more. You desperately needed more.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He loosened his grip on yours and took a little step back. His warm embrace was instantly missed, as the cold breeze made you shiver, and not the good kind.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done that, but it was fun right?” You could still see the desire in his dark eyes, and you weren’t done yet. Maybe you just needed to give him a little nudge in the right direction. You innocently looked at him, and you touched your swollen lips. You gently caressed your lips while looking at him, barely able to hide your eagerness. 

“It does taste like more.” He whispered in your ear after taking a step back toward you. You gently stroke his cheek, and he closed his eyes immediately. You touched his lips, they were just as swollen as yours. His eyes flickered open, and you could see the fight that was going on in his head.

“Let’s keep this our little secret.” You whispered against his lips. Your words were the only encouragement he needed before his lips crashed onto yours again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and you granted yourself the feeling of his hair between your fingers again. 

“Maybe we should go back to my place?” He whispered in between kisses. He licked your neck, and you shivered, making him smile proudly. 

“You have an apartment here?” You asked him, not wanting to let him go. The both of you were still standing next to the entrance of the bar. Some people were coming in and out, but nobody had really noticed you yet. 

“Not really, but I do have a suite that has everything an apartment has, and even more.” He whispered against your skin. He couldn’t take his hands off of you, but you weren’t complaining.

“Sounds great. I’d like to take your shirt off if you’d let me in your apartment.” You spoke while untangling yourself from him. It was time to move to another place, somewhere more private.

“You haven’t been the friendliest toward me this past couple of days. I’ll have to think about it.” He told you with the biggest smirk on his face. He completely let go of you and started walking.

“But I’ve been entertaining, haven’t I? And you did just invite me.” You told him while following him. 

“There is never a dull moment when you’re around.” He said almost lovingly while taking your hand in his and guiding you through the city. You two played a little game where you kissed in front of every white door, and damn did your town have a lot of white doors.

When you finally made it in the hotel, Baekhyun immediately guided you toward his room. The elevator ride was spent kissing each other again. It’s like you two were glued to each other. There was no stopping it. The attraction is a magnet. It’s that thought inside your head that says ‘there something more to this…’ You gravitate towards this extraordinary thing that has captured your attention, and the more you’re exposed, the more you want to learn. And you really wanted to learn more about Baekhyun. His every edge and curve. You want to have it all.

“So this is my place,” Baekhyun said while he motioned for you to enter his room. His gigantic president suite, but that really didn’t matter. The moment he closed the door, his lips were back on yours, asking for entrance. You happily led him set up the speed and intensity. You were just happy being in his arms without the eyes of silent bystanders. 

“You have a nice place.” You told him while taking his suit jacket off. 

You kissed his neck while unbuttoning his shirt, but he stopped you. Your bodies fit together as if you’re made to do this, to fall into one another. With a laugh, he lifts you off your feet, carrying you toward what you assumed to be the bedroom. He carried you toward the bed, letting you fall with a soft bounce on the mattress. You lock eyes for just a moment, just enough to feel safe with one another. And then he’s all business, undoing your pencil skirt, pulling it off, kissing you from your toes upward. Slowly his hands find your legs, always kissing a little higher. Just the thought of knowing where his fingers and kisses will soon reach makes your back arch in anticipation.

Then before you know how it happened, you are both naked, and your skin is moving softly together. You can feel his hand enter from below, moving fast. Your tongues are intertwined in a kiss, and then he’s inside, changing your breathing with every thrust. Then all at once, he stops. He starts to kiss you from your breasts to your stomach, to your toes. He’s watching your body, he’s watching your reaction while licking and using his fingers all at once. A moan escapes your mouth, unable to articulate anything else. 

“I’m going to make you beg for it.” He tells you, and in seconds he’s on you again, fucking you harder. Just long enough to almost get you to your climax, and then he stops again.

“Baekhyun please.” You moaned out his name, and that was all he needed to hear before pulling your leg over his shoulder so he could thrust harder in you. Hitting that sweet spot over and over again until your climax was reached. His moans filled your heart with a softness just reserved for him. What have you done?

@shesdreaminginoverdose​

[betterlatethannever2]

THE ALLY PALLY CONNECTION

I recently came across a photo, taken from Mountview Road, near Crouch End, where I lived as a child.  I was amazed to be able to see Alexandra Palace on a further hilltop, which I am sure was not visible from there in the 1940’s.  Grandma and Grandad Hoad (my mother’s parents) lived at 103 Rosebery Road, Muswell Hill, which was barely a stone’s throw from the Palace, and my mother and I were frequent visitors there.  This was the house that was provided for my grandparents after their own house at Nunhead (102 Drakefell Road) suffered war damage.  These visits are among my earliest memories, and I certainly remember being there in June 1944 when a telegram was delivered to announce that my Uncle Leslie had been killed in a motor-cycle accident on Malta.  He was on War Service but wasn’t involved in hostilities at the time.  I remember the grief, but it was stoically borne, in my presence anyway.  I was four at the time.

The second sad event at this address was the cot-death of my first brother, Anthony.  We must have been staying for the night.  This was totally unexpected, and I remember my mother’s devastation.  For a few weeks it seemed as though I had become the responsibility of Grandma, and my Auntie Marjorie who was still living at home at the time.  Nobody spoke to me about the tragedy, and I had to work out for myself why my mother was unable to cope with my care, and why she did not wish to speak to any body.  I do not recall being present at the funeral, but I presume my mother was able to regain her composure once all the procedures had been dealt with.  We manage things very differently now.

My grandparents were still at this address in 1947, and by this time I was trusted to go and see them by myself on the bus.  The bus stop, at the bottom of the green sweep, and on the road that curves round and up to Alexandra Palace was still there fifteen years ago, and I am sure it is still there now.  I would get off the bus and make my way through a small cutting, turn left, and then right, and straight on down Rosebery  Road to 103.  The semi-detached house, in an area now beloved by TV executives, had a very relaxed appearance, and a certain ‘graciousness’ inside.  There were two quite large and formal rooms on the ground floor, and stairs down to the kitchen, where we all sat unless there was a big family gathering.  the front room was very rarely used, but the back room could accommodate a sizeable party, and I enjoyed one or two of these, at adult knee height.  This room had french windows which led out onto a raised wooden veranda overlooking the garden.  I can smell the damp woodland feel its slippery surface under my feet, even now.  I loved all these visits.

I was the first grandchild, and while not actually spoilt in that sense, I enjoyed lots of affection and attention.  On my arrival, Grandad would reach for his ’sweetie’ tin on the piano, and while intoning Fe Fi Fo Fum, would invite me to plunge my small hand into the  sweet smelling and sticky selection.  I was particularly fond of pear drops.  Grandma had a selection of toys, wind-up tin animals and vehicles, simple construction sets, and jigsaws.  And of course, there were the Just William books.  I was never, ever bored, and always happy to listen in to the adult conversation, without making that too obvious.

Grandad was a very practical man, and was always making useful gadgets and small pieces of wooden furniture, and even toys.  He also repaired the family shoes on his lasts - a great saving then, as shoe repairs were very costly.  His workshop was a small room tucked away under the veranda.  He was also very proud of his garden.  His new potatoes, garden peas and strawberries have never been equalled in my experience.  I can just about summon their exquisite flavour, together with that of the pears from the trees  that grew in the garden.

On a Sunday morning he would take me to the newsagent’s to buy a comic for me, and a couple of the less salubrious Sunday papers for him, together with Titbits.  I read them all!  In the afternoon he would pack up his leather cases, and take his bowls up to the Muswell Hill Bowling Green.  I still have the smaller case, and I treasure it - not with the bowls in unfortunately.  I expect other members of the family took care of those.

Grandma, or more often my Auntie Marjorie, would take me to play on the swings in the grounds of Alexandra Palace.  On the top terraces, you had a wonderful view over London.  On one unforgettable occasion, my mother, Aunty Marjorie and myself dressed up in the beautiful dresses my mother had made out of  nylon parachute material.  Mine was white with red silk thread embellishment to the frills, and theirs were yellow with jade thread.  We were off to the Ball at the Palace.  Even at the time I thought it was very nice of them both to take me too, but with hindsight, I guess I made a useful chaperone.  They didn’t have to dance together all evening, there were gentlemanly invitations too.  I am always trying to reconstruct that evening in my mind, and comb the television screen whenever there is an event at Ally Pally, but it always eludes me.

These memories have been stirred by finding the paperwork connected with the requisitioning of the house that Grandad actually bought in 1933, located between Nunhead and New Cross.  He was a draughtsman by profession, and went to work in a suit, white shirt and tie.  His recent ancestors had been boatbuilders at Rye, hence his handyman skills, but clearly he was ‘upwardly mobile’.  The house cost ��650.  By 1953, and after a great deal of ‘argy bargy’ about the war damage repair costs, and who was responsible for them, the house was valued at £350.  I have not been able to follow the line of argument, but clearly my grandfather knew when and how to dig his heels in when necessary, but he may have lost out on value as a result.

My grandparents were delighted to be back in their own house at last, and I hope that I never let on that I much preferred the house at Rosebery Road.  The railway ran at the bottom of their garden which was interesting, but noisy.  When I was ten, or eleven, my father (long home from the army by then), accepted a transfer of his post with the Public Trustee (a branch of the Civil Service, dealing with wills and probate) and we moved north to Manchester, settling in the nearby village of Romiley, then in Cheshire.  I was very homesick, but my parents allowed me to travel back to Grandma and Grandad’s for some of my school holidays.  I had the sort of freedom I would tremble to give my own grandchildren now.  Nunhead station was just down the road, and I would regularly take myself into central London to explore.  I also enjoyed visits to places like Kew Gardens, and to see other relatives, with Grandma and Auntie Marjorie.

When I watch TV programmes like ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ I know I am very lucky to know exactly who I am. 1st June.2020

[spaceorphan18]

Spaceorphan’s Movie Reviews: Batman (1989)

Before settling down to watch (and rewatch) all the films related to Marvel properties, I thought it’d be fun to take a look back over at DC.  Batman was probably the first superhero I was aware of? Since he (and Superman to a lesser extent) were the most well-known superheroes in the cultural zeitgeist.  I still say DC’s merchandising is far more prominent among children than Marvel, so of course, even in the late 80s, when I was a very young little person, I knew who Batman was.  

Of course, before 1989, there were other iterations of the character, most notably the Adam West series (and TV movies) of the 60s.  I remember catching those old episodes when it reran on Nick-at-Nite in during the 80s - I mean they were ridiculously campy, which of course also makes them family friendly, and so we had them on all the time.    Then Tim Burton came along and updated Batman to be dark and gritty.  (Like the comics! Actually, I have no idea, I’ve never read any Batman comics, so I can’t actually comment on that.)  Of course, being six at the time of theatrical release, I didn’t know what a big deal this would be.  

I don’t remember when I first watched the film.  It wasn’t in the theaters (I was too young - but not too young to see the sequel!), but I did see it a lot once it came out on VHS.  And I’ll be honest with you, it straight up scared me as a kid.  The Burton-esque imagery, mixed with dark cinematography, and the horror-esque elements of the film really seared into my young brain.  It wasn’t a film I sought out (though I don’t remember my parents watching it either, even though we owned it, I wonder if my brother watched it) but it was one that had a lasting impression, much like Ghostbusters and Back to the Future - it’s a film that I vividly remember from my childhood.  

The interesting thing (to me) is that I haven’t seen it (until now) since I was a kid.  I can think of no time as an actual adult that I’ve had the chance to pop it in again and watch it.  But, interestingly, there wasn’t a single moment of the film that I had forgotten - watching it again after, maybe, fifteen-twenty years, I really do remember every beat of this film.  However, maybe for the first time, I really understand the film as it’s intended - cause, yeah, it’s not a kids’ film (even if there was a ton of merchandising for kids - which there was, we had a toy batmobile and batwing).  

So, how does this film hold up all these years later? Surprisingly well - for what it is.  

So, maybe this is the analytical person in me, but I think this film is, maybe, more fun to talk about than to actually watch.  Of all the super fascinating things going on - the plot is the least interesting part of it, even the film itself seems to loosely hinge on the random things The Joker decides to do and is a little, meh, don���t think too hard about it.   To sum it up quickly - Gotham is being run by a crime ring and mob bosses and Batman is single handedly taking them down.  Meanwhile, The Joker is a crazed guy who wants to be bigger than the mob bosses who whole him back, and after he nearly dies in a vat of acid - he decides to become even more of a psychopathic killer and tries to kill everyone.  Because why not?

First, standing out to me much more as an adult, is all the Tim Burton-ishness about it.  Which I don’t say as a bad thing.  He has a certain Gothic, horror, cartoon-ish style, which I may say, is slightly toned down in this film than a lot of others.  Visually, I think he was a good choice of director, I think the film has such a captivating stylized look that it holds my attention when the plot doesn’t.  I think what stood out to me the most was that Burton went a drearily dark, with an occasional splash of white that made the whole film almost seem like it was in black and white - which was purposefully contrasting to the colorfulness of The Joker.  I mean, Burton is purposely giving artistry to the cinematography in a way that I don’t necessarily see in superhero films anymore, and I think that’s kind of cool.  There are times when the film is, maybe, too (literally) dark - but I feel like had the technology been just a bit better, it would have helped.  

Burton also seems to be aware of the special effects limitations of the time, because at no point was I taken out by how cheesy the graphics looked (it helps that there weren’t very man), and some of the scarier images from when I was a kid, like when The Joker kills the guy by incinerating him, hold up pretty well.  Some of the fight scenes seem weaker and stiff, not helped by the fact that I don’t think Michael Keaton could move much in that suit, but the action isn’t overdone.  The action sequences aren’t what they are today, by any means, but I think they work fine given the era of the film - I don’t really judge them for that.  

So - Michael Keaton’s Batman.  Does he do a good job? I say mostly.  As Bruce Wayne, I completely buy him.  He’s a bit charming, a bit reserved, a bit mysterious, and a bit crazy - and when Keaton is actually allowed to do something with the character, he comes alive pretty well.  The unfortunate thing is that this film really isn’t about Batman - it’s about The Joker (which I’ll get to in a moment) and therefore we don’t get to see much of Bruce Wayne doing anything - except staring off into the distance thinking about things.  I get The Joker is iconic and everything, but Keaton has made Bruce Wayne interesting enough that I do wish there had been more - because his character doesn’t get to move much beyond ‘brooding about my parents; murder thirty years ago’.  

As for Batman himself, he’s… fine.  I don’t really have any complaints, but he feels incredibly limited - more so because of the suit, and the constricting ability to do much while wearing it than anything in Keaton’s performance.  It makes sense that Batman would be a near silent warrior, but not being able to see Keaton’s expressive face holds this version back a bit.  

Meanwhile… The Joker.  Before I rented the film again, I was looking through some old reviews - and many of them mentioned that this film seemed to be more about The Joker than Batman.  And I was a bit taken aback.  I hadn’t remembered it that way.  However, it wasn’t like I was paying that much attention as a kid.  But yes, it’s true, this film really is not Batman’s film.  It’s The Joker’s.  And I understand why - The Joker is possibly one of the most intriguing characters and villains in all of literature.  He’s a character who merges tragedy, comedy, and psychopathy all in one - and yes all three are in this film.  I’m sure there are hundreds of think-pieces on The Joker as a character - understandably so.  So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at how much of the film he takes up.  

I’m not invested enough to say who played The Joker the best, I hardly think comparisons are necessary (even if inevitable), but I really like Jack Nicholson in the role.  More so now than what I remembered.  Nicholson really embodies that whole crazed-lunatic pretty well, and I think he’s captivating enough that he does steal the show from Batman himself.  I feel like there are so many people who discuss The Joker, much better than I can, that I won’t elaborate much more.  But yes, Jack Nicholson’s Joker is pretty amazing, and I think it holds up relatively well.  

Rounding out the limited cast is Kim Basinger’s Vicki Vale.  And, well, she’s… there.  Despite being the literal stand-in for the audience during most of the craziness - an outsider coming into Gotham and being a conduit between Batman and The Joker.  She doesn’t get much to do and is the pretty standard obligatory love interest.  Keaton and Basinger don’t have that much chemistry - but I don’t blame them, they really only have one big scene to sell the romance, and for me, that’s just not enough.  You just really aren’t given any reason why these people would like each other more than they’re supposed to.  

Meanwhile - during the scene where The Joker is dancing around with Vicki - I kept think about that one test where if the woman is replaced with a lamp, would it change the scene?  And no - no it really wouldn’t.  I get the time period of the film, and how the ‘romance’ angle is kind of beat by beat what you would find in most films around this time, so I’m not judging too harshly.  But still, she’s almost third wheel to the more entertaining and layered dance Batman and The Joker are having throughout the film.  

Smaller Thoughts: 

Prince was the official artist of this films’ soundtrack - and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.  The film has such a 40s-esque feel about it that when something slams it into the modern 80s, it feels a little jarring.  At the same time, the dirtiness of 80s New York, and the cultural materialism is all over this film, so the Prince songs fit nicely in.  It’s a weird dichotomy.  

Music, in general, is also what sells this film - and keeps it at ‘Classic’ level.  Danny Elfman (Tim Burton’s go to director, and a personal favorite of mine) does amazing things with the score - and helps deliver the atmosphere Burton is going for.  

I have a soft spot for Alfred - even if he weirdly decides to bring Vicki to the Batcave unannounced.   She’ll disappear next film anyway - so ultimately it won’t matter. 

I kind of enjoy the fact that Jack Nicholson insisted the actor who played Bob be in the film - and that Bob is unceremoniously and somewhat randomly killed off.  

This film is very murdery - even Batman is murdery.  He tries to kill off The Joker whenever he gets the chance.  

Billy Dee Williams is here as Harvey Dent - so that’s a super interesting thread that was never pulled on again.  

Most of the government/police force was kind of meh - and I couldn’t even really tell who Commissioner Gordon was.  

I did really like the flashback to Bruce Wayne’s parents’ deaths.  That guy who they had play a young Jack Nicholson? Spot on.  

There’s a lot of mask symbolism throughout the film.  Again, I’m impressed by Burton as an artist - and as someone who’s willing to tell a more layered film within a superhero film.   

Things that scared me as a kid: The mimes, the parade floats, The Joker’s girlfriend wearing that mask, the two dead models, the dead mob guy being burnt to a crisp, The Joker’s grin, The Joker’s laugh, really every time Jack Nicholson was on screen, and that laugh box that kept going after The Joker had died.  This film really did use to scare me.  

Final Thoughts: This film was incredibly interesting and enjoyable to come back to as an adult.  I don’t think it’s entirely rewatchable - it’s plodding along at a snail’s pace during some sequences, and I don’t think the plot is that engaging.  But I do think there’s a lot of artistry here given to us by Burton, and worth coming back to every now and then to see a film that would inspire superhero films for decades to come.  

[ablackchicnolalife]

Most of you have to wait until Mardi Gras Day, Super Sunday, Saint Joseph’s Day and Night, Secondline parades and the New Orleans Jazz Festival to experience the beautiful sights and sounds of the New Orleans Black Masking Indians. But year-round, I am surrounded by native New Orleanians who ensure our treasured culture and tradition survive. With the recent cancellation of Super Sunday and the Secondline, I thought it was a great time to share my experience of growing up in New Orleans witnessed the creation, birth, and celebration of the New Orleans Black Masking Indians. Year after year suits are created depicting a well-thought-out story of each Indian. 

There’s a story within the Indian Suit

Suit designed and created by Wesley “Soup” Bickham

  https://nolachic.blog/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/indian.mp4

  Black Masking Indians

Some of you may wonder why I call them “Black Masking Indians” instead of Mardi Gras Indians, and here’s why. At one time and by no choice of there own, they were called Mardi Gras Indians to participate in the Mardi Gras festivities. That’s something to talk about all by itself. Have you ever saw a “Mardi Gras Indian” join in a parade? Have you seen a “Mardi Gras Indian” walk the route of the floats or throw beads? I’m sure you will answer NO unless it was in the early 1900 when they snuck in the procession in protest against segregation and to show off their beautiful suits. But years before that, Black New Orleanians developed their own style of celebrating Mardi Gras, and most of the celebrating took place in Congo Square in Treme. The tradition started in honor of native Indians who assisted slaves in escaping the tyranny of slavery and accepted them as their own. Most Black New Orleanians have Native Indian blood running through their veins, because of this. We are all part of some Indian Tribe or Gang in one way or another.

CoronaVirus and Super Sunday

Before I go into my story, let me say this I’m quite sure there will be an impromptu Super Sunday of a smaller scale. The Black Masking Indians and the people of New Orleans will not allow the virus to stop them from paying homage to what may be over a century-long tradition. Urban New Orleans Natives, NOLA locals who genuinely know what it means to love New Orleans. Tourists, and even a few those we refer to as transplants which moved here only to change the black urban neighborhoods, all will be out celebrating our tradition as we always have. Native New Orleanians do not need the permission of the city to celebrate our culture, traditions, our lives. Celebrations of this nature give us the necessary fuel to work mediocre tourism jobs. Coming together in honor of our ancestors supplies our hearts and soul with joy.

On any given day in any New Orleans neighborhood, especially in Black Urban Community. It can be a regular Thursday, and you will see and hear the locals parading in the streets with a full brass band leading the way. The city canceled the roadblocks and the option for us to congregate in the streets, but Super Sunday and St. Joseph’s Day nor St. Joseph’s Night is not canceled as far as it goes with the people. My thinking it will not be as big, Tribes/Gangs will more than likely perform their ceremonies in their own Wards at a park. Possibly, walking to nearby Wards to honor the traditions of Battle of the needle and thread. Part of the tradition and culture involves shall I say showing off their suits, which Black Masking Indian Tribe is the prettiest, meaning the suit is everything from beautifully made, and it has an incredibly creative story. Loyalty to the tradition followed by all of the love and time it took to create the suit must be seen on the streets of New Orleans, especially by other Tribes/Gangs. You will hear Native New Orleanians compliment Indians by saying, “You know you pretty!” followed by the spreading of eagle-like arms and the proud strut of a peacock.

Plus, it’s outdoors! And people are walking around. It’s not like they are boarding a parade float inside of Mardi Gras World, sharing a small space with others. Tribes/Gangs are with each other during ceremonies, and for the most part, they are moving around dancing and singing. They actually take it to the streets. Its a phenomenon everyone in the world should see. If you join in on the celebration, make sure you have your hand sanitizer, give a squeeze to all who want to shake your hand and keep it moving.

I believe if we keep the celebration more like a family reunion or neighborhood block party at the parks in our Wards, it will keep the crowds small and hopefully lessen the risk for exposure. I feel that St. Patrick’s Day celebrations should break up the canceled celebrations in this manner as well. Pack up the green beer, throws and etc. and park a couple floats outside bars and parks or use the floats like a party bus and roll thru the city with a small krewe. There are many options to celebrate our cultures and traditions without the need for a huge grand affair. Scale it down and be safe and be well!

My Family

My great-grandfather was an African and Choctaw Indian by way of Mississippi. His name was James Shelton, but we called him “Lil Papa” for two reasons; one he was much shorter than his wife my great grandmother “Alma Shelton” Big Momo and my grandfather whose name was James as well, “James Hollins” was “Big Papa” because he was big and tall. Lil Papa was a short man, maybe 5’6 with smoothest dark chocolate skin, and what I thought was grey-blue eyes then, but now I believe he had cataracts. He was bald for the most part, with the exception of the short wavy hair he covered with dress hat all the time. I loved my papa and treasured the time spent out in Kenner with him and Big Momo out in Kenner. He worked long, long hard hours on the railroad, and even though he was bone-tired, he would sit in his chair after work with us at his feet listening to him chant in his native tongue. He didn’t tell many stories of his life, possibly because he was often on the run from slave catchers, but he taught us about surviving off the land and to appreciate it. Their backyard was mostly a garden, two huge pecan trees, one held a tire swing, a peach tree, a banana tree, a fig tree, and strawberries were free for our picking and eating. We always went home with a bag of goodies from the yard. Oh, they had a small chicken coop. I would find out years later that those cute little chicks I used to pet were possibly my dinner when I visited… We were shown how to spot holes in the ground were the crawfish lived. We would stand over the hole with a string with a piece of fat on it, trying to temp the crawfish to bite. Sometimes I would catch and drop em because I was afraid of them.

My Lil Papa and Big Momo never dressed as Indians or participated in the traditions, possibly because of work and church. It would take for my Mama to take me around relatives and out into the city to experience the cultures in the traditions of the Black Masking Indians.

Love at first sight

My first memory of seeing the Indians was in the late early 80s, I had to be about 7 years old when my Mama would take us to visit family and friends, and more than often, there would be men gathering in a room sewing, drinking, and singing. I would peek behind the beaded curtain with my big brown eyes laid on the colorful rhinestones, gemstones, and feathers. The shiny bling all but called my name. I used to hope one of them would drop anything so that I can claim as mine. Unlike the men, women, and all the girls in my family, I did not take to sewing. I barely know how to sew on hand to this day, but I knew exactly what I would do if I had some bling and scraps of satin material. After a few minutes of eyeballing their supplies, one of the kids would find me and attempt to bust me out. You gonna get in trouble, because I’m going to tell… “Oooh, you looking in the Grownup Room.” Nothing much happened to me, I was a good girl. Plus, I learned early in life that all it takes is for a child to be respectful and inquisitive. Doing so opened so many learning opportunities for me at a young age. Still, quite a few of those tella tell kids actually pulled the beaded curtain open so that I may enter the room to be gifted with leftover scraps and jewels. But I can hear their big mouths now, “Dee, you not supposed to be in the grownup’s business.

St. Joseph’s Day 1996 in Hollygrove

St. Joseph’s Day 1996

I can kind of remember seeing the Indians out on Mardi Gras as a young girl, but my first up close and personal experience was that following Spring. We were living in the 17th Ward, Hollygrove, Mid City, or what is now known as Carrollton in the early 80s around. My Mama woke us up and told us to put our slippers and robes on to come outside to see the Indians. I thought she and the other adults partied a little too hard because it was dark out. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but these adults were so excited to see the Indians, and they wanted the children to come along. I didn’t know what was up and I was terrified. I had no choice but to listen to my Mama. So, there I sat on the porch with until we were told to “Take to the streets.” It was St. Joseph’s Night and days prior classmates spoke tales of Indians running around the city with hatchets to scalp people with good hair so that they could make long braided wigs to wear for ceremonies. I imagined people lying in the streets with their brains showing due to the scalping. For the first time in my life, I was relieved to have short nappy hair. I was a ‘Passover” NO Indian wanted my hair, and I was okay with that. I was a shy child and typically went along with what the adults told me to do, so there I stood on the porch with my Mama, Auntie, Uncle, sister and a few cousins awaiting the sight of the sounds I heard chanting in the wind. My Mama appeared excited and lively, so I found comfort in that, and my fear went away. The Indians appeared, and my eyes lit up as if I saw Santa Claus. My family members flew off the porch and joined in the dancing and singing with the Indians. I was super shy and but I managed to I looked on smiling. I could not understand a word they sung or the meaning of “IKO IKO,” but a sense of pride filled my young heart. The sun finally made its way to give some light to the new day. That’s when the magic happened, my eyes lit up from glimmer of bling that I recognized from the men behind the beaded curtain before it made its way unto the suit creating the most beautiful artwork I ever. The beautiful feathers that stood up, signifying royalty, strength, and freedom waved and bobbed as they pounded their feet unto the ground, and that’s when it hit me. Yes, the culture had pulled me in. I not only danced, but I sang and clapped my hands, becoming one with my people as we celebrate our heritage.

  Beads, Feathers, Love, and Tears

Over the years, I would wish I could participate in the tradition, but I have found my place within the culture. I didn’t have a direct legacy to it due to none of the men in my immediate family participating in Masking. I guess I could have joined a gang that my cousins and friends belonged to, but I never was into the Social Club thing, not even in college. My love for the culture was more than enough for me, but I’m blessed to live in a community where men still gather together throughout the week to assist each other with their suits as they fill their bellies with delicious red beans and rice and cold beers. 

  I grew up with the understanding that “Masking” and the sewing was only done by the men, and I never questioned how the Queen’s and child’s suits were made. Actually, it was always the men I saw gathering to sew, cook, and perform the ceremonies. To this day, well in my circle, the women are a support to the men. Most of the time, when the sewing is being done, or during Indian Practice, the women do their own thing and sometimes help out with sewing. But over the years, I would learn that there are many women who “Kill em dead with the needle and thread.” I have been asked several times if I wanted to Mask, and who knows I just may one day. But for now, I’m content with being an heir of the royal family. 

  The love and passion for continuing the Black Masking culture run so deep into the souls of those who continue it. I found myself becoming emotional hearing the stories of the Black Masking Indians to this day.  I was visiting a friend who was in the final stage of putting his suit together. As we spoke, the look of death came over his face as he searched his packed Indian Suit closet for a picture frame that contains an image of him in the National Geographic Magazine in the late 80s. He told me he did not have his image under “Copyright or Trademark.” It took for someone to tell him that his beautiful pink feathered suit was captured by a professional photographer who he would find was paid thousands. He attempted to sue, but there’s this thing about being in public. Generally, people do not have a reasonable expectation of privacy for anything they do in public, and this was the case for him and others. Needless to say, even though he didn’t get to see a few coins hit his bank account, he felt proud to be in the National Geographic. To add insult to injury, the picture only describes the person as a nameless Mardi Gras Indian.  He has gone on to travel all over the world to show off his suits as well.

It was just my luck to have met and spoken with one of the founders of The Black Men of Labor and Black Masking Indian Cultural Gatekeepers Fred Johnson at my neighbor’s house. I was pressured into introducing myself at midnight on Mardi Gras Eve. The men and women I sat in the kitchen with took turns telling me, “The man you need to talk to has been sitting in the living room all evening and you back here whining about an interview and the best person to talk to is him.” Before I had a chance to introduce myself, they basically gave me his resume, and that made me nervous. He ran this, and that spoke to hundreds if not thousands about the culture and interviewed with noted journalists. and here I was “The NOLA Chic” walking into the living room in my lounging attire and a wrapped head sounding straight like a New Orleans girl; “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but my friends said you are the man of all things Black New Orleans Culture.” It actually worked lol. Fred is appeared to be a laid back, highly intelligent, well-spoken, passionate man, with beautiful features, traits, and characteristics of a New Orleans Black Indian.

I would find out that he tries his best to makes a visit as many of the Tribes/Gangs the weekend of Mardi Gras to offer support and words of wisdom. He told me that things are in the works to protect the Black Masking Indians, along with some really great facts about the Black Masking culture and history.

The Black Men of Labor is a New Orleans Social and Pleasure Club is made up of black working men who pay homage to the black men who work. The theme of the BMOL is always to keep the traditional music on the streets. Fred Johnson told Off Beat Magazine in New Orleans, “No matter what we do, the theme of the parade is always going to be based on the musicians wearing black and white and playing traditional brass band music.

https://r.search.yahoo.com/_ylt=AwrE19ZvwW1exRQATpdXNyoA;_ylu=X3oDMTEyOGI4bGNnBGNvbG8DYmYxBHBvcwMxBHZ0aWQDQjg3NDZfMQRzZWMDc3I-/RV=2/RE=1584280048/RO=10/RU=https%3a%2f%2fwww.facebook.com%2fBMOLINC%2f/RK=2/RS=mpDWGdm2JGM0YJ1QJkQ_.dRoTDg-

One being the birth of birth, the Mardi Gras Indian Council, which serves as a base to document, teach about the masking culture, teach the art of sewing and be a place for any and all things tribes might need to remain successful. There’s also the option of trademarking your image, which seems like a bunch of B.S. because of the process. The Indian would have to send in pictures his/her complete suit to the department along with fees before Mardi Gras. It is known that Indians are working on their suits up to the eve of Mardi Gras. And they are all very secretive with their suit before Mardi Gras Day. As I mentioned, I was treated like a spy and was sternly told NOT to post or show anything, not even a bead until after Mardi Gras, and I did. And this goes for anyone outside of their Tribe/Gang even parade dates, times and routes are never published in advance, although they do tend to gather in the same areas every year.

Black Masking along with other Black New Orleans legacies that are affected by Cultural appropriation and gentrification in New Orleans. The very thing that lifts the spirit and solidifies family is used by others to make a dollar off the talent of others. It’s a set up by the tourism and entertainment industry to make big bucks off the blood, love, and suffering of a people. So, it’s doubtful that the Indians can get their images protected within the timeline given. Unlike Mardi Gras Krewes, such as Rex, whose krewes are made up of wealthy white people who are able to tap into sponsors. Black Masking Indians go broke for the love of the culture. It’s also labor-intensive and takes away precious time from their family members and friends.

Copyright is a property right. Under the Federal Copyright Act of 1976, photographs are protected by copyright from the moment of creation. According to the U.S. Copyright Office, the owner of the “work” is generally the photographer or, in certain situations, the employer of the photographer.

Under U.S. law, copyright in a photograph is the property of the person who presses the shutter on the camera — not the person who owns the camera, and not even the person in the photo. http://www.technologylawsource.com › articles › intellectual-property-1 › wh.

    Following the Renegades

My move back home allowed me to enter into a sacred space of our Black Masking Indian tradition. I was able to witness the century-long ritual unfold right before my eyes over the past year. I was granted the opportunity to experience it all from the inside, and it was life-changing. But, let me tell you they fed me with a baby spoon, but I was finally was able to sit with the men throughout the year to thread, beads, gemstone, rhinestones, satin, and feathers all come to life, transforming them into a real New Orleans Black Masking Indian. Much hasn’t changed since I was the inquisitive little girl peeking through the beaded curtain, but I saunter in now and let the beads embrace my frame as they thread needles snd sew on beads. Being a grown woman has gifted me with the gift gab with men, and a graceful entrance beats pretending to be a fly on the wall. I learned that it was better to be seen because a fly will eventually get to buzzing in their ears and squatted out the room.

My neighbor, who is also my friend and great-cousin, finally suited up after years of sitting out. Over the year, both designed and made Indian suits for other Indians and participated in the traditional celebrations. Still, it had been nearly a decade since they took to the streets themselves. Providing this service to people left them without a position within a tribe. Therefore, both decided to Masked as “Renegade” not as in renegade as in abandoning the tribe but not identifying as part of an exclusive tribe/gang and accepted by all. This is often done when the Big Chief of the Tribe/Gang has passed away, and they disband for lack of leadership or the effects of gentrification have displaced the members. When I asked my friend if he felt sad about not being apart of a gang, he told me, “Even if I don’t have the whole nine, I still have to go.” All it takes is one strong person to preserve and protect the culture.

This past year I was able to finally fulfilled my childhood wish of filling my hands with the shiny beads, gems, and rhinestones that seemed to hold magic when picked up and sewn on by the men I admired as a child. For some reason, I would pick them up and watch them glitter as let them fall back into their assigned container when they weren’t looking.  I ran my hands through soft feathers and tickled a neck or two with its tips. I once placed a long peacock feather in the back of my hair and pretended to be an Indian Girl. They were okay with my playful nature, but all the moment I asked one too many questions I was sent out of the Lion’s Den off to be with the Lioness in the kitchen. Like OMG, the plan was for me to get a story, not play with feathers and beads. Even being in the presence of the men while they were sewing made me feel proud of them.

Stacy’s Suit

  Field Trip to Mardi Gras World

One of my favorite memories over the past year was going on what I called a “field trips” to the “Bead and Fabric Store.” It put the cherry on top of my experience. I rode in an old school Chevy up the back streets of New Orleans to Jefferson Parish as they all did for years. My friend told me stories about taking this route instead of the highway over the years, because of the Jefferson Parish Police would stop them for no reason, some times trashing their Indian suits and newly brought materials. There’s a store in New Orleans, but more often than not, the Black Masking Indians and Mardi Gras krewes would drive out to family-owned Mardi Gras Store in Metairie due to their vast selection. I felt like I was in the land of Mardi Gras or Throw Me Something, Mister Central! I had any and all things Mardi Gras merchandise right before my eyes. Mardi Gras umbrella’s, sequin hats, garters, bikinis, fleur de Lis earrings, iron-on patches, flashing beads, Moon pies into my cart; there wasn’t anything that Mardi Gras store didn’t carry. The walls and aisles were filled with a full variety of beads, blinged-out crowns, stacks of extravagant fabrics, bins of shiny rhinestones, and more.

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Our field trip to the store made me appreciate all the Tribes, Krewes, and Organizations that participate in Mardi Gras and Secondlines. It’s super expensive to participate in these events. The feathers, beads, costumes, throws, and all are all for the love of the culture. To be honest, I became angry thinking about all the beads that end up in our sewer system year after year. These beads not only wreak havoc on the environment, but it’s literally a waste, money down the drain for the city, and the Krewes that brought them.

https://nolachic.blog/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/mardigrassore.mp4

  Indian Practice

I’m trying to find the words to describe what Indian Practice is as well as the feeling that will swell up in your heart and soul as the men beat on tambourines and drums, sing/chant and dance. The Indians dance and sing traditional songs as well as drink and eat. Most are held on Sundays up until the Sunday before Mardi Gras Day. Sometimes I would go to Indian Practice with my neighbors at a local bar called First Carol’s with my neighbors, my extended family. Indian Practice is usually held at a neighborhood bar, and for us, that would be First Stop Last Stop or as well call it “Carol’s” the owners’ name. Carol’s is a small bar on the corner of Pauger St and Marias Stknown for strong cheap drinks, even stronger friendships, and the tasty free food she offers during happy hour. We would actually meet up here on Mardi Gras morning along with other Indians Tribes/Gangs.

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Happy Mardi Gras

And now that Mardi Gras has come and gone, I can share my Black Masking Indian Experience with all of you. As I mentioned moving back home was a sacrifice and caused me financial difficulty, but I never been happier. I feel complete in my spirit, and hope feels an opportunity away. To love New Orleans, you have to embrace the ugly that comes with it, and for me, that is being broke, but even when I feel down and out, New Orleans finds a way to pick me up. When these days hit, all I have to do is sit on my porch or knock on a neighbor’s door.

For The Culture

I’m proud to know that there are people out there who will stand firm for the black culture and traditions of New Orleans, future generations will know of our legacy and will continue the traditions. As much as of a good time I had heard the stories, most of them were filled with facing racism and oppression, but I found joy in seeing that in 2020 we continue to take to the street. Let me quote my great-cousin “Soup” who told me his Big Chief told him while he worked as long as six months offshore that “No matter what you have to take to the streets Mardi Gras Day.” Soup told me how he established a relationship with the owners of the fabric and bead shops when he was on the boat to ensure that he would receive his supplies while offshore. Now, that’s the true definition of “For The Culture.” 

We have to come together like we do on Secondline Sundays and show unity as our ancestors. We need all of The Big Chief’s even those who do not Mask to take to the streets and chant for justice. Let’s take it to the courthouse for our people and all that we contribute to New Orleans. Come on down, Big Chief!!! The gang is waiting for you!!!

Under Da Claiborne Bridge with Black Masking Indians 💜💛💚⚜️🎭

I was brought to tears hearing and seeing this little girl Greet the Queen. The emotions were all in her face and body movements.

We have to at least applaud the families who continue the traditions and cultures of our ancestors. They are not paid or given any incentives for this. People come from all over the world to take pictures and record, some get paid big money for the work and artistry of the Black Masking Indians. Photography is a job, it takes a great eye to capture a moment but seriously in addition to creating an Indian suit they go out and walk the streets all for the love of the culture. At least name their tribe, send a card or something when you make money off their images. ⚜️💯

Big Chief

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A NOLA Chic Experience with the New Orleans Black Masking Indians-Mardi Gras Indians Most of you have to wait until Mardi Gras Day, Super Sunday, Saint Joseph's Day and Night, Secondline parades and the New Orleans Jazz Festival to experience the beautiful sights and sounds of the New Orleans Black Masking Indians.