Dear U.S. Naval Observatory, Washington D.C.,
Here we go again.
Every year at this time, you force your sleep-disrupting time-change scheme upon us. And every year at this time we howl like rougarous to whomever will listen about the inconvenience of said imposition.
Because you are clearly not among that group — that is, willing listeners — I thought it might be worth writing in an effort to help you understand why it hits us particularly hard in New Orleans, whether springing forward or falling back.
You see, time runs differently here.
A second is still a second, of course, just as a minute is still a minute and an hour is still an hour. But here at the edge of the world, we have been blessed with the ability to slip free of the tyranny of time when the occasion calls for it.
That might sound like so much hyperbolic hoodoo, but it is a very real phenomenon.
As proof, go stand on the route of a Carnival parade scheduled to roll at 6 p.m. As that hour comes and goes, use your skills of observation to judge just how much the clock matters to anyone among the boisterous masses around you.
Others tell time by reading the stars or judging the position of the sun in the sky. In New Orleans, we do it by looking down the parade route and gauging the distance of the flashing lights as they make their slow approach.
It reminds me of the scene in the 1986 film “Crocodile Dundee” in which an incredulous observer comments upon the bush-dwelling title character’s thorough lack of interest in what the clock says.
“Doesn’t know, doesn’t care,” the observer mutters before softly adding, “Lucky bastard.”
We’re the lucky bastards in this analogy.
The one difference — and this is an important point — is that we do, in fact, care. We care about a lot of things, and deeply.
Tourist commissions and hoteliers have long branded us “The City that Care Forgot,” but I have always been left cold by the imprecision of that nickname.
One can see where its anonymous originator was going with it, implying a person can freely and easily shrug off their cares and concerns when swaddled in New Orleans’ muggy embrace. There is certainly truth in that — especially if a few good Sazeracs are involved.
At the same time, it can easily be misinterpreted as a suggestion that the city is cold and heartless, that we just do not care.
That is not the case. We care. We care about our culture. We care about our history. We care about beating the Falcons twice a year. We care about the impropriety of selling king cakes before Twelfth Night.
We care about Hubig’s and Leidenheimer’s and Hansen’s and the Roman Candy Man. We care about Blue Plate and red beans and all things purple, green and gold. We care about laughing and dancing and eating and filling our lungs with humid air and expelling it all with a cathartic “Steeeellllllaaaaa!”
“The City that Care Forgot?” Forget that. New Orleans is the city that time abandoned.
There is no other place I know in which so many people can spend so many hours enthusiastically accomplishing so little.
Of course, when we really, honest-to-goodness must be somewhere at a given hour, we can get close to being on time. The Superdome might not be full for player warmups during Saints season, for example, but it’s always packed by kickoff.
Elsewhere, people might consider chilling along the batture or lingering for hours over the detritus of brunch as wasting time. Here, we see it more like stealing time, preserving the present even beyond what is considered natural.
That is precisely why New Orleans is famously at least 10 years behind any trend. For us, traveling to the West Coast is like a journey into the future. (Which also is precisely why returning home again is such a comfort.)
This culturally engrained lackadaisiality should by no means be mistaken as head-in-the-sand-ism or anything like it. Our eyes are wide open. We know change is inevitable. We accept that it will come.
There is just a fervent belief here that there is no compelling reason it can’t wait until tomorrow.
Just like your temporal fiddlings.
Of course, we are under no delusions that you will change your ways any time soon. But that’s OK. We will wait.
Like Miss Irma says, here in New Orleans, time is on our side. (Yes, it is.)
Insincerely yours,
New Orleans
Ask Mike Have a question or a thought to share about New Orleans etiquette or tradition? I’d love to hear it. Email it to playbook@myneworleans.com
