To demonstrate that I’m not just making things up or relying on popular media when I refer to the morbidity of New Orleans culture, here’s a link to the local news site’s photographic coverage of a wake held yesterday evening and attended by one of lovers, a close friend of the deceased.  She was an Italian who married Anglo Uptown money (the richest society among New Orleans Anglos), and she had a wake held in the city’s most notable theatre, her corpse dressed in her best and propped up on a park bench and bearing accessories attesting to her decades of fashionable substance abuse.  I never met her and so declined to attend (and anyway it would have been awkward for my lover to have to explain why his plus one for a private wake was a boy more than thirty years his junior), but I’ve been told that she was internationally prominent and even hosted a French président in her home once.

My lover said it was too disturbing for him, even after I complimented her family for their creativity (must have been the Italian side - no Anglo could have thought of that) and told him about 19th century post-mortem photography.  Eh, bien…I suppose some people are just too uncomfortable with death.  *shrugs*


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