This is how my wife and I watch Treme: A couple of minutes of the program will roll by, and then we’ll pause the DVR and I’ll translate. I’ll fill her in on “Whirlaway,” or the Wild Magnolias, or buck jumpin’, or playing the mambo eight to the bar. And then a couple of more minutes will roll by, and we’ll stop and I’ll talk about Professor Longhair and how he had to make his living as a janitor for a while.

I don’t really have to explain the behavior of the musicians, though. She’s met plenty of musicians. The ones in Treme are better players than most of the ones she’s met through me — heck, they’re better players than just about anybody — but she recognizes the personality profiles. There are the horn dogs and the substance abusers and the keep-it-together professionals and, of course, lots of Peter Pan types. An old joke:

Q: What’s the difference between a musician and a municipal bond?
A: The municipal bond eventually matures and makes money.

There are societal points that are just starting to come together in Treme, but the show mostly just makes me desperately miss New Orleans. It also makes me miss all of those late nights and early mornings I’ve spent with musicians over the decades — just as I’ve never had a civilian day job, I’ve never had a civilian after-hours interest, and I have been so lucky to know so many people who can express themselves through their music.

I could go on with the usual “David Simon Dickensian genius blah blah blah” stuff that has been said  about Treme (and The Wire, and Homicide, and pretty much everything Simon has done), but that would force me to take my eyes off the show. So my suggestion to you is this: Go out and buy yourself a copy of New Orleans Party Classics and bone up a little bit, then watch the program and get yourself a little bon temps rouler. And if you’re not careful, you might learn something, too.