GRAW!
Watching ‘Puppy Bowl II‘ on mute, listening to a Lee Dorsey LP at a very loud volume, front door wide open, drinking a screwdriver, THIS IS IT BABY!!! Pure self indulgence. We all share in the traditional parades and revelry, but the real beauty of mardi gras to me is that we’re all celebrating even when we’re not lined up on St. Charles or standing in line for 2 hours at Popeye’s. Mardi gras permeates everything, there’s this electric sense of wonder that infiltrates your dreams and every thought in your head for that one week leading up to Fat Tuesday. It’s like the best disease that’s ever afflicted mankind.
Going to school in Wisconsin, I had a New Orleanian calculus professor. He was your stereotypical professor, 70 years old, white hair, not generally a flamboyant person. But one Tuesday in February he showed up to lecture wearing a giant “cat in the hat” hat, beads, tossing doubloons to the students… We all thought he’d had a stroke or something. It just didn’t translate. But this being my fourth Mardi Gras, I finally understand understand exactly where he was coming from. You can be 1,000 miles from New Orleans in a frozen tundra, departed from the city for decades, but when the season comes around, there’s no way you can’t celebrate. It is ingrained in all of us, some kind of heinous, wonderful instinct that commands the ingestion of granulated sugar frosting, the catching of useless plastic trinkets, the donning of stupid headdresses, and the shaking of asses to brass instruments until we’re all sick and defeated and useless on Wednesday morning.
That said, I think I’m feeling well enough to head up to St. Charles now.