We stayed in the second-floor apartment at the Pontalba apartments. Dudley the parrot sits in the corner, enjoying the best view in New Orleans.
When a friend of ours told us that she’d hopped in a car and headed for the yearly drunkfest that is known as Mardi Gras, stripped off her shirt and painted her breasts with gold paint, I asked, “How did you get the letters straight?”
That’s me, kind of the pragmatist among the partiers. Which is to say I love a great party, but generally appreciate the kind that does not require the taking off of clothes, the ingestion of drinks named after natural disasters and stepping over the resulting upchucked remains.
So how did I find myself one sunny February day, bedecked with beads and chasing a float down a New Orleans street, yelling at the inhabitants to chuck that spear my way? Read the full post »