Les Bon Temps

Being from Louisiana, I feel somewhat obligated to recognize Mardi Gras.

Although I'll be the first to tell you that Mardi Gras is overrated and not to visit New Orleans during the February celebrations, I kind of miss it.

I mean it's not that often that you get to spend all day trying to figure out which car/corner to pee behind without getting caught.

Or, for that matter, it's not every day that you can sit on a couch in the middle of the street beside Ann Rice's private party and hound her guests to bring you another one of those delicious bloody mary's being served inside.

(Corner of St. Charles and Third, near the flower shop if you're going next year)

Most of all I miss getting that three day vacation at the beginning of the week.

The last Mardi Gras I went to, I think (drinking, you know) was when Nicholas Cage was the King of Bacchus. Yummy. He had on a long leather jacket and these really sexy shades.

And once, in a fever pitch of Mardi Gras temptation, I thought seriously about not breaking up with a guy just because his mom was going to pay for us to ride in her Mardi Gras float (Krewe of Tucks) the next year.

What can I say - I was drunk - and in college.

So today, the Tuesday of Fat Tuesday, I salute you.