Every year, it's the same story. Right after New Year's, I'm shuffling around the house in my fuzzy slippers, doing some decorative stenciling, painting my nails, whatever--I'm minding my own business, when suddenly I get a phone call. Lo-and-behold, it's a buddy I haven't heard from in ages. We settle into a nice long chat.
We talk for at least an hour, catching up on a year's worth of gossip, picking up our friendship right where we left off. But as my long-lost and I near the end of our voix-a-voix, I sense some tension in the air. Like my buddy's gotta ask me something, but he doesn't quite know how to go about it. And while he's dragging out the conversation with hemming and hawing, I just I happen to glance at my calendar. It's January 6. "Hmm," I think to myself, "January 6…. Seems like that's an important day for some reason. Is there anything special going on? It's not my birthday. Or my anniversary. It's the feast day of Blessed Andre Bessette, but that's no big deal. Maybe they've announced the Academy Awards nominees?" And then it hits me like a bag full of plastic beads: January 6, Twelfth Night, the beginning of Carnival! My friend must wanna see if he can come down for Mardi Gras!
Being the magnanimous sort of guy I am, I don't even wait for him to ask; I invite him and a dozen of his closest friends to join me for the festivities. Unbeknownst to me, my boyfriend is having a similar conversation with another chum in the next room. And before we know it, we've got 37 houseguests lined up for the big weekend.
Now, don't get me wrong. I love houseguests--well, most of them (you know who you are). But it really chafes my 'nads when I slave over a nice, fat, helpful list of Mardi Gras dos and don'ts for my pals--as I always do--only to have them run right out and ignore everything I've said! I mean, hello? I live here, remember? I know the ins and outs. Mama knows what's best…. But do they listen? Nooo. They stay out all night, running themselves ragged, cavorting naked and bleary-eyed in the street, until they finally drag their asses back to the hinterlands for the rest of the year. Or at least 'till Decadence.
So this Mardi Gras, I'm doing things differently. I'm sick of this direct approach crap. If my friends wanna act like kids, I'm gonna have to sink to their level--a bit of reverse psychology, if you will. (Hey, it worked on me when I was a young 'un.) What follows is my super-special, thoroughly patented, passive/aggressive Carnival catalogue. Read on and marvel at my crafty, tongue-in-cheek ways…
A Guide for the Would-Be Reveler
1. Mardi Gras is about partying 24 hours a day! Forget about eating and sleeping, and why on earth would you waste time bathing when you could be shaking your ass to the ubiquitous boom-tss-boom-tss beat of Bourbon Street?
2. Get as sloppy as you possibly can each and every night you're in town. Whoever said you weren't charming when you're drunk? Well, they were wrong! You're much more attractive when your speech is reduced to vowels and the letter "s". And you'll have so much more luck picking up guys.
3. As you're walking through the Quarter, folks on balconies may offer you plastic beads in exchange for a glimpse of your nether region, so by all means, expose yourself! New Orleans' police really love seeing your naughty bits. And if you're lucky, you'll end up on the boxcover for the amateur porno, Men of Mardi Gras 2001.
4. Glow sticks are cool.
5. See all your parades on Canal Street. The French Quarter really is New Orleans, so why bother going anyplace else? It's silly to wander all the way Uptown just so you can relax on St. Charles Avenue and share a brewski with Ann Rice.
6. Pee on the street. Why wait in line for a bathroom, when you can whip it out and hose down a little corner of New Orleans? Why, you could be whizzing on a piece of American history! That might be the spot where Tennessee Williams chatted up his very first rent boy. Or maybe Gertrude Stein stopped there so Alice could tie her shoe. And, I mean, it's not as if people live and work in the Quarter and have to deal with your offal. The police don't care either--really! (See item #3.)
7. Fight children for beads. Honestly, what use could a five-year-old possibly have for trinkets? Come on….
8. Disco whistles are really cool.
9. Start hammering tequila shots as early as possible on Fat Tuesday. With your handsome looks and your enviable stamina, I'm sure you'll have no problem making it through the day. (Also see item #2.)
10. Don't bother to costume on Fat Tuesday. No one else will be wearing one, anyway. Besides, how much fun can it be to traipse around all day long in fishnets and glitter, with all the straight tourists clamoring to snap your picture just so they'll have something "wild" to show their neighbors in Terre Haute? Trust me, jeans and a t-shirt will do just fine. If you're feeling really festive, I guess you could put on a cheap little chicken-feather boa--but that's it.
Of course, the real version that I plan to pin to their pillows (next to a perfect Starlight Mint) will be slightly more sarcastic and bitter, but I think you get the gist. I'll let you know how things work out….