Party till you puke Purple, Green, and Gold

Warren Easton Marchers, originally uploaded by Juxtaposedface.


Boobs, beer, and maybe some Blow are things that come to mind when outsiders think of Mardi Gras in New Orleans. And they would not be wrong in their assessment of my fair city’s last brew-ha before the season of Lent. There is plenty of Hedonism and Decadence to be had. But, Mardi Gras is not just a time to roll out the puke and piss soaked carpet of Party for tourists. It is, like any holiday, a time for kids.

Hear me out. Mardi Gras in many ways, is like Christmas or Halloween. In classrooms all across Louisiana you get to eat King Cake every Friday afternoon from the Epiphany till Mardi Gras. Kids and teachers alike fell victim to airway blockage when our Lord and savior appeared in the form of a plastic baby Jesus. When parade week literally rolls into town, families converge upon Veterans Highway or St. Charles Avenue. They lay out tarps and blankets staking a claim on coveted Neutral Ground land. People set up grills, kegs, couches, tents, and tow along ice chests full of beer, cokes, and insanely delectable food.



Mardi Gras day meant eating cold Popeye’s chicken all day long and sneaking beer. It meant "Iko Iko" by the Dixie Cups and Professor Longhair on the radio. It meant dressing up in costumes. It meant threateningly and pleadingly shouting, “Throw me something mister!” from atop a Mardi Gras ladder that caused splinters and threatened to topple every time you reached too far for a bead. It meant wrestling with other kids for prized beads, cups, stuffed animals and mastering your Doubloon stomp. It meant putting frilly panties and garters over your pants, spraying passer-bys with silly string, and smoking fake cigarettes. It meant dancing to marching band after marching band. It meant having no place to pee. Did I mention the cold chicken?

There are many nuances to this holiday that imbue a New Orleanian with a deep understanding of how to properly party till you puke. So, when strangers and friends alike who have never partaken in these festivities incredulously ask, “Your parents let you go to Mardi Gras when you were little?” remember this one thing and that is growing up in the Puritanical Mid-West sucks.

That being said, Mardi Gras was a wholesome, good time this year. On Mardi Gras day I was drunk by noon and had a hangover at 4 in the afternoon after imbibing several Hurricane Katrina Daiquiris. Tacky? Maybe. Delicious? Undeniably.

Now to gear up for Lent!