The amateur Mardi Gras party-er assumes that everything leads up to The Big Muffuletta on Tuesday. This is why the amateur has not yet achieved professional status, because they are dead wrong. Sure, you would assume that since the whole thing is called "Fat Tuesday", and it's all about blowing your load before the tyranny of Ash Wednesday arrives, that Tuesday would be Where It's At (bottles and cans people, clap your hands).
The truth of the matter is that everything shuts down at midnight on Tuesday, because every one has to go back to work on Wednesday (the 8-day weekend is enough, and besides, ). Plus, we are of the philosophy that if you can't go all night, you shouldn't go at all. So Tuesday is all about nursing the World's Biggest Hangover, which amounts to chilling out on the couch, and in this year's case, watching the Super Tuesday coverage (and then waking up the next morning and cursing the idiocy of Massholes and Surfer Dudes).
And crawfish. Eating lots and lots of crawfish.
Because that's what I missed most about Life on the Bayou. I mean, in general, the food is excellent, because people down South aren't afraid of embracing things like "taste" and "flavor". So eating a couple of pounds of boiled crawfish seasoned to perfection was quite a fitting end to a wild weekend.
And because I'm terrible at planning things, here are a few leftover observations:
FEMA shirts are hilarious My favorites included "FEMA: Find Every Mexican Available" and "FEMA Evacuation Plan: Run, Bitch, Run!". It was a nice change of pace from the general tacky/obnoxious tourist shirts, though I did enjoy the one written upside down which implored those that if they could read said shirt, to please tip the patron back onto his/her barstool.
I'm not comfortable with taking pictures of the Naked Cowboy But mentioning him now gives me the opportunity to mention his fantastic lawsuit. No matter how hilarious an awkward picture of the Naked Cowboy with old Asian ladies may be, I still didn't feel like getting my own personal copy. And as many people will attest, I am totally comfortable with my sexuality, so that wasn't it. But it does lead to the fact that
I am a terrible photographer Yeah, sorry about that. If only I could have had Rasheed, our intern, come in and do lighting for me. Or if I attempted to figure out how to use the camera at some point before I started shooting.
It's always fun to talk to crazy fundamentalist Doom Prophets and it takes a shitload of alcohol to get me drunk. If ICE 101 is not involved.
So that officially wraps it up for my giant travelogue. I hope you enjoyed reading along, and I hope I didn't incriminate myself at any point in the process. For those of you interested in exploring the entirety of my shitty photography, here is where you can see pretty much all the photographs I took (but be warned, this set is PG-13. If you want more graphic, file a formal request through an e-mail, you sick pervert). Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make plans to head back next year.
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