Welcome To Louisiana: Home Of The Drive-Thru Daiquiri!

I have promised for some time to detail my exploits from the Mardi Gras weekend, but I am faced with the problem of my own pure incompetence, at least when it comes to writing (and as you will soon see, my photography can also be charitably described as "utter shite"). Sure, I could give brilliant random anecdotes that the other co-authors of this blog are sure to appreciate (and would certainly go into far greater detail than I would otherwise here), but to turn it into an actual narrative for other people to follow seems like too great of a challenge. But I never back down from my promises, so here we go folks.



Baton Rouge is a fine city, if you don't care for aesthetics or things to do (which makes it like 99% of the other cities in America). It even has a couple of decent family-friendly parades, and I had seen my fair share of those growing up. No, this trip was about venturing into the belly of the beast, to bear witness to the Mardi Gras of Legend, and that meant hurtling along like a silver bullet across the bayou into the madness that is New Orleans. With me on this journey I had two guides, my friend Garrett and his girlfriend Michelle, and without them I would have been lost, and probably mugged. Word to the wise: Find yourself a native before embarking on such a trip of your own.



We began the festivities in a way that all such journeys should began, and that's in a dive bar. This was right next door to the titular Drive-Thru Daiquiri establishment--we would have partaken in such spirits, but to tell you the truth, the line was too long for us (the fact that it was 11:30 in the morning on a Saturday apparently meant nothing to those in a quest for lubrication). We slowly got into the spirit of the occasion, drinking cheap beer and shooting pool to a soundtrack of Zeppelin and Floyd, which starting the previous night when we saw their respective tribute bands, would provide much of the music for the weekend. Eventually we made our way into the downtown area onto St. Charles, where we stuck around waiting a parade to start, getting our drink on at The Avenue Pub and WhiskeyDix. I sampled the world-famous Hurricane beverage and also a shot of the local favorite, Grand Marnier, promptly getting toasted. We then spent the rest of the daylight hours playing on the pornographic video game machines, choosing to focus our energies on the "Spot the Difference between the Naked Ladies" game (and for full discretion, this was more heavily driven by the female contingent of our crew).



We grew restless, and with a call of "fuck it", we hit the road to try to hit the French Quarter before the parade rolled through. To do this, we walked directly through the parade route, because we have no use for your silly things like "rules"! We played football with little kids, did some line-dancing in the street, had shit thrown at us from balconies, and generally had ourselves a good time as we attempted to find a bathroom/find Bourbon Street. We met up with some local firemen en route, and that's where we got the word as to the real reason the parade we had been waiting for had been delayed--Kevin Costner was stinkin' drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he had gotten injured mounting his float, and that's no good when you're the GRAND MARSHALL. So Tin Cup was holding everything up, as they attempted to sober up his sorry ass.



Eventually we made it to the famed Canal Street, and we settled in and watched the parade. There are floats, and then there are Endymion Floats. I had seen my fair share of parades as a Baton Rouge native, but nothing as elaborate as the standard New Orleans affair. We settled in, caught our fair share of beads, enjoyed a few [ahem] smokes, and generally engaged in some standard-fair debauchery. By the time we decided to call it quits, I was decked out in enough beads to look like the Greek Mr. T. Which is fantastic, because in New Orleans, beads are legal tender. I was wading in Hard Currency, folks. Beers are on me!



We then made a push to get to the heart of Mardi Gras, La Rue Bourbon. To say that the street was a sea of people would be an understatement--if you could see actual street, you were lucky. It was just a wash of moving heads, beer cubs, and neon signs. Oh, and the occasional chorus of "Show us your tits!!!" and the response that was appropriate for whatever decision was made. We also were met by Concerned Souls, who wanted to ensure the safety of our everlasting souls. And I'll give them the last word for this journal, and will show you exactly what they were up against tomorrow.



You have to love the self-righteous, folks.