"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


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Fat Tuesday Sings, and It's Over. Finally.

Mardi Gras is OVER! No more loud people from rural Ohio* with their dumb umbrella hats, matching tablecloth ponchos, and drunken "Which way to downtown?" inquiries. No more bead-snatching casualties or big sweaty men accusing me of purposefully "pressing my breasts into [their] arms" while fighting through the teeming, putrid parade route. And best of all, no more people using the public streets as trash cans, toilets, and private hotel rooms. Blech.

This whole Mardi Gras experience reminds me of something one of my friends told me in Amsterdam last summer. She said that I had a gift for "knowing when the party's over." When we all went out together, I would turn to her at a certain point in the night and say, "I think it's time to go home." She'd always vehemently disagree, and I'd end up going home alone in a cab, only to find out the next morning that she'd gone home 15 minutes later. I don't know if my intuitions are right all the time with respect to "the party" as a whole, but I do know that once I personally feel that the night is done, nothing and no one can convince me otherwise. I have to go home then and there, even if it means leaving by myself. The problem with Mardi Gras is that I got the feeling that the party was over about 5,476 times over the course of the past week and couldn't do a damn thing about it. Screw my feelings; the party can't be over until the last parade rolls on Fat Tuesday. I think that's what bothers me the most about Mardi Gras: If you live here, party attendance is simply required, and you can't go home until everyone is ready to go. Well, there's Lundi Gras, there's Mardi Gras, and then there's Get The Hell Out of Towni Gras. That's Wednesday, people. Today. So go home, you parasitic tourists! I promise that the party is finally, and most officially, over.

* No offense to people from Ohio. I'm sure some of you are very nice.

posted by Bekah at 10:26 AM :: |