Soon I’ll be home in New Orleans for Mardi Gras (all the way through Tuesday, happily). I remain as fond of it as I was when a child, and even as I was when I drank, although I’ve begun to tire more easily from the endless walking, yelling, supporting of others on shoulders, cooler-carrying, and late nights at dingy Uptown bars. Gripes of age aside, I find it more exciting every year; I think I get better at enjoying the colors, sounds, and shapes in themselves without expecting of the sorts of adventure that I pursued when I was sixteen.
Above, Mardi Gras in 1908; see also these shots from Momus in 1961.
