I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

I Guess Mardi Gras Just Doesn't Travel Well.

Every since I was a young boy I have been intrigued by Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and Carnival in Rio De Janerio. The stories and pictures that come out the party leading up to lent are just amazing! Those people throw an insane party! It's looks so crazy.
   Although it's not as crazy as when I thought it was to celebrate giving up lint, these people really hate lint, I thought. They hate lint so much they don't wear much in they way of clothes (where lint loves to hide, FYI) and they have constant lint checks, mostly of statuesque young females, (who knew that lint was partial to female chestal regions?) and when you've passed lint inspection you get beads instead of an inspected by sticker, also that lint doesn't like to be in the general vicinity of alcohol, so everybody consumes vast, lint repelling amounts. 
   No, after I learned that Mardi Gras was a religious celebration, everything became much less weird. Except the boob thing. And the bead thing. And the total drunken debauchery thing. That being said, I have always wanted to experience Mardi Gras or Carnival first hand. BUT, my high paying job as Junior VP to the Executive Sanitation Engineer at the local McDonald's doesn't allow for much travel budget, so I had resigned myself to never experiencing the joy of puking on my shoes while in a strange and exotic land. 
   And then one night while curled up reading a book, inspiration hit. And by curled up reading a book, I mean I was hanging out at the local golf club drinking martinis with my friends, and by hanging out at the local golf club drinking martinis with my friends, I meant I was by myself at the scuzziest bowling alley in town slamming beers in the nastiest bar you've ever seen, and by inspiration hit, I mean Inspiration, the female body building bouncer ex girlfriend type, hit. Me. Solid in the face-like.

   And I was out. And while I was out, I had a dream that Mardi Gras and Carnival were calling out to me like long lost lovers, or maybe peanut vendors at a baseball game, or possibly even infomercial spokespeople trying to get me to try out their latest and greatest most have invention. But regardless of how they were calling out to me, I heard their message loud and clear. They needed me. And if I couldn't go to them, then by golly, I was bringing them here.
   And that is how the Inaugural 1st Annual Mardi Carni-Gras Celebration Spectacular came to be. First I did some research. Or I attempted to. Apparently the public library is anti-Mardi Gras. All I did was search for Mardi Gras, beads, boobs, and pictures and before I could blink, I was unceremoniously dumped on the sidewalk. Well, I wasn't going to let that deter me, so I just set out armed with the knowledge I already had. 
   First, one of the biggest things about Mardi Gras is beads. But where can I find huge amounts of beads? And even if I find beads, I can barely throw, what with my old high school football injury. (I accidentally told the quarterback that rugby was tougher because they didn't have pads, and then he might've sorta run me over with the team bus.) I know! BB's are just like small beads, (and I've heard that size doesn't matter anyway) and shotgun shells have hundreds of beads in each container. And the shotgun will make sure the beads arrive at their intended target, my gimpy limbs be damned.
   Next. At Carnival they wear elaborate costumes made of feathers and rhinestones. But I can't afford anything that nice. Glitter and feathers must cost, literally, several tens of dollars. Farmer Joe always has chickens for sale, two for $5. Now they're old and gimpy, to old and tough for even stewin' but they'll do for my needs. A chicken on my head and one tucked into my banana hammock, a can of spray adhesive, and some cupcake sprinkles and my costume is complete. 
   Booze. Gotta have booze at a party. I think they drink those Hurricanes in New Orleans. And I'm sure they drink Mai Tai's or Molotov Cocktails or something down in that Brazil. I don't really go out for mixed drinks, but if that's what Mardi Carni-Gras wants, that's what Mardi Carni-Gras gets. Boone Farms Strawberry Hill Wine and White Lightning Tequila mixed an empty gallon of milk, BOOM! Check another thing off my list.
   I had all the necessary elements for a successful Mardi Carni-Gras. So with beads (of a sort) in one hand and booze in the other I launched myself down the street to celebrate with the people. The first person I met, seemed a little unprepared to share in the festivities, and took off running and screaming. I didn't want him to miss out just because he was a mailman, so I gave him some beads as he went.

   That's when I realized that the bead delivery system worked a little too well. The mailman fell to the ground screaming in pain. They had actually stuck into him. Good thing he was far away, when I gave him some beads, or he could've really been in trouble. I offered him some Strawberry Lightning out of my jug to ease the pain, but that didn't seem to help any. Now he was rolling around holding his stomach and projectile puking all over the place. Must be something he ate. I didn't have time for this. I told the mailman I was sorry and headed out. He seemed almost relieved that I was gonna take the party  elsewhere.
   Note to self; Don't launch beads directly at somebody, better give it some arc. I want bring fun to the people, not pain. I rounded the corner and started out on to a main street. There was a grocery store on one side of the street and a retirement home on the other. I decided to just split the difference and march down the center of the street in a one man parade. I began launching beads at both the retirement home and the grocery store parking lot.
   Again, people seemed unprepared to party as there was a lot of screaming and ducking under cars and running into buildings and general hidey-ness. The people didn't realize there was a party afoot, so I began to let people know. "Happy Mardi Carni-Gras!" and "Take off your shirts" and "PAR-TAY!" I shouted. I didn't seem to alleviate their concerns, I was still the only one celebrating. And maybe I should have filed a permit for the parade, because I was having an adverse affect on traffic, in that they had all swerved to avoid me and were crashing into each other at an alarming pace.
   Well at least I had an audience, and perhaps some participants, for my revelry. I went up to the first car I saw and knocked on the window. "Let's party" I told the wide eyed driver, and took a swig of my booze to emphasize. The middle aged man just looked at me in shock and shook his head. "C'mon, lets get naked, it's Mardi Carni-Gras time!" Nothing. This guy was a huge stick in the mud.
   Somebody had to want to party. I launched some more beads into the air and begged for somebody to get out and partake in celebration with me, but if anything they seemed more determined than ever to not have fun. Most of the people in the cars had either run away or were huddling on their floorboards. I screamed at the heavens, "Why won't somebody celebrate Mardi Gras with me?!"

   A deep growly voice behind me declared, "Because that was yesterday you psycho. Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Now put down the shotgun and slowly raise your hands." I protested that I wan't using it as a weapon but as bead delivery. He seemed unconvinced, and expressed his skepticism it by firing 50,000 volts through my body with a tazer.
   As I lay on the ground twitching and writhing around, I was struck by a couple of thoughts. One; timing is everything, this probably would have gone over better yesterday. B; maybe Albuquerque just wasn't a party town. And lastly, you really shouldn't shove chickens down your pants and then get hit with massive amounts of electricity.