I’ve never gotten very excited about the Carnival season or Mardi Gras, but I would be very disappointed if the rest of you decided to take on that attitude.
I feel much more comfortable and content at small gatherings of close friends than with large crowds of acquaintances. If I go to a party, after saying hello to the hosts, the next order of business is finding a kindred soul or two I can commiserate with on the outer limits of the affair.
I live in “the box,” the residential area Uptown where most of the bigger parades roll during Carnival. There have been many times when I haven’t been able to get home easily, and many times when I haven’t been able to leave home because of the parades. You might even picture me as the Mardi Gras Grinch, glaring down from Mount Crumpit, planning vengeance on the revelers as they slightly inconvenience me.
I hope with all my heart that they never stop.
I live in the greatest city in this country, a place where existence itself is enough of an excuse for celebration and joy. I rarely go to parades, but when I hear the sound of the marching bands getting closer and closer to my house, I feel more and more at ease. I’m reminded of where I am in the world, and that I don’t want to be anywhere else or surrounded by any other people.
My disdain is reserved for the other 63 parishes, and farther afield, and never has it been greater. They’ve attacked my country, and I will despise them until my last breath. They thrive on what I hate more than anything: cruelty and abuse of power.
Nameless, faceless secret police are kidnapping, murdering, beating, and degrading untold numbers of human beings. Children are being used as bait to capture undocumented immigrants, the vast majority of whom have committed no crime other than hoping for better lives for their families. Peaceful protesters are being brutalized, in some cases literally held down while monsters attack them with chemical weapons. Meanwhile, international sex traffickers and their accomplices are being protected by the powerful out of loyalty to a syphilitic, imbecilic king: the worst offender of that particular lot. His dark appetites – and those of all his obscenely wealthy and powerful cronies – threaten not only the stability, hope, and health of our nation’s people, but the future of the entire world. They have betrayed our allies around the world, creating a legacy of stupidity and cruelty that will outlast us for generations. They have done all they can to stamp out everything that is good in us.
And, perhaps worst of all, there are people many of us loved and cared for who actually tolerate or even celebrate these atrocities. Worse than any horrors that psychopaths can dream up are the everyday people who vote it in, then sit back to watch it happen. Every day, they make a mockery of every principle, doctrine, and creed they once pretended to hold sacred. There will be no forgiveness for them.
But through all of this, people are standing up, showing up, and fighting for all of our futures. Their bravery and conviction have shown me that we will win. As I write this (1/23/2026), thousands of peaceful protesters are on the streets of Minneapolis, where the temperature is ten degrees below zero. Our politicians are mostly failing us, but that’s nothing new. Good Americans are out there fighting back, and my money is on them.
And our enemies are actually pathetically weak. Like all bullies, their only recourse is bravado and brutality, but they’re actually not that big. Just incredibly bloated.
Two decades ago, New Orleans was devastated by Hurricane Katrina. In the aftermath, there were many who thought that Mardi Gras should have been cancelled. That was understandable then, and it’s understandable now. It can seem wrong to feel anything like joy in a time of overwhelming grief. And yet, as one local woman said at the time, “I’ll get a red wagon, fill it with beads and walk down the street. I don’t give a shit what anybody else does.”
Sixty-four years ago, dozens of gay men were arrested for daring to celebrate Carnival at the Krewe of Yuga ball. The local papers printed their names, ruining lives and careers. But Yvonne “Miss Dixie” Fasnacht bailed them out of jail. And while that particular raid ended the Krewe of Yuga, Gay Carnival survived, and still thrives.
A year ago, for the first time, I found myself telling my husband: “We need to get out of here. We need to move to a country where we’re not in this kind of danger.” But this is my country, and more importantly, this is my city, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to leave over a bunch of stupid crazy people who think they started and won a battle that’s actually been waged since the dawn of humanity.
I’m staying for the fight, and God help me, I’m staying for the party. Y’all are throwing one, so the very least I can do is show up. You’ll find me on the edge, laughing through a smoke, I hope.
