In My Defense

1. I didn't hit him THAT hard.
2. I can't help it if God has blessed me with perfect aim and I am often inspired to demonstrate it, hitting targets both still and moving.

My gutting and clean up work has begun. I'll get to that -- my real reason for being here -- in a later post.

The parade was awesome -- until the float broke down. Riding on a Mardi Gras float is the closest many of us will come to being a rock star: Thousands of people are in the streets, screaming and pointing at you and when you deign to give them attention, they light up. You're masked - it's required - and that little bit of anonymity makes you a bit more bold. You dangle fancy beads and special throws over the edge of the float and work the crowd up into a frenzy before dropping them. You flirt. You dance. It's just a great, great time.

And the Muses of Float 16 were having a great time for most of Thursday night. Huge crowds, friends along the route, wine on the float. I didn't hear all of the special shout outs Jordo arranged along the way, but I did catch the "We hate Brian Tierney" (Inquirer publisher) and "We hate Henry Holcomb" (President of the newspaper guild) ones. (I missed "Derek Jeter loves Natalie," which I would have appreciated.) When I heard those chants, somehow rising above the crowd noise, I spun like a top, found the shouters, and showered them with beads. Awesome.

Then the float broke down. Then they couldn't get it fixed and they pulled us out of the line up and we missed the last quarter of the parade. Then we got to the party late. That kinda sucked.

But it's still Carnival. We're still having a ball.