I had planned on attending the St. Louis Mardi Gras parade and celebration downtown tonight, but decided against it this afternoon. My ankle and foot are still bruised after the fall a long time ago, which is annoying, and I’m not feeling up to the crowds tonight.
I don’t regret missing out on the drunks, the fights, and the girls lifting their shirts at the drop of a shiny bead. I do regret, though, a little, not seeing the floats, being amidst people having a good time, hearing what will probably be great music, and getting some interesting photographs. Mardi Gras–and the St. Louis Mardi Gras is the second largest in the country– is the type of event photographers want — people in costume throwing off their inhibitions, at night, with nice fast, grainy black and white film. But ’shoulds’ as a photographer have about as much appeal to me as ’shoulds’ as a writer. I’m a hopeless case.
Besides, I can see myself downtown, walking alone back to my car in the dark parking area wearing a couple of thousand dollars worth of camera equipment.
I did get a King Cake though, the traditional Mardi Gras pastry. It’s not bad except for all that colored sugar being a bit crunchy. My roommate got the baby and the coin, and I got the necklace. I have absolutely no idea what this means.
And tomorrow, Emily Dickinson.
Shelley
