It’s Mardi Gras time again, the citywide festival that is the linchpin of everything New Orleans.

Mardi Gras krewes create their own little worlds of fun and traditions, all for the practice of being in a social club that excludes other “inferior” mortals. It’s been that way since the holiday started and it persists today.

There are krewes that are old- line and the newer, more inclusive groups. Momus used to be the most fun to watch as they had the most satirical floats. They’ve gone away now, but thank goodness we have the Krewe du Vieux, which keeps getting better and better. They’re about as satirical and lewd as you can get. The Krewe du Vieux was an outgrowth of the Contemporary Arts Center’s storied “Krewe of Clones”, a sort of protest group that made fun of what had become a pretty staid event (except for activities in the Quarter, but that’s a whole other issue). The first parade I ever rode in was the Krewe of Clones, whose theme was “Ken and Barbie Go to the World’s Fair”—obviously it was around the time of the 1984 World’s Fair. We threw generic doubloons (brilliant!). I’d been to a bazillion parades in my life, but it was then that I discovered why Mardi Gras has persisted over these many years: it’s for the riders, not the hoi polloi on the streets.

When you can afford a costume, the throws and you put your money up to be a member of the club, it gives you power that you never had in your ordinary crummy life. “Hey, want these beads? Then grovel!” “Want those pearls? Let’s see some tits!” Riding on a float gives you the opportunity to ride in a “royal carriage” far above the madding crowd, survey your “subjects,” spread your “goodwill” and “largess” of worthless crap that costs a hundred thousand dollars to clean off city streets. And of course, you get to get totally blasted and not have to drive home. It’s quite a mind-boggling experience.

I’ve ridden (or marched) in several parades. The first Mardi Gras parade I ever marched in was Babylon, when I was in the band (yes, a band nerd!) in a New Orleans all-girl high school. We were pretty sucky. All I really remember is walking a long, long, long parade route, carrying my trombone and having sore feet. The entire OffBeat staff rode in Tucks for a couple of years.

But the really good stuff about Mardi Gras is the camaraderie that pervades the city. It’s an unbelievably happy, friendly time. We’re all in this crazy-ass city together, loving every minute of it: fake royalty, crappy beads, barbecuing on the neutral ground; costuming; hanging with friends; being stuck behind parade traffic—just being a dyed-in-the-wool New Orleanian. It’s a goofy tradition, but it’s ours, it’s unique and we love it. Happy Mardi Gras!