My Analysis, Yer Analysis: A Primary Source Account of Mardi Gras as told through my colon

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My Analysis, Yer Analysis Part I: A Primary Source Account of Mardi Gras as told by my colon

February 25th, 2009

While I’m not a big believer in “science,” the one thing they got right was craniometry, the inbred cousin of phrenology. Basically this now dead science was used to determine someone’s personality from their facial structures. This brings us to the present day and the Constitutional Law class I am currently attending. The girl sitting next to me has crazy bug eyes that basically writes “stalker” all over her face. Right now though, I truly feel for her. It’s not because she has crazy eyes that make her look like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction but because she has the extreme displeasure of sitting next to me.

I’ve launched a full-scale MGM Body War on myself. I am currently typing this with a largely sprained pinky finger. My hands are shaking from some kind of withdrawal. I haven’t shaved since Thursday. I took a shower in a sink right before hopping a flight back home at five in the morning. It wasn’t until after said shower that I realized my deodorant was packed under a bevy of dirty clothes. At that point, the cab was already outside. Fuck it.

One of the many things I have a gripe about is the people here who eat complicated meals in class. The rule should be if you can eat it during a run (bar or candy of some sort), it’s fair game, otherwise, hold your stomach and forgo the nicoise salad.

Which brings us back to Crazy Eyes McGee. Swimfan’s meal is an anorexic’s ice cream sundae: three scoops of Greek yogurt and a shitload of walnuts. In addition to a tall glass of water there’s a bottle of something called NuStevia which I later found out to be a diet supplement that according to its website contains “absolutely no pesticides.” I also have a rash from two cats the two cats that I shared a couch/Aerobed with for the past four nights. The final reason why I feel bad for her is that I need “to go” in the scatological sense.

The sounds coming from my body sound like a muted bass drum and over the past few days I have eaten like a death row inmate the night before the Electric Slide. Since arriving Thursday in New Orleans my Carbon footprint has gone from Chinese footbinding to human Sasquatch. The following is an almost complete list of things that have been ingested over the past 80 hours:

Start, Thursday February 19, 2009 - 10:15 p.m.

One 12 inch chicken parm sandwich

One sprite, lemonade, and Bankers Rum drink

Four double whiskey and cokes - $2 each

Five miller lites

Three bud lights…

We now interrupt our programming to give you the final 3 seconds of the HBO Award Winning Series, The Sopranos.

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Footnotes

Not a euphemism for something more salacious.

Yes, I know. Every single bar in New Orleans is better than every single bar in Washington.

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My Analysis, Yer Analysis Part II: A Primary Source Account of Mardi Gras as told through my colon

Friday, February 20, 2009 - 10:30 a.m.

Five cups of coffee strong coffee., 2/3 of a carafe of orange juice, One sip of apple pear pomegranate juice

A three egg, chorizo cheese, jalapeno, and creamed spinach mess of crap with homefries and a biscuit.

One spoonful of guacamole

Three bites of cole slaw.

12:30 p.m.

Five beers (four bottled, one canned)

Two red solo cups of carlo rossi jug wine

One half of Spiderman sugar cookie

Eight 30 second intervals of cherry hookah

3:30 p.m.

Six inch duck po’ boy, six inch oyster po’ boy

Side of four fried green tomatoes with baby shrimp remoulade sauce

5:30 p.m.

Other half of Spiderman sugar cookie

Five more beers, one Water

Four double scotch and cokes

Four more beers

At this point, you could tell me as much as I could tell you

Saturday February 21, 2009 - 11:15 a.m.

Possibly three beads used inappropriately judging from what I’m feeling right now.

One ring pop.

One corona

One duck pb

Two liter-sized Aquafinas

Using entrance as an exit for said duck po’boy, one corona, and two liter-sized Aquafinas.

1:00 p.m.

One hand grenade

Tropical Isle’s Hand Grenade is equal to 3-5 drinks depending on your tolerance. No one knows what is in this drink. Many believe it is just a Goombay Punch. Other websites say it includes the following ingredients: 1.5 oz. gin, 1.5 oz. grain alcohol (probably Everclear), 1.5 oz. of Melon Liqueur, 1.5 oz. rum, 1.5 oz. vodka)

One iced coffee

Three beignets

3:30 p.m.

Finish what’s left of duck po boy and water

Continuance and conclusion of same ring pop

I take a one mile walk to find a parade that ended up running about four hours late.

6:00 p.m.

Mass dehydration

15 handscoops of N.O. city water from the sink of a boutique hotel bathroom.

I return from my walk just in time to see a girl, no taller than 5’3’’, yelling at two 350 pound six-foot black guys trying to cut the theme-park sized line to the port-o-johns. After about 30 seconds of this, they turn around and leave.

7:00 p.m.

Still dehydrated, I walk across an ocean of drunkards to the gas station across the street. The line is about 60 people long for the convenience store. We wait about fifteen minutes to get inside. This seems longer because I’ve called my mom for some reason. Time passes really slowly at this point.

After exiting the store, we try to make our way back to where we had left our friends. In a straight line this is no more than 350 feet however the police barricades make the route much more circuitous. As we cross one of the streets, I am struck by a young black woman trying to catch a football. For some reason, I apologize. She says nothing but is fine and unhurt. However, some people have seen this and probably do not look favorably upon the 6’1’’ white dude who got in the way of the Immaculate Mardi Gras Reception.

Five seconds later

Leading the way for my friend’s girlfriend and accompanied by no one else, I am constantly saying “excuse me” and “sorry” as we attempt to get back to where our friends are awaiting the parade. I see a good path to get through and say “excuse me” to a 5’10’’ black guy with a red shirt, baggy jeans, and black winter cap. He’s standing on the curb of the street and I we have to walk by him to get to the relatively clear path behind him.

“Excuse me,” I say.

“Nah.”

I’m under the impression that he thinks that I am trying to stand in front of him to catch beads.

“Oh, we’re just trying to get by, we’re not trying to stay here,” I respond.

He’s stone faced, arms crossed, and looking like the front of a rap album.

“No, you gon’ hafta find anutha way.”

Ooookkkaayyy… I understand where this could be going. I look at the other eight dudes with him, considerably taller, and they look back at me (white, 6’1’’, just bowled over their black friend). I think I can take them though. My friend’s girlfriend is a solid 5’8’’, 120 pound Spanish girl who has a black eye because a dude on a float threw a cup and popped a blood vessel in her eye. This is a fight that we can win! In response to the most threatened look I have ever been given, I do about the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls and walk away.

It’s only at five a.m. the next morning that I realize what I could have gotten myself into. What, at the time, I had thought was a wanna-be gangbanger, was an authentic one.

Playing back what an asshole this guy was, for some reason, I remember the red shirt. What was it about that red shirt? His friends were all wearing that fucking red shirt. Why is this sticking out?

Ooooooooooohhhhhh shiiiiittttt!!!

It had taken me ten hours to realize it. I had just had my first of what will hopefully be a burgeoning relationship of close encounters with a division of the world famous Blood gang.

I won this fight.

7:30 p.m.

One liter of water after pissing myself.

One liter orange Gatorade.

One turkey and swiss sandwich

One beer

My friend has been making out with his ex-girlfriend from 3:30 until 9:30. Somehow, he has still caught more beads than me and was later overheard asking her the following question:

“So…we’re having sex tonight right?”

We add an eighth to our clown car of seven and it takes a half an hour to drive three miles home in crazy after-parade traffic.

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Footnotes:

2 tsp of milk, no sugar.

Yeah it’s ironic. Shut up douchebag.

Brilliant bouquet.

I bought this along with the Spiderman cookie yesterday. I had wanted to wear this for quite some time but had never found an appropriate setting. In retrospect, it’s a pretty good parameter for an awesome city. The following is a small list of places it is perfectly acceptable for a 23 year old to eat a ring pop: New Orleans, Vegas, Austin, New York after 10 p.m.

Thank G-d for this water as minutes before I had nearly fainted from mass dehydration. I somehow managed to scrounge up the last vestige of willpower law school has left me and fought it off.

This bathroom was like the fucking grail, secluded in an alcove behind two double doors.

I’m up at five a.m. because the cats are driving me insane with allergies and I’m finishing my second Wesley Snipes movie of the night through red eyes and a runny nose.

Aside from the jeans, eyes, and balls, I wasn’t wearing any blue. If there are any Crips out there reading this, I’m in. Those Bloods are assholes.

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My Analysis, Yer Analysis Part III: A Primary Source Account of Mardi Gras as told through my colon

Sunday, February 22, 2009 - 12:35 a.m.

One Wendys Baconator,Three chicken nuggets, Fries w/sweet n’ sour sauce

Diet coke.

Food coma

10:30 a.m.

I am awakened to the sight of a friend’s lower appendage. He made out with a girl at the parade for as long as I watched movies that night. He greets me with the following introduction.

“Wake up. Smell my dick.”

He doesn’t even have her number in his phone. (Can I move back here now?)

Two shots of tequila, One beer, One bite of a praline

12:30 p.m.

Okay, this is all in one sitting and marks the apotheosis of the trip:

At this point, I’d like to thank The Court of the Two Sisters $35 buffet, the Owner of a silver Saab, one couple who would have kept me up more than the cats had I decided to sleep in the spare adjacent room next to theirs, the girl who kept up with me at the buffet, and a friend who woke me up by saying “smell my dick.”

Eight waters, One bloody mary

Plate One

Two scoops of chicken curry salad

One scoop of regular chicken salad

Two cocktail shrimp with remoulade sauce

One small slice of cornbread

One scoop of crawfish pasta salad.

*I’d like to note that I got called a pussy right here.

Plate Two

(all on one medium-sized plate)

One gob of creamed spinach

One ice cream scoop of mashed potatoes

Three ladles of jambalaya with sausage

Three scoops of crawfish louise

Duck l’orange

Sweet potato salad

Veal grillades

I order a sequel to my bloody mary. I dip my fingers into the warm lemon water finger bowls they just gave us.

Plate Three

One carrot cake

Three slices of bacon eaten concurrently with bread pudding

Three scoops of bread pudding

Four helpings of bananas foster

Plate Four

Three scoops of chicken curry salad

One chocolate cream cake

One piece of king cake.

These were mashed together on a dare and eaten in one bite. They were further mashed by “smell my dick” and I continued eating.

3:30 p.m.

One liter of melon Gatorade

Seven beers.

I see the Budweiser Clydesdales and dalmation for the fourth time in as many days. A woman knocks on my locked port-o-john door and I open it. She’s hammered with raccoon eyes and a litter of kids. I’d call child services if I knew the number.

Three minutes after the parade, the city police empty an endless number of vans containing Orleans Parrish Prisoners. Apparently, the OPP have been assigned to clean up my mess. Most of them are here because they made a mess themselves. Nine times out of ten, this crime is for pissing in public or some other minor ordinance violation they couldn’t make bail for. I feel bad but at the same time it’s a fitting punishment: Cleaning up beer cans from excessive drinking. Punishment for their own crime of pissing in public that undoubtedly stemmed from their own heavy drinking.

9:00 p.m.

1 cup of miso soup

4 cups of tea, 8 glasses of water

One wasabi laced mussel shooter.

One plate of noodles and chicken

One bite of crab salad

One chicken tempura dipped in some kind of soy-based sauce

15-20 sushi rolls of 9 different varieties

It’s dead on arrival and I pass out on the couch.

Monday, February 23, 2009 - 4:51 a.m.

Three handfuls of New Orleans city water

Twenty-five tortilla chips from the lower-mid to the bottom of the bag

Airport 6:15 a.m.

One 15 oz chocolate milk

One raspberry jam filled, glazed Krispy Kreme donut.

Back home 11:38 a.m. Eastern Standard Time

One surprisingly unbroken scale.

Somehow I only gained seven pounds this weekend. This may be due to the recent amputation of my left foot to combat a random diagnosis of adult onset diabetes. No more spiderman sugar cookies I guess.

End, February 23, 2009 - 11:39 a.m.

One tingling left arm.

My esophagus and once small (Newly Extenze-did) intestine contributed to this report.

coleslawblog.com

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Footnotes:

Movies watched due to Diet Coke: last 15 minutes of New Jack City, last 30 minutes of Reindeer Games, 4 minutes of Katt Williams standup, 60 seconds of Three’s Company, last 75 minutes of Die Hard, last 10 mins Gangs of New York (this is not a good movie and does not hold up, watch it again, it is really bad), The Fan (DeNiro, Snipes, the worst of the seven).

It’s like stuffing crawfish and mashed potatoes had a ménage a trios and this is their freaky baby.

While having a conversation about the fall of Sandra Bullock, my friend and I are alerted to the mental state of the seven people we have met up with. I overhear the following line. Keep in mind that he is standing no more than two feet from a cop. It is not loud and the floats have not started yet: “These shrooms are awesome.” No repercussions from this. Awesome.

Yeah you know me.

One sinus attack

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