In a haphazard state of excitement, I blazed along the path leading to the breezeway from the parking lot. Panting, I rushed towards all the excitement, shouts and laughter vibrating along the building of the old library. Was this it? Had I reached what the signs had been promising me? The lure of release: free beer and prizes? “Mardi Gras 2005”! Would this mean that my eyes would see the filth, profane and wonderful lust of bared breasts, vomit, and orgiastic cries of ecstatic pleasure? Would I actually experience the consuming exchange of naked flesh and plastic beads? Isn’t this what Mardi Gras represents – the last big bang before we abolish our sins in repentance and remorse and confession?
As I got further along the path, the noises grew louder and I got more excited. I could see in the distance crowds of people gathering and splitting, talking and joking. I could smell the perfume of dough frying in pools of oil and sugar, cakes and sweat. Ah-the smell of sweat! There must be action. There must be humans upon humans making the flesh of their bodies wet as they squirm, touching and groping each other. The smell of sin was in the air. I could sense it. And I raced towards it, hoping that I could get in on the action and forget myself for just one night, one night of pure bliss, pleasure, and carnal indulgences.
As I entered the mix, my growing excitement soon went flaccid, and I stood perplexed, disappointed and teased. There was no engaging of the flesh, no communion of the bodies and rarely anything centered on freedom. I mean, isn’t that what Mardi Gras is about: freedom of the mind and the communion of tight bodies piled high, sweating on one another in drunken guises? In my eyes, instead, I saw the inability in all to let loose and to forgo their thoughts and calculated lives. People were huddled around vendors who gave cheer to the crowd in the form of material goods like makeup, sand, paintings and mild entertainment. The crowd, fearful of one another, sought solace in these goods and separated. The three or four tents that littered the grounds even replaced the attention of the thoughtful, beautiful music of the guitar player and his saxophonist, who offered their goods.
A giant void filled the center of the fiesta – the common area, the living room – as the crowd packed into corners. Hardly sinful, less innocent, and mostly fearful, the crowd huddled together and formed a conglomeration of takers.
Yet, I could see the gratitude in the air. I could feel the happiness which these goods and services brought, and I personally thank all who came out and worked so hard on this event. But what does this mean?
In confusion, I began talking to people, asking them how they felt. Mostly, people felt cold or hungry but desperate to change something and to have what they did not have. Could we not have celebrated what we already had and stripped ourselves free of these chains of consumerism, instead becoming ourselves producers? Could we not have pervaded the separation and instead slept on top of each other, tongues hanging out, sideways, crisscrossed? We could have pounced on each other. Maybe we could have brawled and broken some bones; all kissed at once and destroyed the tents; broken down the boxes, the spaces that defined our “party.” For, do we need to be like cats and only ‘go’ in one spot? Can we not tear down the walls? Must our actions be defined by what we are inside; that is to say, if there are goods to give and goods to get then that is all this place is good for?
True, I saw my friends and had great conversations, but I can have those at the cafeteria. I wanted orgies, carnage, and freedom. Instead, I turned around, tripped over some beads, which were definitely not earned in the traditional sense, and ran for my life. I must say, I never want to look back.
