My very first parade in New Orleans, four or five years ago, was a neighborhood parade called Vulcan. I knew it was destined to be my favorite parade of all time when I met and subsequently fell in love with a giant anthropomorphic slice of pizza on the parade route.
It was also the parade where I caught my first pair of panties. Did I mention that Vulcan is a neighborhood parade?
We don't like to half-ass our parade watching, so since Vulcan is the first parade of our Mardi Gras season, we go all out as a trial run for the larger parades. We catch the parade right at its start, then we pile all our loot in the family van and drive to the middle of the parade route, where we dig trenches and settle in for the long haul. While entrenched, we occasionally blast the opposite side of the street with dabloons long enough to force them to retreat so we can raid their bags of beads.
It's a lot of fun to watch the kids in the parade. And after we pack up the van for a second time and head to the end of the parade route, it's even more fun to yell "Just five more miles!" to the exhausted band members and dance teams. Nothing is more fun than making tired children cry in the middle of the street, with the exception of flashing foreigners while dressed in a cow outfit.
If you're going to be in the New Orleans area on Sunday thru Tuesday, look for us at the corner of St. Chuck and General Pershing.