Mardi Gras, the block party posted on (Fashion Only Forum 3/8/01)

Model "M" dropped me a line asking if I'd take her to the block party on Fat Tuesday. I'm a sucker for Babes, and this girl's a Babe, so I agreed and she came by. I threw on the trenchcoat, grabbed the old black Pentax and a couple rolls of film, and we headed for Downtown. Parking sucked, so we left the sedan at 14th and E St. and walked in with ten clicks of my brogans to every eight of her four-inch heels, reminding me that her legs were about twenty-five percent longer than mine. Like I said - a Babe.

Streets were jammed for the parade, so we took another emptier route to the party and each paid our own way in. They barely looked at my driver's license, but thoroughly examined hers - twice. The party hadn't kicked off yet, but we knew it would as soon as the parade ended, so we sucked down some suds to avoid the rush at the beer tents later. Then we did it three more times. Or maybe four more times. I found a full beer sitting on a table by one of the tents, and having been taught by Ma to "waste not, want not," I drank that too. Then we elbowed onto the dancing crowd. "M" handed me her coat and bag and danced arms up to the adoration of the eighty percent male crowd. I followed along like a puppy dog obeying non-verbal orders to move a particular masher or two. "M" was now on the shoulders of a guy I later found out was a Marine machine-gunner. She saw me and flashed her chest for the camera. Security made her get down. The band played '80s music, a couple of folks crouched down cracking and weed was in the air. "M" got onto my shoulders and we danced, while I took pictures (and held her coat and bag). There is nothing in the world as good as having one's ears clamped between the thighs of a beautiful young woman.

Security made her get down again. Instead of shoving the mashers she wanted gone, I started telling them she was my wife. Same effect, but way less work. As closing time got closer, the dancing got sorta rough, with mosh-pit slamming knocking off first the lens cap, then my spectacles (recovered), then the hood and filter. There's some good glass on that old Pentax and I really didn't want that super-multi-coating scratched, but there were pictures to make, and I kept shooting while "M" kept dancing.

Then the band stopped. No more beer available either. So we started the hike back to the car, discussing whether the few times it felt to her like she was being pawed from my general direction could have been a result of the overall party atmosphere. That's still under discussion. We talked about other stuff too. Then we got in the sedan and went home.

-Fran Bilder
Private Photographer