Sandman's Journal

My reintroduction to New Orleans was perfect--and surreal. At midnight, after driving nine hours, I pulled into the heart of the Marigny neighborhood and got my boogie on at Mimi's, New Orleans' number one-voted bar.

My welcomers were three beautiful women with powdered white faces and tiny rosebud lips. They wore black character shoes, fishnet stockings, floor-length black crinoline skirts, sequined velvet chokers, and giant white Marie Antoinette wigs adorned with extravagant hot-pink plumage. They had just finished performing at the New Orleans Ballet Association Ball Fundraiser and were enjoying the tropicality of spring's first Saturday.

The whole town was celebrating, it seemed. Frenchmen Street was packed with intoxicated youth of all shades. Sex and jazz poured from opened doors and windows.

At 3 p.m., Xelaju took me to her crib in Uptown and let me spread my sleeping bag on her maroon sofa. Now it's morning, and we are off to a brass band parade called Revolution Second Line.

I missed Halloween, Mardi Gras, and St. Paddy's Day celebrations, but it doesn't appear to matter. In New Orleans, the party never stops.

I like it here. A lot.