In New Orleans, Halloween is like Mardi Gras but less crowded and less naked. Unless you’re Mary Magdalene wearing perky handmade gold sequined snake pasties and little else. If you can’t do it in New Orleans, where can you do it?   

I imported my date from LA and he was very Jesus Christ Super Star with full seventies beard and bleeding wounds from his head and hands. We Rode the Algiers ferry to the French Quarter and raised eyebrows as we made our way down Canal toward the Marigny.

 We met Laura, a perfect little witch, at a sushi bar on Frenchman. We were joined by a sexy pot brownie who invited us to attend an exclusive party at the ancient home of an Italian Count whose chandeliers are worth millions, according to reliable pot brownie girl.                  

               Costumes at the Counts place were off the hook: very  Amadeus meets Alice in Wonderland meets the 5th Element. There were giant white wigs containing bird cages a la Elizabethan diva with hints of Balenciaga. Jesters, Dracula's and every Michael Jackson phase imaginable danced to trance music and funk. High concept movie characters from Clockwork Orange, Shrek, Ghostbusters and The Crow sipped vodka. TV references like La Fluer a.k.a Sawyer in "Lost" held court in full Dharma Initiative jumpsuit. This party was spooky fancy with crazy appetizers of lamb and cupcakes and a professional photo booth. For once, I wasn't handing out appetizers or pouring wine for the guests.    

      Later, at “One Eyed Jacks” we waited for Quintron and Miss Pussycat to go one,but they never did. We waited. And waited. But then it's 3AM and my date was cold and tired of wearing the slippery polyester gown.  His latex stigmata were sadly peeling off and we were running out of spirit gum. I was freezing, tired and stone cold sober.

No cabs would stop. It took ages to get home. Laura called in her special forces taxi cab friend.

      Voodoo fest was a bad move. I scored tickets on Craigslist from a lady who won them on the radio. She admitted she totally cheated with her phone line at work, but I didn’t hold that against her. It's New Orleans where people are friendly and crooked and proud of it.

Friday, the day we went to Voodoo fest was hot and gray, pregnant with possible storms. One minute it’s hot and muggy, the next brings torrential rain and lightning. This is something this native Californian will never get used to. When we exited our taxi it was drizzling.

    Outdoor festivals that turn to slush and mud are a blast for twenty year-old's on opiates who guzzle beer in fun fur bikinis. They huddled and improvised with cardboard pizza boxes for shelter and garbage bags (on sale at festival for $20-highway robbery).

 Even stained and chilled, I loved The Black Keys. After their set, we strolled past tents where more music from local bands played and lots and lots of delicious southern fried food was sold to bedraggled festival goers on soggy paper plates. There was even a car dealership and an Apple store. The desperation of consumerism knows no bounds. Do they really think that kids on mushrooms will stop to buy a laptop on the way to see Eminem? Buy a new car after Fischerspooner?

 bourbon street in the rain

We ended up on Bourbon at my favorite oyster stop across from ACME where there is never a line. We never have to wait for delicious slippery oysters smothered in parmesan cheese at "Desire Oyster Bar" and after the chill of voodoo fest, I needed instant gratification.

Now I'm back in Los Angeles and happy to be in the brusque efficiency of my life here. I'm ready to duck the next pie in the face with my pockets full of talismen and get to my next great concert-The Pixies. Stay tuned..