Well, I know… It ain’t all that. And I don’t use the word “ain’t” lightly. Sometimes there’s just a place for it. It’s not the old HalfAsstic mast head with all the style and flair, yet it’s not that ridiculous country lane with the dude skulking off in the distance making you wonder what the hell he’d been up to and is he about to break into a run, and are those police lights coming up the road behind him and is he staggering?
Yeah. One of the many default looks, but it got old fast and never looked remotely HalfAsstic.
This one? Not perfect, yet much better.
Now, I am going to try to do better about posting. You have probably heard that from me in the past few years, and I meant it, too. Every single time.
John and I went to Mardi Gras in Galveston the other day. We were invited by a distributing company that supplies beer to his store. We were part of a private party that was on a balcony on The Strand and it was very la tee da.
I’m not sure how much my readers all know about Mardi Gras. It is a very southern experience, and if you’re not from down here it’s probably not something the typical person would know anything much about.
Being on a balcony we were expected to throw beads. Lots and Lots of beads.
This was inside, and really I didn’t spend too much time here. Mostly I was freezing my ass off outside with John.
It was so packed out there it was almost impossible to take pictures except of the street below. And it was too far away for the flash to work well, so really? Not too many good pictures of the crowd or parade.
See the necklaces with the really big beads on John’s and my neck? Guess what the crowd below is expected to do in order to get one of those thrown to them?
Mardi Gras etiquette. No, really. I’m serious.
The first person to respond in comments with the correct answer, I will do something… fabulous for.
Did I mention, it got a bit nippy out there?
Heh! When he finally remembered he wore a shirt with a hood, he didn’t bother to pull his bling to the outside of it before cinching it up. He is holding my drink along with his beer in order for me to take the picture.
All he needs is a couple of cute, long, white ears and he’d look just like the little white bunny on Craig Ferguson.
When it finally became too cold for us to adequately distribute beads we moved on inside and were entertained by none other than Elvis.
Fer Real, people.
And not the old, fat Elvis in the white jumpsuit, either. This guy sounded EXACTLY like him, too.
We chatted with friends, had a few drinks, and danced a good deal. Eventually Elvis had a wardrobe change and came back like this:
He was singing all his hits and we were having a ball. While John and I were out there “getting down”, he all of the sudden grinned and pointed over my shoulder. When I turned around, Elvis was…. making advances to me.
I quickly accessed the situation, ran my hands up and down his chest then threw my arms around his neck and he dipped me.
I don’t think he ever stopped singing or got too far away from the microphone. Very talented professional.
But what would you expect from Elvis?
We met a lot of interesting people…
I wish you could have all been there with us!