Madness, I tell ya

Friday's Masquerade March is my favorite part of the week. Locals, tourists -- everybody -- meeting up at the cemetery gates on Francis Street. Hets go one way, homos another, stopping at similarly themed guesthouses along two routes, where the management provides a refreshing snort.

Then both meet up on Simonton and come down to Duval via Olivia, just half a block from our house. Which means we can see the whole crowd, cheering them on and being photographed ourselves, without the long, raucous walk with the comforts of home nearby.

I think this year had more flesh than usual, but we were a pretty decorous lot: Gene in a remnant he draped into something fabulous, Jerry in a vest from the mystical East, Robert recycling his pirate outfit into Zorro and me in a new Maskerville acquisition.

You can tell the locals: It is the Masquerade March, after all.