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(perhaps with a terrace apartment overlooking the fray) is key. Then again, a brewing buzz does authorize you to stand atop cars or climb trees, doesn't it? Bourbon Street, in the French Quarter, is party Mecca. Live music flows out of tavern windows and private body parts peek out from behind clothing. Flashing is a way of life. Your college, everyone-rush the-keg party conditioning will serve you well here. Escape the fray and walk up to the front porch of a local party. It's possible to waltz into peripheral parade theme parties off St Charles Street, ogle a random lover and engage on-site. No wonder the natives traditionally flee town. - :::- _. Louisiana Blues: my horse-and-buggy cash evaporated and lingering in the mirage was only a convertible car, a guitar I couldn't tune and the lingering battle between my primitive and rational brain. I surmise that Carnival bingeing worldwide, like all bingeing, inevitably returns as an unsuspecting boomerang that whacks you upside the head. Bayou indulgences include life without sleep, hotel room bathtubs full of ice and cocktails and blind attempts at procre- FAST FORWARD. ation. America's hedonist epicenter had its way with me. Now it was decision time: wander somewhere else less tempting and figure out life? Sure. My sage Mardi Gras counsel to aspiring libertines/debauchees is simply the rock technique: just be there. That, and don't misplace your comrades. There are no lifeguard stands to display lost boozers. There is safety in numbers, and it's good to have someone around who still speaks English to explain to police officers your excuse for peeing outside. I have one souvenir from Mardi Gras that hangs on my apartment wall. Dining at sunrise in a greasy spoon, a home-free street-poet offered his neighborly carousing philosophy, "Walk in and grin." That made sense, so I sprung for a key chain he dangled before me: a well-hung bronze man and perky woman hinged in an adjustable coital embrace capable of myriad Kama Sutric suggestions. I drove to the entrance ramp of Interstate 10 and pondered my destiny east to Atlanta or west to Austin? My key chain dangled, vacillating. DAY TECH s E R I E s