Ok, I know that “New Orleans” sounds great and all but people really have to slow down and think about what is there and what we got there. I’m pretty sure that if you really think about it you’ll realize that there’s no party like a Vandy Party starting with the….

Vandy Cards! Oh yeah sure you can throw some beads and get a look at some boobs, but you can also flash your Vandy Card here and say “Bitch, I’m here for the party”. Boobs are great, but acting like a big cocky douche bag is definitely better. Besides beads are cheap, and everyone knows Vandy students are way classier than beads. That’s why we drink Natty light, and get sloppy with each other on the dance floor and…. Ok…. So maybe “classy” isn’t really the best word, but who the hell cares about plastic toys made in China? The only thing at Vandy that comes from China is…

Our Food! Mmm Branscomb breakfast (and the secret ingredient is mercury!) is so delicious. What’s that you say? Feeling ritzy? Well come on down to the Qdoba on West End where you get to eat with every single stoner in Nashville. Stoner’s have a lot of advantageous over New Orleans. First of all they are quiet, second of all they are really fucking quiet and third of all they’re like the nicest people in the world…. I think…. I’ve never really gotten that close to one. But really there is one thing at Vandy that stands far and beyond better than New Orleans and that’s….

Our Crime Rate! Question time, which one would you rather like inserted into your body, a stomach pump, or a rusty shank? Yeah, I thought so, I don’t know about you but I like NOT worrying about if my tetanus shots are up to date. But violent crime isn’t your only concern at New Orleans; you’ve got to watch out for pick-pocketers too. Let’s be honest, no Vandy kid is stealing from you period. Anything that Vandy Boy or Vandy Girl wants, they get from Mommy or Daddy, and why steal when you can buy? New Orleans is a little different, aka poor aka they steal, aka you will lose all your credit cards and cell phone when you are drunk, aka enjoy the twenty hours of phone calls to Burkina Fasa and Azerbaijan, aka your parents are NOT buying you your 4^th iPhone replacement. So yeah, crime, enough said.

Now that I established that Vandy is clearly the better party place for Mardi Gras, I bet you all want to just sell your plane tickets and hotel rooms for like a fifth of the price now. Well that’s the smartest decision you’ve made since… well ever…. Oh and if you happen to be selling those tickets, please shoot me an email…. I think I know some random guy that may be willing to take them off your hands.

New Orleans during Mardi Gras, probably better known as the “Mecca of Partying” for people of all ages, is the place to be this upcoming weekend. I mean, screw you Vanderbubble-bound guys, I’m going home and experiencing the best of what my city has to offer, which will possibly be better than ever now that the Saints have just won the Superbowl for the first time. (A cool Brees rolled in and I…jazzed in my pants.) Week-long, full-fledged Mardi Gras. The greatness can only be calculated by the city’s vast volume of vomit that will accumulate after night after night after night of partying.

I really do pity you people who will be stuck on campus “celebrating” the blandness of regular everyday life as someone tries to fool you into thinking that “Vandy Gras,” a shitty substitute for the real thing, is actually worth staying around for. I applaud the attempt to capture the essence of my city, but Vandy’s “Masquerade Ball” is probably being thrown by a bunch of people who have never even attended a real one and who have probably never even been to NOLA.

As if this notion is not implicit enough already, let me make the comparisons more clear.

When I’m back in the homelands hearing people yell out “Show me your tits!,” you’ll be stuck hearing the rent-a-cops mumbling “Show me your Vandy card” every time you re-enter your dorms. Moreover, the likelihood of me seeing a nice set of ta-ta’s is a lot higher than you getting a peek down some chick’s shirt at a frat party, and my view will probably be better too. Besides, live jazz music and legit show-stopping marching bands just easily crush the same, sorry, sad, sucker songs of Lady GaGa and Miley Cyrus. This is a New Orleans party now, biotch!

As if this weekend can’t get any better already, I’m also turning legal, so when I’m getting smashed in public with the rest of my Crescent City brethren holding a New Orleans original “Hand Grenade” drink in one hand and a cheap, fake tomahawk in the other, you’ll be trying to sneak your booze in past the guards. More than likely, they will catch you this weekend, as knowing that it’s soon to be Mardi Gras, they’ll be on high alert for any gym bags that have an oddly boxy shape to them.

While you’re restricted to Nashville’s Broadway Avenue, I’ll be laughing at all of the fools crowded on Bourbon Street. All the locals know that some of the best spots in the city are actually off of the tourist trap that is Bourbon, so we’ll be partying there. Moreover, don’t listen to those stupid Versus writers, I can assert myself and mark my territory by pissing in public. Screw waiting in line. Also, I have no qualms with elbowing old ladies or knocking over small children for a few beads or trinkets. The old ladies should know their place and the little kids will soon learn that it’s just a New Orleans rite of passage. However, back to the pissing, for those of you trying to party on campus, the best you can hope to do is “break the seal” when the Vandy cops are looking away, or you better prepare to get a night sticked through the backdoor.

Lastly, I get real food this weekend. My dad is a fisherman and will be going to be cooking legit New Orleans dishes: fresh seafood gumbo, crab soup, and fried shrimp. I also get fresh slices of King Cake, mugs of Café au Lait, and hot, sticky, sweet beignets that just left the fryer. What do you get? Oh yeah, the same old bland-ass Randwiches and Commoners’ Dinner. Lucky you. And the shrimp that they will try to serve you will most likely be the pre-packaged SYSCO shit imported from another country that doesn’t naturally grow any product of shrimp. (P.S. – Those countries have to make man-made shrimp farms that are filled with antibiotics and, because of that, taste like exactly what they eat: shit.) But for all you Yankees who have never eaten real Gulf shrimp, you have no idea what you’re missing, so continue to eat that pitiful excuse of what Louisiana is famous for.

Hence, if you haven’t made plans to do so already, I highly recommend that you find a way to get down to New Orleans this weekend. Plane, car, raft, hitch-hiking, riding a hobo, whatever, just make it happen. This will probably be one of the best Mardi Gras seasons in decades, and about 15 years from now, when all of your friends are getting drunk and remembering the stories about how Tim was found blacked out on a street corner by a transvestite stripper named “Candy,” you will feel like a total dumbass for missing it. Your papers can be written the night before and you can cram for your tests on the day of, but you I can promise that you will regret missing this for the rest of your life.