“Clavicular” Shows How Masculinity Destroys Men
Here in New Orleans, we just celebrated Mardi Gras, so I’m on a high. Mardi Gras always nourishes my soul. The entire city erupts into a giant party, and it’s not just about boozing, but creative artistic expression. The costumes are stunning—people put so much work into making themselves look beautiful and flamboyant and fascinating. There are elaborate floats, delicious food, joyful music, and people are warm and decent to each other. (Shia LaBeouf did not get the memo.) The day is full of serendipitous, weird, wonderful encounters with strangers. In the morning, a woman came up to me and shouted “Number 14! The cinnamon swirl chose you!” then handed me a (delicious) cinnamon roll with “XIV” written on it in icing. In the afternoon, members of the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra came up to me while I was sitting on my porch, and offered me free tickets to the show if I would let them all use my bathroom. Every year, Mardi Gras reminds me of what it means to be human, what makes our species great, and why it’s worth fighting for a livable future.