Someone once said that April is the cruelest month. I think it was Engelbert Humperdinck. Or Elmo. Some guy whose name starts with “E”.

But who said it isn’t important. What’s important is, that asshole was wrong. April is not the cruelest month. March is.

Chalk it up to global warming, which has shifted everything earlier in the calendar. Or maybe it’s because I live in New Orleans, where spring fever has always kicked in around the middle of February. Whatever the reason, March seems to be when everyone and her grandmother get a little stir crazy and start planning concerts and festivals and quilting bees.

I am not ready for this. As much as I hate the cold, I would rather endure a few more months of winter, which might encourage folks to stay quietly bundled up in their living rooms, toasting their asses beside antiquated space heaters, their metabolisms and levels of enthusiasm running low. I am not ready for being social just yet.

But like Lindsay Lohan strung out on coke, cruising down Santa Monica Boulevard in a Porsche 911 Turbo S at 2:00am on a Tuesday morning, time stops for no man. And so, I’m going with the flow. I have no choice.

Which is my way of saying that we have a show next weekend. Won’t you please join us? It’s going to be fabulous and raunchy, with dirty jokes and striptease and talk of titties. Yes: TITTIES. We’re really stretching ourselves. We’re breaking new ground.

See you there.

Here is a conundrum: since fourth grade I’ve been involved in theatre, I have a degree in theatre, and I currently work with a theatre company in New Orleans. Some of the first shows I ever did in the theatre were musicals. And yet: I hate musicals.

“Hate” is a strong word. Let me rephrase that: I don’t hate musicals, I’m just very, very, very wary of them. And in fairness, it’s probably because I’m getting old.

As a kid, the premise of musicals — the literally fantastic idea that entire groups of people would suddenly break into song and dance — didn’t bother me at all. I mean, my parents took me to plenty of Disney movies. What was the difference between a pack of singing mice on screen and a posse of singing cowboys on stage?

With age, however, comes experience. More specifically: bad experiences. I’ve seen more terrible musicals than Rose Kennedy saw funerals. I’ve choked on plot twists more times than Lindsay Lohan has choked on ‘nads. (Then again, she’s surely developed a gag reflex by now.) I have been through some shit, is what I’m saying.

Comic musicals are a little easier to swallow because they don’t usually take things too seriously. Nine times out of ten, they’re more interested in entertaining audiences than getting all wrapped up in “art”. Dramatic musicals, on the other hand? Break out the Klonopin.

I mention this because someone in San Francisco is writing a musical about the fire at the UpStairs Lounge. And I am not entirely sure what to think.

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If you’re heading to New Orleans within the next few weeks, there are plenty of ways find Carnival-themed fun.* Gambit’s Best of New Orleans website is a great place to start your research, and if you like the printed word, every Walgreens in town has copies of Arthur Hardy’s Mardi Gras Guide.

I’ve also cobbled together a few Carnival pointers of my own, which should give you a sense of what to expect during your visit.

But beyond the basics, there are other Carnival rules to consider. Well, maybe not “rules” per se — more like “tips” that will make your trip much more pleasant.

Here are nine of my tips for having a successful Carnival. There are plenty more where these came from, so if you still have burning questions when you reach the bottom of the page, feel free to drop me a line.

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A few things to note about the photo above:

1. The guy on the left is Moshe Benabou, whose previous job duties included “protecting Israel” and “protecting Justin Bieber”.

2. So far as I know, he did not carry out those duties at the same time. Though if he did, he clearly failed to protect Israel from Bieber Fever.

3. Presumably, Benabou first served in the Israeli army (as most citizens of that country must do), then moved to Hollywood and began hawking himself as a gun-for-hire.

4. Rumor has it that Benabou claimed to have worked for Justin Timberlake before being recruited by the Biebs. Rumor also has it that such claims are bald-faced lies.

5. Benabou no longer works for Bieber.

6. Bieber says that Benabou was fired for lying his pants off — for example, by claiming to have worked for Justin Timberlake.

7. Benabou says he quit because Bieber hit him.

8. Please look at that photo again.

9. I repeat: Benabou says he quit because Bieber hit him. He is suing the Biebs for assault, battery, and $420,000 in unpaid overtime.

10. Speaking of pants off: there’s only one litigious guy in that photo that I would do, though he would first have to remove his ill-advised swim trunks. My choice puts me at odds with several bajillion prepubescent girls.

[via The Superficial]