My camera batteries died early on, which is probably just as well, as I'd rather be catching beads and trinkets than snapping pictures. Still, I did manage to get a few photos. The macabre, slightly bitter edge to this year's parade -- hazmat suits decorated with sequined penises, little people drowning and writing HELP on their roofs while Mayor Nagin lies in bed masturbating -- made me as proud of New Orleans as anything that's happened since our return. Nothing destroys us so thoroughly that we can't make fun of it, and Mardi Gras is a greater force of nature than any hurricane.