Now that the moderation of Lent is in full swing here in Christendom, we may reflect on those soggy days between Twelfth Night and Ash Wednesday during which, to say goodbye to (figurative) meat, good Christians gorged on (figurative) meat. They call it Carnival, and in a few Southern cities the oldest and richest families indulge their fellow citizens with public revelry in honor of the season. Their intention is to increase happiness, inducing a kind of pan-eudaimonium, but in practice, the second prefix is elided, and the result is just pandemonium, albeit controlled.
As in other less-than lawful contexts (the wild west, prison, inner-city streets), the easiest way to survive and enjoy oneself is to join a gang. You're bound to knock into other people in the close quarters along any parade route, in the shuffle for throws and a view, and it is best for everyone if that isn't your first introduction. If it must be, it helps to have numbers behind you.
Also, it is safer to drink more in greater numbers, and a strong argument could be made that intoxication is a necessary condition for enjoying a Carnival parade.
It should be clear that it is not ideal to go to a parade on a date, or with your partner only, because the result will be that you get bumped into, spilled on, and kept away from the parade route, with no recourse to either friends or liquor.
The ideal way to spend Carnival with your partner is with a bottle of champagne and your own house. That is, I assume, why parades are also televised. The ideal way to spend Carnival at all is by feasting on literal meat, king cakes, and other feast-worthy morsels, and not to go to parades. But be aware of the interference to your route to the grocery offered by parades, and plan ahead.
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