Mardi Gras has officially started this week. I can't help but reminisce on my early months in New Orleans. I was a 19 year old that was so eager to get on stage, that I left school for the Big Easy. My first parade was the Krewe du Vieux routed on Frenchman. Exiting my gig at Snug Harbor, an entire bag of beads surged towards my face from a float by someone yelling, "smile cutie, it's a parade baaay-bay." Besides getting beamed with a second round (this time candy), I found myself raptured in a party in the streets. Before long, it was time to return to UNO's classes, and I retired my jester hat sleeping off my 7 day diet of hurricanes. Just missing Rex and the Zulu parade, Fat Tuesday rolled in as the baby New Years from my king cake and I fell asleep on my pillow. I had the best view of the city from my window. I would slide the pane open, gazing out over the magnolias smelling above the Mississippi. Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?