…Tuesday night in Pioneer Square. The police were out in their promised droves and operated under the prime directive of Fun Prevention. The thousand or so (almost all-white) Eminem-wannabe doodz who assembled from the suburbs, who hoped for a (less violent) repeat of last year’s unauthorized Mardi Gras street party were thwarted by arrests and citations for any untoward behavior, especially jaywalking. “Jaywalking,” as an arrestable offense, was interpreted to even include walking thru parking spaces. Thus, the doodz (and a very few doodettes) were crammed onto nearly impassible strips of sidewalk outside the Pio. Sq. bars (which, in keeping with city orders not to specially-promote Mardi Gras this year, mainly stuck to their regular fare of techno and white “blooze” attractions). Any dood who stood in one place on the sidewalk, even if the way in front of him was completely blocked, was “politely” ordered by the Fun Police to move along or else. The result: A lot of people out there, almost none of whom looked like they were enjoying the evening. (There were even almost no festive costumes; most doodz preferring to conform to the Abercrombie/Hilfiger uniform standard.)

Eight blocks north on First Avenue, several hundred other young folk were indeed having fun, at the Showbox’s all-ages Gwar show. The theatrcial-metal band’s durable formula of cartoon-gore spectacle was perfect for Fat Tuesday’s traditional meaning of one last debauch before the start of Lenten pentinence. Outside afterwards, the street was filled with sweaty, hard-of-hearing, happily-tired-out guys (and at least some gals) stumbling in blown-away, wide-eyed glee. Many were clad in T-shirts that had become permanently dyed pink-orange, from the band’s having drenched the front moshpit area with fake blood.

The lesson: Banning Mardi Gras isn’t good for anybody. Planning a safe, healthy mass release of pent-up emotions is much preferable.