New Orleans is arguably the most glorious or frightening setting for celebrating Halloween. It’s not frightening in the haunted house, spooky kind of way. New Orleans is frightening because of its “normal” everyday citizens. Depending on personal preference and sanity level it can be the most glorious of Halloween parties in the country.

Think about it. Halloween is the one night of the year that anyone can take on a completely different identity – many outlandish, satirical or flamboyant – without judgment. New Orleanians by their very nature are excessive, loud and obnoxious. What happens when these heathens are allowed to indulge in an alter ego of their own choice and design without the slightest of inhibitions? The result is a parade of crazy for which those unseasoned to life in the Big Sleazy could find traumatizing.

Distinguishing Halloween from any other day takes effort. In some ways, New Orleans celebrates Halloween on a daily basis. We have ghost tours, we explore cemeteries as a standard pastime and scary costumes can be found from any strip club to gay bar on Bourbon Street on any given Tuesday night. So preparing for the one night of devilish transformation isn’t taken lightly. We step up our game, and for New Orleans, that’s saying a lot.

Not all of us will get invited to a coveted Halloween ball hosted by Anne Rice, Trent Reznor or Brangelina, but not to worry. Frenchmen Street will be more than enough to take in. It might take 30 minutes to get a drink and there’s a chance of getting stepped on by some masked giant in the sea of costumed freaks, but if you’ve got what it takes, the spectacle is worth it.

Then there is always the token few – or many – who insist on not only physically portraying someone else, but mentally as well. Last year it was the Borats who didn’t break character for a minute, propositioning “sexy time” and offending Jews everywhere they went. This year I suspect there will be some Sarah Palins with real wolf blood on the fabric of smart skirt suits, incessantly yelling “drill, baby, drill” to anyone he or she may come in contact with. When it comes to Halloween costumes, New Orleans doesn’t play.

I, for one, am going to take full advantage of this opportunity. I can act like a total jackass for one night without anyone giving it a second thought? Sign me up! I’ll be the appropriately small leprechaun harboring a pot o’ gold and getting belligerently drunk on Jameson. It’s not a matter of taste; it’s a matter of devotion.

If you do venture out into the public display of fetish and fantasy that is New Orleans on Halloween, be prepared to have the best or the worst night of your life.