Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need.

So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

When he came to his senses, he said, "How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men." So he got up and went to his father.

But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

The son said to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."

But the father said to his servants, "Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."

Luke 15:11-32

My heart aches to be a son. And the mercy - that was dearly bought - is freely and undeservingly given. May my penitance - while certainly not equal to the gift - at least be appropriate for what I can offer in my outcast state.

So I find myself in New Orleans on the eve of Marti Gras, which is known in the Big Easy as Lundi Gras. After a day of work and a meeting, my boss and I wandered down to Bourbon Street around 11pm.

The street was packed as tightly as the only elevator in a mall on Christmas Eve. Bodies knocking into each other, as thousands of people each elbow their way to whatever bar or strip club they’re trying to find. I’m being jostled into stillness or motion, depending on what the biggest body in the crowd decides. It’s irritating at first, but there’s a complacency that sets in after about five minutes.

Sixty year old women walk about topless, with elaborate designs painted on their chests, and teenage boys pause to gawk and take pictures of the jiggling tigers, butterflies, flowers and other art pieces that adorn the sagging skin canvases. Balconies sponsored by Trojan, Bacardi, and Frat Boyz are filled with virile youth. Crowds gather on the street below them, and they engage in a base conversation, where beads, breasts, and vulgar gestures take the place of words and phrases. A very hairy man who is clearly wearing nothing but over-sized, Extra-Large overalls and a girl’s urban cowboy straw hat wanders about, enjoying the stares, allowing profile glimpses of his full profile down to the top of his thighs, and gyrating to a tune that only he can hear. Black women in short tight skirts dance with him for a moment and then continue, wiggling and prancing on their way. White girls act coy but secretly pleased to get cat calls: “Show me your boobies! Show me your boobies!” There is no doubt that the street itself – this neighborhood has its own organic life. The street smells literally like human waste, but it bumps, thumps and pulses to competing – yet identical – musics.

The tune is everywhere, people are finding themselves and enjoying life as only the very lonely and the very drunk can. For some reason, the smiles seem sad, the cat calls seem disinterested, and the music seems far away. I finger the beads I purchased, and look down at them. Slowly, the focus of my eyes shifts past the beads that hang from my neck and falls to the hundreds of beads being trampled underfoot on the piss-soaked street. This contrast speaks to me about the fleeting nature of attraction and desire.

I always thought Bourbon Street and the French Quarter to be a happy place. But call it the heeby jeebies, call it psychic intuition, call it whatever you will: this place drains my spirit, it sucks away my happiness, and I will be glad to leave this city and this state tomorrow.

• For example, is your gal a bookie? Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz is a tear-jerking, belly-laughing heart-warmer. A little odd, to be sure, but Odd is a different series, and the conversations in this book are sure to warm the heart of any lovie-dovie book lover.
• Is your gal a music lover? allow me to suggest not a store-bought CD, but a careful, self-made CD of songs that either remind you of her or that you know she'd like.
• Does your gal like movies? Sleeping Beauty is a classic chick flick, and not readily available. It's the story of a man fighting for a chick, girls go ga ga. Also nice, The Importance of Being Earnest, Sense and Sensibility, or Cruel Intentions, depending on the nature of your relationship. The important thing is that its either a movie she's specifically requested or one that caters to the cheesiest, most manby pamby romantic nature of movies. And you have to watch it with her. I know, I know, but the nookie will make it worth your two hours.
• Is your gal a flower girl? Do a twist on the traditional "dozen roses". Try giving her a dozen roses, one at a time, each with a haiku or brief love note attached to it. Or, if you know what her favorite flower is, do some research on it. There's tons of internet superstition attached to almost any flowering plant, and with a little creativity, yo ucan apply it to your relationship. Give the fading flowers a cosmic twist - give her a reason to dry 'em and keep 'em.
• Does your gal have a sweet tooth? For a personalized twist, pass on the Russel Stovers (blech!) and go with a hand-picked basket from Trader Joes, World Market, the international aisle, or some hippie dippy market that features unique sweets. Many women have a preference regarding dark chocolate or milk chocolate, so try to respect that. But if you don't know what she likes, try something different: a sweet from each continent, or a milk, dark, super dark, extra dark, and white chocolate bouquet, combined with whatever fruity stuff might be available.
• Does your lady have a shiny fettish? Jewelry can absolutely be a charming gift. But in my book, its the sentiment behind it that counts. Sure, give your gal that beautiful garnet and diamond necklace, but for a rock star twist, sneak in a little note about the position of the stones, or some significance of the piece, its stones, its shape, its metals - and how it applies to either your relationship or how you feel about her.