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" NEW ORLEANS \u2014 There exists a terrifying moment on any given Saturday morning in New Orleans. It&amp;#039;s when you bolt up, bleary eyed and confused. &amp;quot;My God,&amp;quot; you wonder to yourself, &amp;quot;will this day offer me any cause to dress up in a costume and drink cheap liquor in the streets with thousands of strangers?&amp;quot; The answer to this question is, almost always, &amp;quot;yes.&amp;quot; New Orleans&amp;#039; lack of open container law is a wonderful thing.  Such was the case when a huge crowd of early risersgathered outside the Convention Center in the beating July sun for a recent addition to the city&amp;#039;s assortment of street festivals: San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, usually just called the running of the bulls. Based on the Spanish festival of the same name, the idea is simple: to get drunk and run around at 8 o&amp;#039;clock in the morning while roller derby girls dressed as bulls hit you with Wiffle bats. A city of dreams, they call it... Somebody managed to realize this particular dream with frightening clarity.  A small event at first, the obvious appeal has swelled attendance to something north of 15,000. The traditional San Fermin costume \u2013 red scarf, white shirt, and pants \u2013 dominates the crowd, but mostly as variations on a theme. In some cases the red scarf is replaced by a red Speedo and the rest of the clothes done away with entirely; in others pirate hats, face paint, corsets, and various Mardi Gras leftovers complete an ensemble. The chosen accessory for the day is a re-sealable container full of sangria \u2013 a number of people also sported Mariachi hats or sombreros, because hey, people speak Spanish in Mexico too.  The aesthetic centerpiece of the event, however, are the bulls themselves. Hundreds strong and hailing from as far away as Alaska, they stand tall on their roller skates, brandishing bats and bearing fierce plastic horns. The Krewe of the Rolling Elvi is in attendance, as usual, and I should hardly have to explain that this is a large group of civic-minded men who dress up as Elvis and ride around on scooters.  As the crowd gets moving it stays dense, scattering and churning when people hear the rolling of a &amp;quot;bull&amp;quot; behind them or just decide to run and scream for no reason. The energy rises as the bulls charge through, yelling with the manic enthusiasm only afforded people decked in ceremonial horns and given free reign to hit strangers with bats. We don&amp;#039;t need the spiked bras and men with targets painted on their butts to get a strong S&amp;amp;amp;M vibe, but we&amp;#039;ve got them anyway. It&amp;#039;s a leisurely pace -- one must stay focused on the sangria, after all. Harder swats are generally awarded to those that try to run. Few will make it out of the short course through the business district unscathed.  The running of the bulls comes at tough time in the yearly calendar -- Mardi Gras and Jazzfest are memories, and there&amp;#039;s little else to do beside flounder in the oppressive heat and speculate on the anxiety surrounding the upcoming hurricane and Saints seasons. One must pass the time somehow... Judging by the man asleep under a tree in red underwear and clutching a water bottle full of sangria at 9 o&amp;#039;clock the morning, this is one area in which the city is well versed.  "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/news/a29367/running-with-the-bulls-in-nola/>