Editor’s note: The Press-Register holds exclusive global rights to reportage of the Masked Observer, a mysterious denizen of the Leisure Class who covers the local Mardi Gras scene.

Here we are, once again in the Season of Throwing Things, known locally as Mardi Gras. We’ve all been among the masses, screaming our throats raw for something — anything! — a masker might want to part with. And while most of what we receive just ends up in eventual piles for wavering consideration, if we were to be truthful, what we’re actually clamoring for the opportunity to catch a spark. A tiny fragment of something so mystical we’ll immediately be transported and transfixed just for having interacted with it.

That’s what Carnival means to the Masked Observer, and so many he has served for now 30 years. We commune to celebrate something that wouldn’t exist without us, and shout our thanks to those who choose their own ways to collaborate. As we learned in the very recent past, isolation cannot endure in a Mardi Gras society, thanks be to God or Elexis or Felix or whomever.

If you missed the highlight of this intro, 2023 marks the 30th anniversary of this denizen’s reportage, which is reason enough for he and his coterie to exclaim their appreciation. In honor of such, we’ve decided to answer a few of the more frequent questions sent to Goat Island over the last three decades. Questions sent in by you, our revelrous audience, for who we are eternally grateful. May you all have a wondrous season, and we’ll see you in the shadows.

What are you looking forward to most in the 2023 Carnival season?

Last year, the city debuted a Brass Band Showcase in Cathedral Square during LoDa Artwalk, and at first the Observer shook his head figuring it was going to create absolute chaos in the midst of the parade. But the opposite happened as, throughout the parade, a cacophony of competing exhalations rang within the parade route. Families were able to juke and jive to high-quality bands from all over the region in the grass, then head a couple of blocks to await the boom boom over the barricades.

This year’s redux is happening on Feb. 10, and promises to be bigger and better. All Dark Hallway asks is that folks take a little less time choosing their fare from the food trucks so he can stockpile his traditional “pocket corn dogs” a bit more efficiently.

Who’s your favorite cohort from the Crewe d’Observe?

Without fail, or shade in Dark Hallway’s direction, it is without a doubt Floral Headpiece. While the Masked One always identifies her with modifiers like “social secretary” and “elegant assistant,” Ms. Headpiece is actually the steward of Mobile’s intricate history and heritage. Her reach has yet-undiscovered limits in terms of what makes Mobile Bay, and her birthright Carnival, so significant and special.

Her grasp of yesterday’s news is so distinct, most of us have always assumed the past was actually the playground of dusty dullards had they not had Floral Headpiece to infuse their exploits, achievements and catastrophes with the brushwork of a master’s stroke. The Observer is especially grateful that she’s not only provided all the contrast and context to make his stories great, but to be so humble as not to insist it be her byline they follow when published. He couldn’t have reached Year Two without her, lest a third decade.

What is your favorite Mardi Gras tradition?

It’s been opined throughout these pages many, many times before, but to the Masked Observer, without a doubt, the greatest gift Carnival gives to its celebrants each year is the People’s Parade, aka Joe Cain Day, or Sunday Gras, as we like to call it. It still marvels locals and tourists alike that there is a grand celebration open to any and all, as long as they adhere to the loosest of rules and suggested behaviors.

Joe Cain Day makes Bienville Square an epicenter of fellowship, due to its daytime kickoff, and without the deleterious desperation that can at times consume the green spaces on Fat Tuesday. In fact, Judy Rayford’s glorious imagination continues to inspire, as the good folks of South Mobile County have resurrected their second weekend of early Mardi Gras celebration with the Dauphin Island People’s Parade. As the revelers of the infant Massacre Island Secret Society can attest, there may not be a better place to put footmarchers than the streets of the Isle Dauphine.

Are there any traditions you’d like to see fade away?

The one that comes to mind is associated with the annual Domino Double Rush procession across downtown Mobile in advance of the Athelstan Club’s signature social event.

Long considered the county seat of the Mobile Carnival Association, for nearly a century and a half the club has welcomed each season’s debutantes to its four-story perch on Bienville Square for an evening of Bacchanalia in advance of the review stand going up outside its front doors. Reports from deep within the AC always portend of a splendid time had by all each January, but the procession still includes a dozen or so masked marshals carrying sizzling flambeaux through the city center wearing robes with pointy hoods.

There’s no doubt this ceremony has ties to ancient lore — the club itself pays homage to Anglo-Saxon King Athelstan, who ruled in the 10th Century — but it’s possible that moving through public spaces in such a manner isn’t the most thoughtful way to start a sprawling secret soiree. That might be why, from year to year, some of the guests have been overheard asking, “Is this when we finally end up on CNN?”