2003-02-23 16:07![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldisciplineI think I can claim to be a native N'Orleanean (or whatever the fuck the locals are called), because I've had a couple of crawfish boils, sat through a hurricane, and now I've been inconvenienced & resentful of Mardi Gras and its attendant parade shite.
Okay, so yesterday was some sort of parade. Several, actually.
I hate parades. I'd rather shave my nuts with a butterknife than watch a fucking parade.
First, on Friday, the queue of floats blocked me into my apartment complex for half an hour when I tried to go back to the office from taking lunch. Grand.
Second, Saturday afternoon, said floats had both major roads (read: all means of egress/ingress) blocked, so something as simple as stepping out for milk and other comestibles became a fucking gauntlet, dodging Police escorts, marching bands, and people with lawn chairs set up on medians, and that's just where the roads were still open. (This was duplicated today. How lovely).
Third, the parade we attended last night, down on St. Charles. Traffic across the Mississippi was blocked to a crawl, because a train of floats blocking a lane and a half - not parading, mind you, just trundling along, dumping skeins of empty plastic bags (very evocative of the image from one of the cyberpunk novels I've ingested where one character relates to another how, downwind of Mexico City, they have a forest of plastic trees - living trees that were entombed by the millions of discarded bags, which mummified and killed them, yet kept accreting them out of the air).
We eventually made it to our vantage point of choice (near a bar we frequent), and, thankfully, K's coworkers were generous with their beer (although with temps in the 40's, it wasn't prime tailgating weather, though they did stay cold).
Just to dispell those ideas and misconceptions those of you who think MG is all coeds flashing their tits for beads. . . no tits. NONE. Maybe in the FQ on the last couple of parade days, but this was a "family parade."
Or would have been, if technical difficulties (read: a tractor that, depening on who you listened to, either ran into a van or blew a tire), five floats in, and proceeded to halt the proceedings for more than an hour.
Let me just say that, standing around, freezing your hands off, surrounded by shitty parents with bratty urchins and drunken college tourists didn't improve my mood any. Three beers and a SoCo & Red Bull helped slightly, but. . .
Yes, we ended up with a bucketload of beads, and I did score royalty swag (a special kind of necklace that the "nobility" of the parade throws - ask someone who cares to explain it, all I know is I got some beads with a putple anodized aluminum pendant on 'em).
It sucked less than I thought it would, but, frankly, I'm not going back without a fifth of liquor and the guarantee of some very nice tits being shoved in my face.
I hate parades.
Okay, so yesterday was some sort of parade. Several, actually.
I hate parades. I'd rather shave my nuts with a butterknife than watch a fucking parade.
First, on Friday, the queue of floats blocked me into my apartment complex for half an hour when I tried to go back to the office from taking lunch. Grand.
Second, Saturday afternoon, said floats had both major roads (read: all means of egress/ingress) blocked, so something as simple as stepping out for milk and other comestibles became a fucking gauntlet, dodging Police escorts, marching bands, and people with lawn chairs set up on medians, and that's just where the roads were still open. (This was duplicated today. How lovely).
Third, the parade we attended last night, down on St. Charles. Traffic across the Mississippi was blocked to a crawl, because a train of floats blocking a lane and a half - not parading, mind you, just trundling along, dumping skeins of empty plastic bags (very evocative of the image from one of the cyberpunk novels I've ingested where one character relates to another how, downwind of Mexico City, they have a forest of plastic trees - living trees that were entombed by the millions of discarded bags, which mummified and killed them, yet kept accreting them out of the air).
We eventually made it to our vantage point of choice (near a bar we frequent), and, thankfully, K's coworkers were generous with their beer (although with temps in the 40's, it wasn't prime tailgating weather, though they did stay cold).
Just to dispell those ideas and misconceptions those of you who think MG is all coeds flashing their tits for beads. . . no tits. NONE. Maybe in the FQ on the last couple of parade days, but this was a "family parade."
Or would have been, if technical difficulties (read: a tractor that, depening on who you listened to, either ran into a van or blew a tire), five floats in, and proceeded to halt the proceedings for more than an hour.
Let me just say that, standing around, freezing your hands off, surrounded by shitty parents with bratty urchins and drunken college tourists didn't improve my mood any. Three beers and a SoCo & Red Bull helped slightly, but. . .
Yes, we ended up with a bucketload of beads, and I did score royalty swag (a special kind of necklace that the "nobility" of the parade throws - ask someone who cares to explain it, all I know is I got some beads with a putple anodized aluminum pendant on 'em).
It sucked less than I thought it would, but, frankly, I'm not going back without a fifth of liquor and the guarantee of some very nice tits being shoved in my face.
I hate parades.
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Edge Pro Gel. The blue kind, I think.
In NY, you have a subway and a grid of streets to use as alternate routes, unless you're hell-bent on the BQE/WBE. Here, there are only -two- roads I can use, so I am essentially being sealed off from the world and being laid seige to by these fucking parades. gahhhh.
How much snow did you guys get? was it twenty inches? that doesn't even close the schools back home, me fine feathered fink. and, in true buffalonian fashion, i was about the only person out there without a damn jacket on. there were people in goddamned parkas.
what can i say, holding a cold beer in a chilly breeze makes my hand bitchy. and later, it makes it feel like your "special" hand-job, you know which one i'm talking about (*smirk*)