Note the “Holiday, fools!” category.
I may have more later. Going to turkey out in the olde towne Queens.
Below is a clip of meta-absurdity and joy. It involves the parade. I went to the parade once when I was around 11. We lived in a D.C. suburb with my mom at the time and she drove us up to the Vince Lombardi rest area to give us to our dad, who was living in Connecticut. I remember the cold, gray day, with something more than a mist threatening at every second in a cold, wet wind. He must have driven us in, but I have no recollection of where we parked. All I know is that we didn’t take the subway, and we got there early enough to snag a spot at 63rd or so and Central Park West. I think it was around 6 a.m., or maybe a little later. They hadn’t roped off the street yet, and traffic was long cut off, so my father and I threw a football around in the roadway. I remember just the thrill of it all, being around so many people and loving it, and getting to do something I loved with my dad, who I rarely saw but was, at all times, ready to stop and throw a football, which is probably why his three boys did the same. And now here we were, in front of everybody, and we were doing it, and I think we were equally enchanted, even if for different reasons. As we walked off, he said it to me, “Son, let me tell you something. That is the only time you’ll ever play catch on Central Park West.” But the thing was, and this was obvious at the time, this was so obviously about him that it was infecting in its own way. We rarely got to see each other, but when we did this really was the high point of his week or his month, and we were both on a voyage of discovery. Thirty years of school and work, and he never had the chance. We were taking this trip together.
Wow, I did not realize we were going there. How about that. That’s the power of the fresh air, I guess.
I almost can’t post the video now, because it’s too ridiculous for this post. But my solution, and you may already know this, is to click here.