January 02, 2002
And we're back! It's been a long time between posts here at the Donk, but I hope to be back at full posting strength within a few minutes. New Year's Eve was spent in historic Philadelphia with Rachel and my friend Keith at the home of friends of Geoff and Shannon Dimasi (whose wedding was a highlight of 2001), followed by some much-needed crashing at the home of my sister's boyfriend Pat. Shannon's spanakopitas were delicious, the beer was cold and tasty, and, most importantly, Rachel looked absolutely stunning in a backless number. I'm a lucky guy.
Now, the more observant and Northeastern among you will have already said, "Wait a minute! New Year's Day?! Philadelphia?! Drunken 50-year-old Irish guys wearing harlequin costumes with feather-covered angel wings?! That can only mean one thing: MUMMERS!" Yes, the Philadelphia Mummers Parade, a New Year's tradition for over 100 breathtakingly strange years. The Mummers Parade, an event that's huge inside Philadelphia and almost virtually unknown outside, lasts over 12 hours and involves groups competing in a dizzyingly complex variety of categories, pretty much all of which seem to involve the aforementioned drunk 50-year-old Irish guys wearing feathers. We didn't actually see any of the parade proper (at least not live, though we did catch some of the wall-to-wall local coverage), but we ate at a diner near the parade route end, so we were able to see some of the aftermath. Ah, nothing gets me ready for eggs benedict like a smashed, overall made-up fat guy doing the two step down the middle of a busy street.
As an amusing side note, the worst beating I ever saw a guy get was at the other New Year's Day I spent in Philly, back in 1996. The Eagles had just destroyed the Lions in the Wild Card and were getting ready for a big game against the Cowboys (which they would lose 30-11). Geoff, Shannon, and I were watching the parade when I noticed the extremely bizarre sight of some guy wearing a Cowboys jersey in Philadelphia. I turned to notify Geoff, so that he may have a story to tell his grandkids, but by the time we turned back the man was invisible beneath a sea of fists and boots, all wielded by men wearing Eagles green. There's a lesson there, folks.
Now, the more observant and Northeastern among you will have already said, "Wait a minute! New Year's Day?! Philadelphia?! Drunken 50-year-old Irish guys wearing harlequin costumes with feather-covered angel wings?! That can only mean one thing: MUMMERS!" Yes, the Philadelphia Mummers Parade, a New Year's tradition for over 100 breathtakingly strange years. The Mummers Parade, an event that's huge inside Philadelphia and almost virtually unknown outside, lasts over 12 hours and involves groups competing in a dizzyingly complex variety of categories, pretty much all of which seem to involve the aforementioned drunk 50-year-old Irish guys wearing feathers. We didn't actually see any of the parade proper (at least not live, though we did catch some of the wall-to-wall local coverage), but we ate at a diner near the parade route end, so we were able to see some of the aftermath. Ah, nothing gets me ready for eggs benedict like a smashed, overall made-up fat guy doing the two step down the middle of a busy street.
As an amusing side note, the worst beating I ever saw a guy get was at the other New Year's Day I spent in Philly, back in 1996. The Eagles had just destroyed the Lions in the Wild Card and were getting ready for a big game against the Cowboys (which they would lose 30-11). Geoff, Shannon, and I were watching the parade when I noticed the extremely bizarre sight of some guy wearing a Cowboys jersey in Philadelphia. I turned to notify Geoff, so that he may have a story to tell his grandkids, but by the time we turned back the man was invisible beneath a sea of fists and boots, all wielded by men wearing Eagles green. There's a lesson there, folks.
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