I love a parade

The problem with typical Irish-American culture are all the nasty stereotypes that go along with it, the biggest of which includes the open and sometimes vast consumption of alcohol. It allows people 
not affiliated with our culture a cloud cover to hide behind, and that's getting wildly drunk and/or obnoxious in public without censure, but that's only part of it for us. 

The "pub" is an institution: part community center ("pub", as in a public house that's serves the community), part stage for the art of storytelling that's enhanced with a pint or two, part musician's venue, part restaurant, part psychiatrist's office, part meeting room, part boarding house, part illicit den...in short, it's woven into our culture in many, many different ways, and there's alcohol served as well. 

But, outsiders don't always get those parts, so we tend to stay away from rank amateur hours like the big city parade (that's for tourists!), as we steer our kiddies towards safer havens, like a small town parade. Ours is a bit repetitive and boring, and it sure brings out the loud, nasty drunk who's brazen enough to do it in public for the whole town to see, around children, and under a noonday sun, but that's part of who we are, too. I don't turn away from the bad stuff, and neither should you. We're adults. We can handle it.

Party skills are essential, especially when open container laws are in effect.

Someone's getting the parade "feel"! That's me in the hat and sunglasses.

My café table and aggressor: kids bumped into it and it fell onto my foot.

Tutus from the toy store proprietress in town are always a favorite.

"Hey, I want some popcorn, too!" said the St. Bernard to his new friend.

The Polar Bear Princess wore a tiara over her hat!

Honoring our vets, one pin at a time.

Lots of other geegaws on sale, too.

Nice coat! I love the "Dogs on Parade" part the best.

Our parade always begins with New York's Finest at the lead.

It's not all good looks and glamour: sometimes ya gotta shovel it.

Pomp and circumstance, with music and color. Alright!

Hey, man! Whassup?! Is he walking on stilts?

You know you're good when you can play without hands.

These horses are huge! The sorrel-colored horse is spectacular.

Cute, but the bands' awful. Oh well. Pearl River Pirates are great wrestlers!

North Rockland had the best school band, I thought. Great outfits, too.

No way?! "G.I. Joe with the Kung-Fu Grip" is here! Awesome!

Representing Boston. They took  the "Most Snowfall" category this year.

Big crowd this year, and getting bigger every year.

Soccer kids! They were fun and energetic, also starting a tradition young.

Kids love the parade. They wear costumes and special Irish outfits!

Lots of flash and razzle-dazzle. It's a show, after all!

Adults watching in the shadows, taking it all in.

The party ends with a big dump truck for all the garbage. Reality sets in.

A Gladiator, or two, or three hundred or more, thrown into the mix.

Real heroes with red fire trucks are always welcome at the house on the hill.

Old Houses in Snow

The home that love built (for little Natalie).

We're getting to the point where winter palls on us, especially those drearily dark commuter mornings into the city, rife with delays and power outages; that special time of year when the dirty pile of sidewalk snow on the corner becomes our greatest most hated enemy, the most dreaded, iciest foe to our winter-weary minds: "So ugly!! Grrr!! I almost fell" <shake fist>:o( "I hate you, dirt pile of snow, ice, and slush!!!" 
<shakes fist and slips in patch of black ice that's almost invisible> "Shoveling!!...Again!!...WTF?!", and so forth until it finally ends...again.

Spooky old houses in winter...booo!

Ads on t.v. for Disney vacations and beach trips to the Bahamas become almost every New Yorker's dream of escape. But take heart! You're not alone. February is a short month that's over quickly, and St. Patrick's Day is right around the corner. 

"It was a dark and dreary winter's day, so cold, and alone..."

That means beer (and lots of it), a great little small town parade (BTW, midget pony in the little green coat with the long blond mane needs to come back this year, and this means YOU, lady in acid-washed jeans with the 80s hairdo from New Jersey. I know you are close by, breeding little horses :( , so don't be lazy, and come back to our parade this year!!), corned beef with cabbage, and also leftover breakfasts of crispy pan-fried corned beef hash with lots of ketchup on the side, and yes, that means you, you Pearl River Mick. See you soon!

"Please, no more shoveling. I can't take it anymore! Aggghh!"

Still, it is pretty as a postcard here. Wouldn't change a thing!

Brooklyn Carnival

People of Brooklyn, je t'taime! Yesterday was my first West Indian Day Parade and as a native New Yorker, I can't tell you how much it meant to me. It was wonderful to be there and a lovelier, friendlier crowd would be hard to find. I promise to be less shy next time about choosing food. I was just taking it all in.

Me and my new friends joked about the parade of politicians, officials, and candidates (federal and local) followed by the banks and then the clergy—a walking seat of money and power that is at the core of our country's political system. They took up way too much time. The police presence was also heavy and visible, separating dance crews with a length of orange mesh that served as a barrier.

The lag time between performers was also too long, though they put on a good show when they passed us by. Tons of spirit, energy, and esprit de corps! We just wanted to dance and have fun, so it was a real buzz-kill seeing the police barriers after such a long wait. Hopefully the timing and pacing will get better with each passing year, because here in the 'hood, we love to party. Thank God it's Brooklyn!

Brooklyn St. Patrick's Day Parade

Because we live in a city as old as New York, our towns and villages pre-date strip malls, bedroom communities, and suburbs. We have a network of distinct and unique neighborhoods within each borough, built before the advent of easy travel. Horse-driven buggies rode over cobble-stoned streets, and the first underground railway system had velvet-roped seats. I know this, because my grandfather described the old train cabs to me in vivid detail. 

He also told me childhood memories about Old Breuckelen. When he was little, there were still some farms with chicken, sheep, and horses that roamed around the more rural areas. He had the Gaelic gift of gab and a naturally charming manner, with a silver tongue made for storytelling. I thought of him yesterday. He, a Brooklyn-born boy from the turn-of-the-century, would have loved our small town parade as much as I did.

http://brooklynstpatricksparade.com/