Drizzle, cold, gray, nasty. Felt bad for the “sky and paint clad” bicyclists but cheered them on, huddled with fellow cartists, bundled up under eaves at Kirby Lindsay’s (yay and thank you Kirby.) I kicked myself mercilessly for having forgotten my camera in the rush but enjoyed seeing: an octopus (made of coffee cups) a giant segmented salmon, marching bands (of every variety) fat belly dancers, skinny belly dancers, drag queens, a giant beach ball (where kids and adults would run out and lay down under) a giant dung beatle (singing “here comes the sun”) and Snow queens (in white paper gowns, heads adornde with stag horns and roses.) Mostly I loved the fact that any and all are allowed to join the parade, that no “words/mottos/ rhetoric” (motors, or guns) are allowed, no “guns” and even a group playing “kick ball” with the crowd are embraced in the spirit of play.
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