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I Love a Parade



A beautiful day for a parade this past Saturday in Scranton and I'm glad that it's over.

Once upon a time I thought I looked forward to the parade. I know now what I looked forward to was the 'fun' to be had afterward but 'afterward' has become, for me, an activity meant for those less distant from their arrival at legal drinking age than the point where I find myself now, those whose definition of 'fun' no longer matches mine.

The allure of what has been called Scranton's version of Mardi Gras'has gradually diminished for me over the years until now the only thing I'm concerned with is how to get around the noon-time police barricades to get to where I'm supposed to be before we 'step off' and then how to get back to my car and outa Dodge as quickly as possible once we pass the reviewing stand.

On a separate note, I'm not Irish so I wonder, is 'step off' an Irish thing? The newspaper uses it every year. 'The parade steps off at 11:45'. Steps off what?

And while we're on things I don't understand, does the parade committee have someone who is expert in estimating attendance? The number in the paper this morning was quoted as somewhere between 150,000 and 200,000 people in downtown Scranton this year.

That seems a little optimistic.

If 200,000 people came to Scranton and they arrived four to a car that would mean 50,000 cars were looking for somewhere to park this past Saturday morning? Are there 50,000 parking spots in Scranton?

I'm sure the parade 'wheels' aren't afraid to goose the attendance numbers a little. We hear the same number tossed around every year for La Festa Italiana so why not?

Realistically though, my guess would be something closer to 30,000 people show up for the parade and that's probably the high end.

Anyway, back to my favorite time of year.

I have lost all interest in being in an elbow-to-elbow after parade crowd of green-haired people whose brains are in moderate or greater degree of marination while we wait 25 minutes to get inside an overloaded, slippery floored porta-potty. Call me crazy. That sounds more like punishment than fun.

Maybe I'm wrong and this is just my continually evolving cranky old man talking.

And if that ball comes in my yard one more time I'm keepin' it and I'm callin' your father!







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03/11/2013 1:36PM
My Favorite Time of Year
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