Parade of Pirates
Allergies + Minor Hangover + Friday Morning = Yuck.
It also probably means I had a right jolly good time last night.
Which is true.
After bedecking myself in my piratical garb and getting some gas in my car, I drove down to Salem, Massachusetts, giving myself plenty of time to spare in case of getting lost and the mobs of traffic I knew there would be. This was a highly insightful snippit of prudence on my part, because I spent almost as long driving from the exit off 128 to the Congress Street parking garage - a matter of perhaps some 10 miles or less - as I did driving to that exit from where I got on I-95 - a matter of some 40 miles. It took me over an hour and a half to get there, mostly becuase of the in-Salem traffic. Oof.
I was still marvelously early, however, and after checking in at the parade ground, I, being the first one there, wandered off myself up the street and around the corner to strut my be-costumed self for the crowds and, more importantly, buy a vanilla chai from the Dunkin Donuts on the corner of Derby Street, and, even more importantly, use the loo. Then I wandered back the other direction, a pirate with a real sword (many a young'un asked me that) on my side and a Dunkin Donuts cup in hand. When I got back to the parade starting point, I found most of the rest of the crew there: Jim, Judy, Gary, Chris, Emily, Aria, and Alicia. Our position was right behind the antique 1950's powder blue convertable that held the Mayor/Parade Marshal and I think two local girls who were... beauty contest winners? Miss Salem? Homecoming queens? I forget.
We nearly caused a break in the parade when we were so busy talking to a reporter - writer of the afore-posted column from the Salem News - that many missed that the convertable was halfway to the gate and I was squawking, "HEY WE NEED TO GO."
Then we were out the gate, turning right on Congress, and the parade began.
It was SO. MUCH. FUN.
We strode along yelling, "ARRRRRR!" and "AHOY!" and waving at the crowds, and when we got to the first turn, which was full of a huge number of people. Jim/Captain Jack, leading our group, called, "Let me hear you say 'ARRR!'" which the crowd did, with great elan. He was greatly cheered, and a huge crowd favorite. I don't think I've had my picture taken so often since I graduated from high school. Anyone in the audience dressed as a pirate we singled out, praising them for being fellow scurvy buccaneers, and dragging a few of the adults with us. Commandeering them for the crew, as it were. We turned up Washington, and then right on to the pedestrian portion of... Essex Street? still waving - it was a good temperature for walking, but my nose was starting to condense water droplets on the end and my hands were a little chilly from waving. There were a number of teenage girls who squealed, "CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW I LOVE YOU!" or "JOHNNY DEPP!" to which Jim replied respectively, "I love you too, lass," or "I have no idea who you're talking about!"
The parade ended at the park, and the mayor's car turned aside so she could get out and prepare for her address to the crowd, leaving us at the head of the parade line... with no idea where to go. So we simply turned into the park and kept walking, and the groups behind us followed. Either we were good at predicting the final parade turn, or we were entirely successful at hijacking the parade, because it just kept following us. We stopped outside the gazebo where a DJ had a soundsytem and a bubble machine set up under lights, with a bright full moon overhead. The bands continued marching across the park, back to where their busses were, while everyone else mobbed into the park to enjoy the music, wait for the parade to end, and, for us, be mobbed by small persons and teens.
After a while, we'd had about enough of that, so we walked back along the passenger line of the parade - which was still going on, and was quite long. We attracted almost as much attention on our way back, as ordinary (alright, not-so-ordinary) citizens than we had as parade marchers. When the Salem Trolley came by, filled with people in pirate garb and waving to the crowd, we cheered and hollered and they went nuts over us. Jim caused an entire section of trombone and euphonium players in a high school band to flub their parts as they squealed and giggled when they saw him.
I have to give major props to another group in the parade - who, from what I hear, have been a part of this for quite some time - they dress as the Ghostbusters. They even have and ancient, finned vehicle that they've painted and fitted out with all of the Ghostbuster-mobile accoutrements, and, when I looked in through the back window, it appears that the back of the vehicle has been outfitted into a full bar. They had the jetpacks on their backs and shot silly string everywhere. As might be expected, Jim strode out into the middle of the parade to completment them on their get-ups, providing a source of great delight, mirth, and merriment.
Eventually, we passed the end of the parade, and while we waited for Judy to get some money from the ATM, we stood in the pedestrian walkway near Rockafella's and had many a photo taken of us. Then we hit Rockafella's. More or less like a hurricane. We met up with Al - a guy we had met earlier, dressed as a pirate - again in the bar, with his friends, along with a guy named Bob and a guy named David (who was really quite cute) and we spent I don't know how long at Rockafella's, partaking of the Pirate Punch, talking over the loud music, and generally having a right jolly old time of it.
After a while, we went across the street to O'Neill's, an Irish pub, and as I exclaimed to Judy when we walked in, "Holy shit, this place is a sausagefest."
Seriously. ALL guys; there were maybe 5 women in the place and probably 35 men. And they were all frat-boy and aged frat-boy types. Meaning? Judy and I should have been hits in there, but while the guys would look at us from the corners of their eyes, not a one had the balls to stand up and act like anything other than a candyass fratboy. Their loss. We hit the dance floor under the techno music - and not a single one of the other guys would come out to the floor, either, so I made it a point to dance in a way that let them know just what they couldn't have (oh, shut up, I'd had a Pirate punch, a Bacardi Ras & Diet Coke, and sampled a really good apple/caramel-tini) because they were all such a bunch of quivering nutsacks. The guys at Rockafella's were much cooler.
The general lameitude of the crowd at O'Neill's prompted us to move on pretty quickly (I should have asked for my damn $4 cover back!) taking with us Judy's new friend, Seamus, an older Irish gentleman [Insert token joke regarding probable existence of such a thing and apparent contradictions of said terms here] and on to the Salem Beer Works. I had long since, by this time, switched to water. I spent most of our time at the Beer Works talking to Gary (who is a molecular biologist at Dyax like Judy is) about, what else? sciencey stuff, until I had to get up to go use the loo. I was stopped by the place's manager, who asked "is that a real sword?"
I replied that it was, thinking that this would be, as had happened countless times this evening, a general response of "Hey, cool!" but to allay any suspicions, I did show that it was peace-bound to the nth degree. My scimitar has buckles that need to be undone before the sword can be drawn, on account of the changing width of the blade, and on top of that, the three buckles that hold the scabbard to the frog which hangs from my belt all pass all the way around both the scabbard and the blade - meaning, I cannot draw the sword without undoing at least 6 different buckles. It would take me probably 6 to 10 minutes to get that thing out. In a fight, it would be more of a hinderance than a help, as it would probably get tangled in my legs when I tried to run away. On top of that, the sword is not even sharp. It is most decidedly just a prop for show.
Instead, the manager starts crabbing at me that it's illegal to carry it around and that I can be arrested and blah blah blah. I said, "Thanks, I didn't know that, I'll keep it in mind" and stalked off to the bathroom. As we were about to leave anyway, when I came out, I walked straight past everyone else and out the door. I did notice as I went by that the manager was then talking to Jim, quite seriously, and was for sometime after wee had gotten outside, and I explained the situation to Judy and the others. For the record, Judy had not only an unpeacebound saber, she had pulled the thing out multiple times in the course of the evening!
When Jim came out, I asked if the manager had been giving him crap about his sword, and he said he had, but Jim had said in response, "Well, what law is it?" The manager didn't know. Jim asked, "Is it a state law? Federal? Municipal?" The manager didn't know. "Where in the books is it?" The manager didn't know, but he was sure it was there somewhere, that it was illegal. Jim politely requested the manager to look up said law and know its details minutely before he tried quoting it at people again. Heh.
At any rate, it was quarter to midnight by this point, and I decided that my fun was about over for the evening. It was time to go home, and the Beerworks is directly across the street from the garage where my car was parked. I then proceeded to waste 20 minutes when I accidently got on 128 heading north instead of south to pick up 95 again. Oops.
I was pretty darn tired when I got home, and I didn't get to bed until about 2. And now? I'm ljing instead of trying to force my brain to wrap itself around thesis-writing. Joy.
I hope next year we get to be in the parade again. It was so damn cool. I've been trying to see if anyone, anywhere, has pictures posted of it. Nothing so far!
Oops, I'm like 10 minutes late for a meeting.
It also probably means I had a right jolly good time last night.
Which is true.
After bedecking myself in my piratical garb and getting some gas in my car, I drove down to Salem, Massachusetts, giving myself plenty of time to spare in case of getting lost and the mobs of traffic I knew there would be. This was a highly insightful snippit of prudence on my part, because I spent almost as long driving from the exit off 128 to the Congress Street parking garage - a matter of perhaps some 10 miles or less - as I did driving to that exit from where I got on I-95 - a matter of some 40 miles. It took me over an hour and a half to get there, mostly becuase of the in-Salem traffic. Oof.
I was still marvelously early, however, and after checking in at the parade ground, I, being the first one there, wandered off myself up the street and around the corner to strut my be-costumed self for the crowds and, more importantly, buy a vanilla chai from the Dunkin Donuts on the corner of Derby Street, and, even more importantly, use the loo. Then I wandered back the other direction, a pirate with a real sword (many a young'un asked me that) on my side and a Dunkin Donuts cup in hand. When I got back to the parade starting point, I found most of the rest of the crew there: Jim, Judy, Gary, Chris, Emily, Aria, and Alicia. Our position was right behind the antique 1950's powder blue convertable that held the Mayor/Parade Marshal and I think two local girls who were... beauty contest winners? Miss Salem? Homecoming queens? I forget.
We nearly caused a break in the parade when we were so busy talking to a reporter - writer of the afore-posted column from the Salem News - that many missed that the convertable was halfway to the gate and I was squawking, "HEY WE NEED TO GO."
Then we were out the gate, turning right on Congress, and the parade began.
It was SO. MUCH. FUN.
We strode along yelling, "ARRRRRR!" and "AHOY!" and waving at the crowds, and when we got to the first turn, which was full of a huge number of people. Jim/Captain Jack, leading our group, called, "Let me hear you say 'ARRR!'" which the crowd did, with great elan. He was greatly cheered, and a huge crowd favorite. I don't think I've had my picture taken so often since I graduated from high school. Anyone in the audience dressed as a pirate we singled out, praising them for being fellow scurvy buccaneers, and dragging a few of the adults with us. Commandeering them for the crew, as it were. We turned up Washington, and then right on to the pedestrian portion of... Essex Street? still waving - it was a good temperature for walking, but my nose was starting to condense water droplets on the end and my hands were a little chilly from waving. There were a number of teenage girls who squealed, "CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW I LOVE YOU!" or "JOHNNY DEPP!" to which Jim replied respectively, "I love you too, lass," or "I have no idea who you're talking about!"
The parade ended at the park, and the mayor's car turned aside so she could get out and prepare for her address to the crowd, leaving us at the head of the parade line... with no idea where to go. So we simply turned into the park and kept walking, and the groups behind us followed. Either we were good at predicting the final parade turn, or we were entirely successful at hijacking the parade, because it just kept following us. We stopped outside the gazebo where a DJ had a soundsytem and a bubble machine set up under lights, with a bright full moon overhead. The bands continued marching across the park, back to where their busses were, while everyone else mobbed into the park to enjoy the music, wait for the parade to end, and, for us, be mobbed by small persons and teens.
After a while, we'd had about enough of that, so we walked back along the passenger line of the parade - which was still going on, and was quite long. We attracted almost as much attention on our way back, as ordinary (alright, not-so-ordinary) citizens than we had as parade marchers. When the Salem Trolley came by, filled with people in pirate garb and waving to the crowd, we cheered and hollered and they went nuts over us. Jim caused an entire section of trombone and euphonium players in a high school band to flub their parts as they squealed and giggled when they saw him.
I have to give major props to another group in the parade - who, from what I hear, have been a part of this for quite some time - they dress as the Ghostbusters. They even have and ancient, finned vehicle that they've painted and fitted out with all of the Ghostbuster-mobile accoutrements, and, when I looked in through the back window, it appears that the back of the vehicle has been outfitted into a full bar. They had the jetpacks on their backs and shot silly string everywhere. As might be expected, Jim strode out into the middle of the parade to completment them on their get-ups, providing a source of great delight, mirth, and merriment.
Eventually, we passed the end of the parade, and while we waited for Judy to get some money from the ATM, we stood in the pedestrian walkway near Rockafella's and had many a photo taken of us. Then we hit Rockafella's. More or less like a hurricane. We met up with Al - a guy we had met earlier, dressed as a pirate - again in the bar, with his friends, along with a guy named Bob and a guy named David (who was really quite cute) and we spent I don't know how long at Rockafella's, partaking of the Pirate Punch, talking over the loud music, and generally having a right jolly old time of it.
After a while, we went across the street to O'Neill's, an Irish pub, and as I exclaimed to Judy when we walked in, "Holy shit, this place is a sausagefest."
Seriously. ALL guys; there were maybe 5 women in the place and probably 35 men. And they were all frat-boy and aged frat-boy types. Meaning? Judy and I should have been hits in there, but while the guys would look at us from the corners of their eyes, not a one had the balls to stand up and act like anything other than a candyass fratboy. Their loss. We hit the dance floor under the techno music - and not a single one of the other guys would come out to the floor, either, so I made it a point to dance in a way that let them know just what they couldn't have (oh, shut up, I'd had a Pirate punch, a Bacardi Ras & Diet Coke, and sampled a really good apple/caramel-tini) because they were all such a bunch of quivering nutsacks. The guys at Rockafella's were much cooler.
The general lameitude of the crowd at O'Neill's prompted us to move on pretty quickly (I should have asked for my damn $4 cover back!) taking with us Judy's new friend, Seamus, an older Irish gentleman [Insert token joke regarding probable existence of such a thing and apparent contradictions of said terms here] and on to the Salem Beer Works. I had long since, by this time, switched to water. I spent most of our time at the Beer Works talking to Gary (who is a molecular biologist at Dyax like Judy is) about, what else? sciencey stuff, until I had to get up to go use the loo. I was stopped by the place's manager, who asked "is that a real sword?"
I replied that it was, thinking that this would be, as had happened countless times this evening, a general response of "Hey, cool!" but to allay any suspicions, I did show that it was peace-bound to the nth degree. My scimitar has buckles that need to be undone before the sword can be drawn, on account of the changing width of the blade, and on top of that, the three buckles that hold the scabbard to the frog which hangs from my belt all pass all the way around both the scabbard and the blade - meaning, I cannot draw the sword without undoing at least 6 different buckles. It would take me probably 6 to 10 minutes to get that thing out. In a fight, it would be more of a hinderance than a help, as it would probably get tangled in my legs when I tried to run away. On top of that, the sword is not even sharp. It is most decidedly just a prop for show.
Instead, the manager starts crabbing at me that it's illegal to carry it around and that I can be arrested and blah blah blah. I said, "Thanks, I didn't know that, I'll keep it in mind" and stalked off to the bathroom. As we were about to leave anyway, when I came out, I walked straight past everyone else and out the door. I did notice as I went by that the manager was then talking to Jim, quite seriously, and was for sometime after wee had gotten outside, and I explained the situation to Judy and the others. For the record, Judy had not only an unpeacebound saber, she had pulled the thing out multiple times in the course of the evening!
When Jim came out, I asked if the manager had been giving him crap about his sword, and he said he had, but Jim had said in response, "Well, what law is it?" The manager didn't know. Jim asked, "Is it a state law? Federal? Municipal?" The manager didn't know. "Where in the books is it?" The manager didn't know, but he was sure it was there somewhere, that it was illegal. Jim politely requested the manager to look up said law and know its details minutely before he tried quoting it at people again. Heh.
At any rate, it was quarter to midnight by this point, and I decided that my fun was about over for the evening. It was time to go home, and the Beerworks is directly across the street from the garage where my car was parked. I then proceeded to waste 20 minutes when I accidently got on 128 heading north instead of south to pick up 95 again. Oops.
I was pretty darn tired when I got home, and I didn't get to bed until about 2. And now? I'm ljing instead of trying to force my brain to wrap itself around thesis-writing. Joy.
I hope next year we get to be in the parade again. It was so damn cool. I've been trying to see if anyone, anywhere, has pictures posted of it. Nothing so far!
Oops, I'm like 10 minutes late for a meeting.