THE GREEN BUCKET

"Why is the bucket so effing full", he asked, "why?" A rhetorical question given that it was long after midnight and no one else was around to answer. There were many factors that could explain why it was, and many reasons why it it shuld not have been. The other rhetorical question was whether the Irishman was dumber than a pile of bricks because of inbreeding in that neighborhood in Dublin or had the nurse dropped him on his head at the hospital? If the latter, had they finally covered the floors of that ward with foam rubber?

The other Irishmen he knew were quite intelligent.
So it wasn't a national characteristic.

Probably shouldn't have got up in the middle of the night. My head isn't properly aligned when I have had so little sleep, and it does weird things. Consequently I will not be down on Kearney Street with one hundred thousand other white people watching the parade and sucking up sweet and sour pork or chicken chowmein, with potstickers and spring rolls.

Actually, how much I sleep has nothing to do with that. I haven't watched the Chinese New Year Parade in three decades. And even though we white people LOVE sweet and sour pork, chicken chowmein, potstickers, and spring rolls, I probably haven't had any of that in years. Not since the last office party that featured those things.

Actually, that's not quite true. One of the dim sum counters down in C'town does potstickers. Sometimes those hit the spot.


Evenso.
Parade. Cold night. Rain. Quarter of a million people (many of them suburban). Noise.


No.


What this city needs is a silent parade featuring people wearing pajamas, no marching bands, and somnolescent spectators spaced at polite intervals along the route.
During much better weather, maybe April or May.
The Spring Nap Fest.



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