Sunday, Apr. 11, 2004 - 5:04 pm
Um... I'm sorry.
This relationship just isn't working for me.
I'm at www.dailypreciousness.org now. So change that bookmark.
Like I was saying, I was jumping into my trousers, thinking of parades past. Thumbing through my mental index, I recalled the good ones.
Yes, I was a Dalmatian (of the 101 variety) for a 4-H group when I was 11. Our group followed a bunch of horses, which left a trail of road apples. I had to weave the little red flyer wagon around all of the piles of stink. Years later, I helped create the floats and then marched with them in a Koyasan parade.
Most recently, I tossed streamers and walked proudly with the 4-year-old Mardi Gras kings and queens when they paraded around the library at work. It was our group of deaf kids. They talked about it for days. But the best parade in recent memory has to be the last one.
It was the National Cherry Blossom Festival parade. The Japan-American Society's Mikoshi (portable shrine) needed a few hands. They needed folks to carry the burden... 700+ pounds of it. They needed some super-genki shrine carriers. They needed a bunch of hooligans that could have a wild time in true Japanese festival fashion. They needed a coalition of the willing. In short, they needed me.
I emerged from the Smithsonian metro station at 8 that morning. The rosy-fingered dawn still colored the sky. I turned in my liability and image use waivers, signed in, got my T-shirt and started talking to Marly, an outgoing Aussie at Georgetown. She was as chipper and friendly as a Kylie video, with a big smile to match. Before long, we found our way to the Mikoshi and grabbed our headbands.
There were already about 25 people there. All the happi coats were gone. (Apparently, they had been snapped up a full two hours earlier by the over-achieving early-risers. Gotta hate that.)
The winds picked up a bit and caused a little dance on the mall. A manic Cheshire cat, a downs syndrome Kermit and a silvery phallic zeppelin burrito did an airborne tarantella. The giant characters yanked and yoinked their handlers.
Smaller in scale but no less impressive, we had a religious tai chi like group posing serenely in front of Air and Space. A friendly IT student informed me that it was the same group that the Chinese government had recently banned from assembling at Tiananmen Square. Pesky cults, I thought. There was also a spirited group from Ballou high school, where pranksters pilfered a vial of mercury and poured it around the school grounds. Not to be outdone, another prankster thought it would be fun to have a little gunplay at the next school assembly. The principal, all gray hair and caffeine jitters, understandably thought it best to part ways with the mercury-toting, lead-shooting evildoers. He's now on "administrative leave." Right.
A long rainbow dragon snaked around us. The Chinese dancers inside were getting warmed up, just like the red corvette with the super-sized Hawaiian lei that was parked behind us. Inside a husky beauty queen (Japanese-Hawaiian?) perched and prepared her own (regular-sized) lei.
Before long, the thirty Mikoshi carriers got our walking orders. Our team captain gave us a hyper-genki (chipper) demo on Mikoshi etiquette and technique.
There was much rubbing of hands in the morning breeze. Without the sun, it felt like it was in the lower 40s. The instructions said to wear a T-shirt. I complied. And I was regretting that decision now! Luckily, I had two warm undershirts hiding beneath my kawaii (Japanafied cute) Domo-kun tee.
The volunteers were from all over the region, from Charlottesville to Baltimore. I met Japanese clubbers from UVA, Japanese exchange students here in town, but originally from Hokkaido, and even a friendly high school-aged student of the language. Even though Steve's school didn't have Japanese classes, he was studying the language – self-taught! So he could read and write, but had no way to practice aural comprehension or pronunciation. But what initiative! He and I bonded instantly. Beyond that impressive bit, Steve was headed for a year of study abroad next September, when he leaves on a Rotary scholarship for Japan. Good going! So there was a lot to talk about before the whistling or yelling.
The parade begins. We start off with whistling and shouts of "Seya/Sah," a two-part chant with guys bellowing the "Seya" and the girls screaming the "Sah." Right step on the "Seya," left step on the "Sah." At least in theory... I think the quick march beat worked for a miniature Asian gate. But my long legs wouldn't quite chug along at that speed.
We shouldered the Mikoshi by the long white carrying planks. A folded towel cushioned the wood, though it was still painful and unwieldy. (I felt like Jesus carrying the cross in that movie.)
Atop the Mikoshi stood our cheerleaders. They ramped up the crowd with their cheering and waving. Every few minutes, we got a signal from the team captain to lift the Mikoshi up over our heads, raise it to arm's length above us, and bounce it up and down a little. It was fun and all, but after the 11th or 12th time, it got to be a little heavy!
But we had to do it to keep things lively and authentic. So we lifted them up at the National Gallery, at Natural History, and American History, and a dozen or so other places. Most importantly, we hefted them up in front of the judges' stand. That's where the video cameras were. This time I didn't mind the paparazzi.... It was good to involve the press if it meant more people might come out and enjoy the blossoms. I'm more than willing to sacrifice myself for that kind of beauty.
Pretty soon, we find ourselves at the end of the parade, fairly exhausted. Pushing the Mikoshi back (this time on wheels) would've been easier, if it hadn't been for the traffic.
After a pit stop in at the park directly behind the White House, we roll it downhill toward the festival. Once there, we dig into steaming bowls of katzu udon and a bento box. I stand and talk a while with the crew then we split up and head our separate ways.
I run into Jen and her sister Molly, who are enjoying the now sunny weather and they sit down for a drink with me in the beer garden area. My volunteer pin gets me a few rounds of Sapporo beer and we soon find ourselves pleasantly buzzed.
The buzz must have been the corrupting force that made James and me act up on the mall. (I don't think the monument was supposed to be used for trick photography like that. No doubt, founding fathers were spinning in their graves.)
We plunged into hanami (flower-viewing) head first, blithely ignoring the clamoring crowds. And what thick crowds they were! Strollers darted menacingly to and fro, hicks clad in wife-beaters and their black-eyed wives, picture-snapping Japanese touristas – we all vied for space on the narrow pathway that encircles the tidal basin. Luckily, no one took a plunge into the toxic water. I joined in with the picture snapping, getting a few good shots.
The blossoms overhead were so full this year. It was a peak day of the season, according to park officials. So it was quite a show. The cotton candy fireworks did not disappoint. In fact, all the beauty (and the Mikoshi carrying) gave me a sudden rush of exhaustion. By the time I'd returned to the metro, I could barely walk, I was so tired. So I went right back home and rested, just totally drained. But I remember dreaming of blossoms that night. They were amazing.
