Halloween, New York.
I saw the Halloween parade in Greenwich Village tonight. There were no floats as such but several groups of large (about 12-feet-tall) puppets appeared. The highlight, though, were the costumed people. I guess the point of the Village parade is to let anyone in a costume join the fun and parade up 6th Avenue. Spongebob Squarepants was there, and Domo Kun and Clifford the Big Red Dog. Dykes on Bikes. About a dozen Wonder Women, only three of whom were obviously male, along with a handful of Batmen, Supermen, and Superwomen. Lots of men in drag, but that’s no surprise. The X-Men were out in force. A troupe of nuns (only three of whom were obviously male) danced up the avenue, followed by a crucified Christ. Hobbes was there, unaccompanied by Calvin, and a Batman-less Robin shuffled up the street.
A cute girl in a pink bunny costume walked up our side of the street. She stopped nearby to have her photo taken and a dozen people simultaneously went, “Awwwwwwww.” A woman in leather fetish gear, including a full mask, led a man by a leash up the street. A nearly naked man, his body painted to resemble Captain America’s costume, walked arm in arm with one of several Catwomen (only one of whom was obviously male). Dancing in the wake of a jazz band, a Superman kissed a Batman, while Things One and Two skipped along side by side.
The costumed tended to travel in large packs of about 70 people, usually accompanied by a band of some sort. As a group, they boogied up the street–the Twister boards and Snickers bars, the Scooby Doos and Hannibal Lechters, the cigarettes and condom men and manta women.
Strangers in the crowd sang together as the parade passed by. After it ended, the West Village was awash with people. Streets were closed everywhere to auto traffic as thousands of people headed for bars and restaurants and pizza joints and cafes. As we picked our way through the crowd, my friend said, “This has gotta be what Mardi Gras is like!” I said, “Yeah, except that it’s colder here and there’s not nearly enough naked people.”
As we moved through the crowd to West Fourth Street station, a woman passing in the other direction made eye contact with me, locked her gaze on mine, and sang to me: “Thank you very much, oh Mister Roboto!”
I wish I weren’t working tomorrow. This would be one hell of a night to stay in the Village, drinking and people-watching and flirting and partying until the sunrise.
Maybe next year.
Michael Dietsch 