Blue Cross Sux
02-16-2009, 02:49 PM
Permit me the following seasonal rant:
Another Mardi Gras season, another endless series of battles with the ever present parade route space hogs. It seems inevitable, happening literally every year. I came close to making it through last season unscathed when . . . Bang, I almost came to blows with a group of “locals” (i.e., a nest of Tulane Juniors from up north) who decided I was trespassing on their personal space during Orpheus. Sure, school me, frat boy. Give it your best shot.
Space hogs usually come in one of two types, or a combination thereof. First, the Lords of the Ladder. Keepers of the cultural flame that is families gathering around a really freaking tall ladder, and to hell with everyone else. Because Mardi Gras is all about the children, you see. It’s not for the adults, it’s for the kids! And if not for this gynormous ladder, our precious baby couldn’t see the parade, and that’s all that matters. Curious that just as often it’s a young woman with hip huggers and exposed thong on the top rung, and no kids to be found. But never mind that. Also interesting is this proud, upstanding family’s flagrant refusal to follow the law and pull their ladders back from the curb. It’s well publicized that ladders must be as far back from the curb as they are tall, yet this law is rarely followed and never enforced. But they’ll claim it’s safer this way because no one is in front of the ladders, banging into them. Really? So it’s safer if a crowd surge can tip the ladder forward into the path of an approaching float, crushing the child underneath, something that could never happen if the ladder was the appropriate length back from the curb? That’s the best option for your family? Right.
Let’s call it for what it is. These types think the following: “We were here first, so to hell with you and you and you” and “If we pull the ladder back from the curb, we’re gonna have a bunch of riffraff between us and the floats. Can’t have that. And if people on the street are suddenly forced to get on the curb by an approaching band, etc., but can’t because of our ladder? To hell with them. And if they can’t see the parade from behind us because our ladder is so freaking tall? To hell with them, too. It’s all about our enjoyment. End of discussion.”
When exactly did “To hell with everybody but me and mine” become a Mardi Gras tradition? I don’t think I got a chance to vote on that one. Must have been a Republican-only election.
Which brings me to the Land Grabbers. Blistered on Bud lite and roaring with entitlement. With elbows and attitudes as sharp as their wits are dull, these thunderheads show up early, randomly claim a large parcel of land as their own, and guard it with the ferocity of a lion protecting its cub. There are two basic problems with these stains on humanity: one is they take up far more space than they need. If there are 10 of them, they “need” room for 25 or 30. Why? Um. . . well, cause you never know when one of their other buds might come around, you see. Then they’ll have a spot ready and waiting for them. Get it? Anyhow, they were here first. Not that empty, unoccupied space that no one will be using, specifically. But they saw that empty space first. . . on that particular day. And that’s good enough to lay claim to it. Or something like that.
Areas on either side of them may be packed like sardines, but Baby, they need room to roam, and they’re loving every minute of it. Hearty guffaws all around. Their enjoyment made all the greater by the proportional discomfort of others around them. What a swell bunch.
The other problem with these d-bags is they take up far more space than they need. A neat little trick they use is to bring folding chairs they never sit in. Just plop them down on prime real estate, then roam around as you wish. The chair is nothing but a prop, a placeholder. So not only are you occupying the space where you’re currently standing, you’re occupying space under your empty chair and the space around the perimeter of your empty chair. If you choose to drift back to your compound, you have all this reserved space available to you. Clever. This gimmick is epidemic during Jazz Fest, as well.
In closing, let me point out what should be obvious to all. I don’t care about you and your podnuhs, just as much as you don’t care about me and mine. I’m not crashing your party, because I don’t like you or your party. And you have no party to crash. The party is on the street, and we are all its guests. Mardi Gras is the host, not you. You are hosting nothing, much less a private party. You are not in your fenced in front yard. You are not on your personally owned private property. You are on PUBLIC PROPERTY!!! We are all on PUBLIC PROPERTY!!! The only space you have a right to is that patch of ground underneath your size 10 sneakers. PERIOD!!!
Just remember what you learned in kindergarten. Be nice and share. Have a nice Mardi Gras.
Another Mardi Gras season, another endless series of battles with the ever present parade route space hogs. It seems inevitable, happening literally every year. I came close to making it through last season unscathed when . . . Bang, I almost came to blows with a group of “locals” (i.e., a nest of Tulane Juniors from up north) who decided I was trespassing on their personal space during Orpheus. Sure, school me, frat boy. Give it your best shot.
Space hogs usually come in one of two types, or a combination thereof. First, the Lords of the Ladder. Keepers of the cultural flame that is families gathering around a really freaking tall ladder, and to hell with everyone else. Because Mardi Gras is all about the children, you see. It’s not for the adults, it’s for the kids! And if not for this gynormous ladder, our precious baby couldn’t see the parade, and that’s all that matters. Curious that just as often it’s a young woman with hip huggers and exposed thong on the top rung, and no kids to be found. But never mind that. Also interesting is this proud, upstanding family’s flagrant refusal to follow the law and pull their ladders back from the curb. It’s well publicized that ladders must be as far back from the curb as they are tall, yet this law is rarely followed and never enforced. But they’ll claim it’s safer this way because no one is in front of the ladders, banging into them. Really? So it’s safer if a crowd surge can tip the ladder forward into the path of an approaching float, crushing the child underneath, something that could never happen if the ladder was the appropriate length back from the curb? That’s the best option for your family? Right.
Let’s call it for what it is. These types think the following: “We were here first, so to hell with you and you and you” and “If we pull the ladder back from the curb, we’re gonna have a bunch of riffraff between us and the floats. Can’t have that. And if people on the street are suddenly forced to get on the curb by an approaching band, etc., but can’t because of our ladder? To hell with them. And if they can’t see the parade from behind us because our ladder is so freaking tall? To hell with them, too. It’s all about our enjoyment. End of discussion.”
When exactly did “To hell with everybody but me and mine” become a Mardi Gras tradition? I don’t think I got a chance to vote on that one. Must have been a Republican-only election.
Which brings me to the Land Grabbers. Blistered on Bud lite and roaring with entitlement. With elbows and attitudes as sharp as their wits are dull, these thunderheads show up early, randomly claim a large parcel of land as their own, and guard it with the ferocity of a lion protecting its cub. There are two basic problems with these stains on humanity: one is they take up far more space than they need. If there are 10 of them, they “need” room for 25 or 30. Why? Um. . . well, cause you never know when one of their other buds might come around, you see. Then they’ll have a spot ready and waiting for them. Get it? Anyhow, they were here first. Not that empty, unoccupied space that no one will be using, specifically. But they saw that empty space first. . . on that particular day. And that’s good enough to lay claim to it. Or something like that.
Areas on either side of them may be packed like sardines, but Baby, they need room to roam, and they’re loving every minute of it. Hearty guffaws all around. Their enjoyment made all the greater by the proportional discomfort of others around them. What a swell bunch.
The other problem with these d-bags is they take up far more space than they need. A neat little trick they use is to bring folding chairs they never sit in. Just plop them down on prime real estate, then roam around as you wish. The chair is nothing but a prop, a placeholder. So not only are you occupying the space where you’re currently standing, you’re occupying space under your empty chair and the space around the perimeter of your empty chair. If you choose to drift back to your compound, you have all this reserved space available to you. Clever. This gimmick is epidemic during Jazz Fest, as well.
In closing, let me point out what should be obvious to all. I don’t care about you and your podnuhs, just as much as you don’t care about me and mine. I’m not crashing your party, because I don’t like you or your party. And you have no party to crash. The party is on the street, and we are all its guests. Mardi Gras is the host, not you. You are hosting nothing, much less a private party. You are not in your fenced in front yard. You are not on your personally owned private property. You are on PUBLIC PROPERTY!!! We are all on PUBLIC PROPERTY!!! The only space you have a right to is that patch of ground underneath your size 10 sneakers. PERIOD!!!
Just remember what you learned in kindergarten. Be nice and share. Have a nice Mardi Gras.