Spring is here again and why don’t I feel joyous? Instead, I’m tense and on edge. Spring means EVENTS—big, crushing outdoor events I am compelled to attend because I crave culture. I MUST have culture.
I will stand motionless at six St. Patrick’s Day Parades, internalizing four hundred ninety one bagpipe bands led by burly, bearded men and one kid mindlessly pounding a drum.
The week after the Irish celebrate comes the Greek Independence Day Parade down Fifth Avenue. I am Italian, but I love Greek salads, so I must pay my respects. It seems every Greek within a thousand mile radius participates as the march goes on and on into the night.
Who would I be if I did not wander through the Easter Parade, mesmerized by 6’4 transvestites in sky high bonnets, dogs and bunnies in costumes, tuxedos and fashionable umbrellas?
Of course April brings Cherry Blossom Festivals in Brooklyn and Newark. If they bloom at just the right time, thousands of blossoms, pink and white, hang from trees and anyone with a child or camera is in heaven. However, if there is a cold spell and the timing is off, all you see is a galaxy of dead blossoms, empty trees, resulting in serious depression for days afterward. Either way, Japanese will dance and sing and young people will dress as anime characters.
Plus you’ll see those miniature trees and tiny cactus on display.
I am worried the Pan Asian event has run out of sponsors because it was moved all over NYC, and last year disappeared. Hawaiian dancers were a highlight and I sucked up foreign culture like it was a milkshake. However, Passport to Taiwan is going strong at Union Square Park. So many Asian foods, so little time. The Lotus Lantern Parade is about the same time in the same park. Peaceful monks marching who knows where. It’s the spiritual atmosphere that counts. I always feel beatific.
At this point I know I will begin to experience fatigue, but I’ll push myself to my limits.
The Tribeca Film Festival in downtown NYC offers dozens of films and I will rush around trying to catch as many as I can. The last Saturday is Family Day with five stages and thousands of kids playing games of skill if they are not performing ballroom dancing or getting their faces painted. Children’s performers wearing lots of polka dots will be peppy beyond belief.
Earth Day at Liberty State Park demands I be there to support our environment. I will buy handmade goods and listen to people playing acoustic guitar singing serious songs about the earth.
There’s Steubens Day Parade and a Scottish parade and a festival at Riverside Park and Mamapalooza—exhaustion is setting in—and a dance parade, thousands of dancers ending at Tompkins Square Park—which brings me to the four day Memorial Day event at BAM in Brooklyn—Dance Africa. God, the fashion, food, smells, jewelry, art—I will suffocate in culture.
Did I mention the Shad Festival in Inwood Park, celebrating the American Indian? I will see a genuine pow wow with lots of deep chanting and suede fringe and feather outfits. I will ingest shad for the only time all year.
And then one Sunday in May I will crawl out of the subway, legs cramping, gasping, flushed, completely drained, ready to attend Japan Day in Central Park. More lines for food, the band shell stage, more culture.
I am on fumes, but I still must make an appearance at the Hoboken Spring Street Fair to refresh my appreciation of Jersey culture.
My birthday is April 16 and every year my family asks the same question—why do you look so tense?