Parading the Sinners

I love a parade when I get to be in it.

Tonight's Halloween parade's theme was a "Funeral march for free love, free speech and free thinking," three frees I wouldn't want to live without.

I've been doing the Halloween parade practically every year since 2008, so I knew to show up in Monroe Park, grab a sign to carry (the enormous puppets are just too heavy for me) and follow No BS Brass band as they march through Oregon Hill.

Speaking of, trombonist Reggie looked amazing with African face painting adorning that smiling face.

This year, I chose a sign that read, "Welcome All Saints and Sinners" and a pair of cardboard wings with skulls and flowers on them and took my place in front of the giant pumpkin heads.

Fortunately for me, I wasn't asked to declare myself a sinner or saint in order to qualify to carry the sign.

Traipsing through Oregon Hill's streets lined with onlookers is always a hoot, with everything from people shouting at us (I repeatedly had people yelling what my sign said to me), others throwing candy (I was tempted to pick up a Tootsie Roll, but refrained) and a certain VCU professor dressed as a bee passing out canned "refreshments" to those she knew (not my beverage).

Because it's O-Hill, you see things like an entire family sitting in the bed of their pickup truck watching the parade, Mom and Dad sending one of the three kids inside when they need another beer.

You see darkened porches where the only sign of life is a glowing cigarette butt clenched in someone's teeth.

Mostly you see people with red party cups in one hand and their phone in front of their faces with the other as they watch the parade through a tiny lens.

Don't get me started.

To their credit, one guy in a blue satin dress skated the entire way and another wore curved, metal stilts that looked a lot like the artificial legs of former Olympian Oscar Pistorius.

For a while, I marched next to a girl in a Scarlet O'Hara-by-way-of-Carol-Burnett dress, complete with curtain rod going through the shoulders of the dress.

Another girl complimented her on how pretty it was and she cheekily replied, "I saw it in the window and just had to have it."

Also walking next to me was the infamous Serena Sparkles, who, like me, was immediately suspicious that they knew the source material.

Bolder than me this time, she leaned in, all glittery lips and platform shoes, and asked, "You do know what that costume's from, right?"

One claimed to (the wearer) and the other was clueless.

Someone's got to right the cultural literacy wrongs surrounding us and who better than a drag queen?

As we moved down the hill, I heard hellos from lots of people I knew- servers, DJs, guitarists, artists, organizers - both in the parade and watching from the street.

Even the man-about-town participated, and while masked, it's always pretty easy to spot "The Hat."

As in past years, it's crazy to be part of something where all eyes are on you and cameras are always going off.

No BS are the heart and soul of the parade's energy, though, and after a while I realized I was stepping in time to their music, as were many of the puppet and sign carriers.

After we finished our march, everyone mingled before disbursing to parties and shows. I was meeting friends at Bistro 27 for a much more low-key end to my evening.

We met at the bar in an almost empty restaurant, meaning it was easy to hear the music and took no time at all for us to get wine and dinner salads while we watched the crowds of costumed people walk by the big glass windows.

It's like our own, private freak show.

"Is that a man or woman?" someone asked about a scantily-clad person stumbling drunkenly across Broad Street.

"With that much back hair, you better hope it's a man!" another cracked.

For no reason, we got off on youthful memories, like the first time your college boyfriend sleeps over in the guest room and you get caught by your strict father sneaking back to your bedroom naked in the morning.

"Good morning, sir," was all the guilty party could manage, which sent the rest of us into hysterics.

No recriminations, no apologies, just a civilized greeting. In other words, pretty saintly behavior for a sinner.

I wouldn't know from saintly. I never got caught.