Anyone Can Spectate

If it turns out to be the last, it was a fine sendoff.

My default All Hallows' Eve plan for over a decade now has been All the Saints' Halloween parade and with rumors flying that this, the thirteenth, might well be the last for organizer Lilly, the urgency to be part of it was even stronger. Like every year, there was a funereal theme - funeral march for the patriarchy - but also an exultant one - a celebration of the divine feminine.

Don't even think about trying to stop me from being part of that tribute given how highly I think of my gender. Especially after a couple of glasses of Mont Gravet Rose. Gloriously warm weather didn't hurt, either.

Mac was back for her third year and Mr. Wright had signed on to have his Halloween parade cherry popped, so I made sure we were in Monroe Park by 6:30 so we could have first crack at choosing signs to carry. Once upon a time, aka the first few years of the parade, I dutifully carried one of the enormous puppets or banners, but I have since moved on to a more manageable sign and since I'm smart enough to show up early, I have that option.

Naturally, I've taught my acolytes to do the same.

Almost immediately, organizer Lilly wrapped me in her arms in a bear hug and thanked me for being there. "You came!" she laughed. Of course I did.

I was greeted by Jameson and Laney of Lobo Marino, both of whom were acting as parade marshals, telling people what was happening and encouraging them to participate. Laney roamed the side of the line of people, calling out, "Who wants to carry a puppet or banner? This parade is not a spectator sport!"

As one who has walked it shivering in frigid temperatures, perspired non-stop on humid, sweaty nights and everything in between, I can assure you that watching the parade is not the way to experience it. No, to fully embrace the spirit of the thing, you need to be part of the line of humanity - estimates were 2,000 participants last year and that's without spectators - that marches through Oregon Hill to cheers and people snapping photographs and videos from all sides.

Lilly walked by with a costumed mummy in tow, asking if anyone had seen the Zombie String Band, which we had, because they'd just walked by, blood dripping down their dead faces. Several of us indicated that they'd gone that-a-way and the mummy was whisked away.

Waiting for things to get started, a long-time museum friend sporting a snail head caught sight of me and ran over to chat. "Be careful I don't slime you!" she laughed, hugging me. "But lots of people will want to slime you. Be discerning!"

If Mr. Wright hadn't already been in place with Mac just ahead of the Trans Remembrance puppets in front of me, I'd have introduced her so she would stop worrying about me being approached by slimeballs.

Instead, I helped Jameson by handing him his elaborate, fringed mask, drum and drumsticks after he mounted a gigantic puppet on his shoulders and could no longer bend over. Gradually, the rest of the drums laying on the ground were claimed by others and I soon found myself positioned just ahead of what one drummer referred to as "Kind of like my high school drum line."

Jameson quickly amended that with, "A really strange drum line."

The black, coffin-shaped sign I chose read, "Here lies humanity: Death by patriarchy," and you'd better believe I not only held it high but, given my place in front of the drum line, also moved it in time to the beat, making for a parade essentially dancing the whole way.

When the parade cleared Monroe Park and turned on to Laurel Street, we were hit with a gusty wind blowing up from the river that about took down some of the biggest banners and puppets with its force. When what you're carrying is 12' tall, it essentially becomes a sail when the wind starts gusting. But people held on and righted their puppets so they could keep going and the wind settled down.

I have to admit, much as I love being part of the Halloween parade, I've never adjusted to the onslaught of picture taking, so I manage by holding my sign in front of my face and dancing it side to side to avoid eye contact with the cheering masses. It's a way of creating my own little world while surrounded by strangers, a stilt-walker and drunk people.

But because I'm not maintaining sight lines beyond the feet of the Trans Remembrance carriers in front of me so I don't step on their heels, I was occasionally jolted by a roller skating ghoul doing figure eights in my vicinity. Talk about an adrenaline rush, try having someone suddenly zip past you and your sign with no warning.

After the U-turn at the overlook on the river, we made our way back up Pine Street as I jumped ahead and joined Mac and Mr. Wright to see how they were holding up. You don't bring people to the parade and not make sure they're representing you well. Fortunately, they were.

It will be a shame if Lilly bows out of the parade after 13 years, although I certainly understand wanting to cede all that work making puppets, banners and signs and organizing thousands of people to someone new. If you ask me, her spark leading the parade - along with No BS Brass Band - is the heart and soul of Halloween in Richmond.

When we finally got to the lot where the parade ends, the three of us leaned on our signs to listen to No BS play some covers under the moonlight as those marching behind us continued to fill up the grassy lot.

If anything could be more satisfying than listening to "Thriller" played live on Halloween night followed by fireworks after walking my divine feminine self through Oregon Hill, it's not something I'm going to blog about.

And just for the record, the slime warning was unnecessary. No one messes with a dancing coffin.

Thursday in the Park with Michael

A day after I left the country, Monroe Park finally reopened.

This morning was my first opportunity to see what the city and VCU had wrought after nearly two years of endless renovation inconveniencing me. Yes, me.

While everyone was (deservedly) harping on all the big, old trees that were cut down and bemoaning the displacement of the homeless in the park (also justified), absolutely no one was talking about how having the park closed affected my walking life.

When I want to go to Dinamo or 821 Cafe, I cut through the park. Or, more accurately, I used to. When I'm coming back from Texas Beach, hot, tired and sweaty, the park offered a short cut for the last half mile stretch. When I wanted to stop at my favorite thrift store to score a $3 dress, cutting through the park shaved off some time. I've seen art exhibits, been to festivals and taken in InLight installations in that park.

But then you add in the overlapping ICA construction (finally finished) on the nearby corner and that whole area has been off-limits to locals like me for what felt like forever.

So when I set out for the Boulevard this morning, I intended to see what the new and improved Monroe Park was all about because driving by is no substitute for determining the quality of a renovated park.

Immediate conclusion? I miss the tree cover of those old growth trees that were uprooted, but I can accept that the sight lines are cleaner and more open now. The extensive flower plantings along Belvidere are well-intentioned, but could they have picked more ubiquitous or uninspiring flowers? No, they couldn't have. And where the hell are the array of park benches that would provide momentary respite to a weary walker?

But then, under a canopy on the Laurel Street side, I saw the brightly-painted piano and heard the sound of ivories being tickled as I got closer. A student, his black backpack tossed atop the piano, was dazzling my ears with something classical I didn't recognize as I walked toward Floyd Avenue.

It was the most beautifully unexpected addition to my walk and I'm not too proud to say I noticeably slowed my pace so I could hear it for a while longer.

And although I don't usually take the same route coming and going on my daily constitutional, you can be sure I returned along Floyd in hopes someone would serenade me again. Sure enough, I spotted a man in a cap, his bike lying on the ground next to the piano, plucking away. Again, I slowed my roll to get maximum ear time.

Just as I came abreast of the piano, the pianist looked up and smiled. "Hi, Karen," he called. Sure enough, it was someone I knew, an author and DJ, a teacher and musicologist with a social justice bent and a killer smile.

Hi, Michael. I only hope my face conveyed my pleasure at his music-making.

A few minutes ago, I saw he'd posted video of a snippet of his playing, saying that he was back in Monroe Park, "Blazing that chronic like it's 2001," and I couldn't resist commenting on how much I'd enjoyed hearing him play earlier.

"Ha! You caught me in the act! Good to see you..." he wrote back.

Okay, maybe I am okay with this whole Monroe Park renovation thing. All it took was a colorful public piano in a city full of musicians and artists to make me realize how wonderful it is to have the park open and available to all again.

Here's to catching anyone I can - friend or stranger - in the act.

Not Without You

If Picasso was right and art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls, I am dust-free. Immaculate, even.

How could I not be after taking in three shows in one night? Beginning at VMFA, the first was Miwako Nishizawa's "Twelve Views of Virginia," done by the Japanese-American artist in the traditional Japanese woodblock style.

At first glance, the prints could be mistaken for Japanese works, but on closer inspection, no. I found the prints a fascinating look at depicting the state, although less successful when larger figures were involved. The horse in "Colonial Williamsburg" or the statue in "College of William and Mary" had a clunky solidity that I don't expect from true Japanese prints.

But "Skyline Drive," "Blue Ridge, the Priest" and "Hollywood Cemetery" translated beautifully. In any case, the twelve prints are as different a depiction of familiar landmarks as any you'll see.

From there, I stepped out of the gallery long enough to admire the people tangoing below in the atrium before walking to Evans Court, past a group on a Friday tour looking at Byzantine art.

Walking into "Water and Shadow: Kawase Hasui and Japanese Landscape Prints," I was immediately surrounded by exquisite blue/gray walls that called to mind the sea at dusk. Just beautiful. The exhibit was far larger than I'd anticipated with multiple galleries of Hasui's sublime watercolors and prints.

Included were two large two-panel screens that were breathtaking. In "Coastal Landscape," you could see fish drying on a rooftop and people going about their business on the streets of the seaside village. "Lake Towada" was a study in serenity.

I'd learned in last week's lecture that Hasui had created these landscapes as a means of nostalgia, looking back at a Japan that was quickly being replaced with a more modern one. The simple scenes of winding roads, hillsides, boats on water and temples conjure up a simpler time.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw a woodblock print with the jolly old elf in it. "Christmas Card with Santa Claus in Japanese Landscape" was a tad jarring, but in the most beautiful way.

You see Santa from behind, his pack on his shoulder and leaving a trail of deep footprints in the snow behind him as he heads toward a typical Japanese-style house, with its roof and the surrounding trees laden with snow.

East meets west, right there in that one holiday print.

One thing that was apparent in looking at Hasui's work was how influenced he'd been by the western 19th century art he'd studied.

The other thing was that I was never going to be able to pick a favorite because every time I thought I'd chosen, I'd come upon another piece so striking that it became my new fave. Call me fickle (and some will), but if you see the show (and you definitely should), you'll likely find yourself with the same dilemma.

That, and an overwhelming sense of tranquility as you leave it.

Properly warmed up, my next outing was outside in the 27 degree air. "InLight" was being held in Monroe Park this year, meaning an easy walk for me and a fellow Jackson Ward dweller.

It was a shame it was so cold because the park was kind of a cool location for InLight - contained, but full of natural and man-made elements.

The first thing that caught my attention was "Not Without You," which used volunteers to don props - rabbit ears and a fox mask - and ride stationary bikes behind a lit screen to create a shadow play. One couple conspired to use their hands to shape a heart, eliciting an "ahh" moment from the crowd.

Did I mention it was 27 degrees?

Projections were being shown on the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart, and in looking at them we noticed the open doors. Coming through the vestibule, I saw the cathedral was lit only by candlelight. Inside, I was given a small votive and further down the aisle it was lit for me.

The entire effect of so many tiny candles near the altar was stunning, gorgeous even, and I stopped long enough to take it all in. A man near me had his head bowed in prayer while many people knelt in front of the mass of candles. Some sat in pews and so did I for a minute.

I imagine the effect was similar to that of attending church at night in the time before electricity. It was easy to feel like a small part of something much bigger. Hell, it was almost enough to make a heathen like me think about religion. Almost.

Next door at the Episcopalian church, I found some sort of service going on in the tiny chapel, but nothing InLight-related. That was okay mainly because the vaulted ceiling and wooden buttresses were so impressive, they made it worth going in even without a light show.

Walking in as I left, a girl asked her companion, "Is this part of InLight? What could be in a church?" Her companion shot back, "Jesus." So, there was humor (and heat) at the Episcopal church at least.

On the far side from that, the neon tree house was noteworthy because its framework had been constructed around a couple of the large tree's branches, so we could see limbs against flashing blue neon. Appropriately, a neon ladder hung from it.

But my first thought when I saw it was that it owed a debt to the Jackson Ward house installation at InLight several years ago. Same idea, just smaller and higher off the ground.

And speaking of trees, a huge, old magnolia tree had been given a cluster of magnolia blossom lights - made of heavy coated paper - hanging from its branches. They were lovely, evoking the real thick-petaled blooms of the magnolia with the only thing missing being the smell.

Unfortunately, the brightest thing at InLight was that gaudy Mosque Landmark Altria theater marquee. Too bad because the projections of shimmering water on to the front of the theater were so well done. The artist had even planned it so that the projections were only on the flat parts of the facade and not on the recessed arch.

The problem with tonight's sub-freezing temperatures was that I wasn't motivated to stand in long lines to see a couple of installations such as the one with the shack over the ice hole. Curious about it? Undoubtedly. Willing to stand and wait and freeze (even in velvet pants over tights)? Not so much.

There was even a topical installation about Monroe Park. You asked a question about the park into a microphone and the screen showed someone talking about that subject. It was kind of amazing how quickly the program pulled up a local person's sound bite on the subject. Ah, technology.

But at the end of the night, my most vivid memory was of the cathedral lit by candlelight. No technology, no computer, no projections. Just light in a beautiful space. Art.

Soul dusting of the highest order.

War and Work

Productive, yes; social enough, not even close.

My brain woke me up at 5:15 so that I could have an hour-long conversation in my head with myself about something that's apparently been bothering me. Let's hope we worked that out so it doesn't happen again.

When I finally awoke, it was to a message from my favorite ex-cop inviting me to the river for crabs and a lesson on the sail-yak ("I'm pretty sure I could teach you in 30 minutes or less!") but, alas, my inbox also informed me I had all kinds of obligations rearing their heads, so I reluctantly declined.

My walk to the river brought me up Cherry Street, a route I hadn't walked before. A shame since it yielded a charming house hidden behind an overgrown archway with a fat cat sunning on the brick walkway, a profusely flowering rose garden oddly placed between the sidewalk and street and a gaggle of teen-aged girls who were lost and needed my guidance to Mama Zu.

Coming back through Monroe Park, my eye was caught by an installation, "Eyes Wide Open Virginia" coordinated by Quakers Richmond Friends Meeting.

Consisting of pairs of army boots, each labeled with the name and Virginia birthplace of a fallen soldier in Afghanistan or Iraq (some with small flags, pictures or flowers) and regular shoes representing slain civilians (the children's shoes a heartbreaking reminder of the cost of war), it was a moving tribute to victims of this endless-seeming war effort.

After lunch, an interview in Church Hill had me talking with two writers about the solitary life of a writer and how frequently this profession is made up of introverts, although clearly I am the exception to that rule. By the time I finish a solitary day, I want nothing so much as company, be it familiar or strangers.

Despite sunshine and 77 degrees outside, my afternoon was spent indoors gathering words from my head and shaping them into a coherent form on the monitor screen. I am a woman who understands a deadline.

Instead of my usual dinner plans, I turned the tables and played server for a dinner board meeting, trying to parlay the unobtrusive service skills that have been used on me so often on unsuspecting diners. No one seemed to recognize me for the inexperienced fake I was. But I consider myself a success because the one thing I know for certain is that they never lacked for water or wine .

Nor did I, afterwards enjoying a glass of Ixsir Altitudes Rose (from Lebanon, no less), with a lovely mess of mesclun under crabcakes, payback perhaps for the crabs I didn't get to crack at the river today. Not to mention that my sail-yaking skills are still non-existent.

Not long before my meal, a history nerd friend had told me about a real-time tour (5:45 a.m. Monday morning!) he'd taken at Fort Harrison, regaling me with details of what he'd learned as the group retraced the route of the Union soldiers who took the fort, beginning before daylight.

Intriguing as it sounded to this extroverted history geek, I know myself well enough to know that's one tour I'd never have agreed to attend.

My subconscious may be able to get me up at that ungodly hour, but that's about the only thing that could.

Court and Spark Park

Danger is in the eye of the beholder.

So when a roomful of people are talking about what Monroe Park conjures up for them, I find myself in the group that has positive associations with it.

At tonight's community conversation sponsored by the Valentine and held at the Nile (another standing room only crowd), we began with everyone writing down their first memory of Monroe Park and their favorite, followed by a discussion of both.

People were talking about fears of walking the park, crimes they'd heard of there, hell, one woman even  grumbled about "the people who feel entitled to go there for free food."

My memory of Monroe Park? I've been proposed to three times there, albeit by strangers.

Not much scary or criminal about that.

The Valentine's Bill Martin said that the series' purpose is to discuss places we care about. "If we said we're going to bulldoze Short Pump, I'm not sure anyone would care."

Or notice.

Like last month's community conversation about Shockoe Bottom, this one brought out mostly city residents, although with a much wider economic range.

Despite all the Food Not Bombs volunteers in attendance, 27% of the attendees make over $100,000.

Fortunately, almost as high a percentage were in the bottom money-making bracket with me, making for a nice range of interests and experiences.

People shared memories of swinging on swing sets as college students, taking the bus to play there as children, and going to a Mattaponi Indian protest on Columbus Day.

Martin showed some great old photographs of the park, everything from an 1854 shot when it was the state fairgrounds to 1870 when it was essentially being farmed to the original stone pyramid fountain, a truly odd looking thing. A 1947 photo showed kids cooling off in the fountain on a summer day.

Some of my favorite pictures  were of the protests and music shows in the '70s. "Monroe Park was a principal music venue in the '70s," Martin said. "A vibrant club scene thrived around it."

One horrific photo showed a college student atop a tiered fountain which was collapsing as the photo was taken. The student died from the fall.

Much more fun were photos of a 1979 snowball fight and a '90s episode where students toilet papered the park.

We used keypads to answer questions to determine the demographics of the room and the biggest surprise for me was that fully a third of the room had never been to Monroe Park.

Kudos to you guys for bothering to show up.

A quiz followed and I scored so-so, not realizing that in 1867 the park was used as a baseball field but definitely knowing that Springsteen's first Richmond show was in the park.

During the discussion portion of the evening, people made suggestions for how to improve the park and some were excellent.

One woman suggested a "Laurel box," kind of like the Hyde Park soap box used in London for Sunday speakers.

Permanent chess boards, more bike racks, public art, a regular farmer's market and regularly scheduled music events were all thrown out as ideas to get people into the park.

Tonight's speaker was Harry "the hat" Kollatz of Richmond magazine, who began with an ode to a high school classmate, Boo Bailey, whom he'd last seen sunbathing on a blanket in Monroe Park with fashionable earrings on.

Boo was special not just because she was with him in the Civil War club ("Don't judge," he said), but because apparently she cut quite a figure that day.

Memories of Boo were followed by tales of Winfred Cutshaw, Richmond's director of public works and a man who returned from a great tour of Europe full of ideas for creating public spaces, parks and grand tree-lined boulevards here.

Arguing with the city to recognize the need for green spaces and to work with the terrain, Harry emphasized the need to create places "to walk, to think, to court."

He got me with that one. The way I see it, cities will not survive or at least not cities worth living in, if they do not have appropriate places to court and woo.

During the final Q & A, we learned two things.

First, the statue of Washington that once stood in Monroe Park was sold to the University of Miami. So many things come to mind, but mainly, what the hell?

Second, Harry has no clue what happened to Boo Bailey.

And with that, we were turned out into the rainy night to find our way, although not to the park given the weather.

I was headed back to J-Ward to meet three friends at Lucy's for dinner. As a bonus, I also found a favorite sous chef sporting a technicolor black eye (more of a purple/red eye at the moment) and sharing a meal with a bartender who looks like Lt. Dan.

A bottle of de Bortoli sparkling brut was already open when I got there, so all I needed was a flute of the easy-drinking bubbly to join in, while our savvy bartender put another bottle on ice in preparation for the next round.

One of our group was a visitor from Annapolis and she brought news that she was abandoning her bayside house to move to a swanky apartment house with guest suites for visitors, nightly happy hours and a Whole Foods across the street.

She says she finally figured out that she was happiest in life during college, living communally with limited stuff. I say, whatever makes you happy is what you need to pursue, even if it means moving for the third time in as many years.

Damp, cold weather made the fish chowder blackboard special sound mighty appealing to me and the bowl of mahi mahi, bacon and skin-on potatoes satisfied on all fronts.

On the screen was "Gilligan's Island," which led to a discussion of TV watching, not my strong suit.

The beauty of eating with this group is shared food, so I tasted through shrimp cocktail (with Old Bay oyster crackers that were such a hit more were ordered), a Cesar salad that had the out-of-towner grimacing at anchovies she quickly gave away, and multiple NY strips with horseradish potatoes au gratin.

The last chocolate bread pudding in the house served as dessert since it was the only chocolate option.

One in our group was fading fast and he claimed it was due to having unexpectedly awakened at 6 a.m. the last two days, a brutal way to start the day when you don't have to be up that early.

Another said she regularly gets five, no more than six, hours of sleep a night and it's been that way for her since childhood.

She was amazed that I get nine every night, while the curly-headed one was just envious of my ability to get that much.

To each her own.

As long as I keep getting proposed to in Monroe Park, I'm going to assume all that sleep is working for me.

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.

Dead Doings

Tonight was Richmond's 5th Annual Halloween parade, and like the last two, yours truly was a part of the march through Oregon Hill. The theme was "A Funeral March for the Dead" but the mood was anything funereal.

It always starts in Monroe Park where participants, costumed and otherwise (I felt like my Parisian Leo tights were enough), choose masks, puppets, signs and other effects to carry. After making the mistake of choosing something too heavy the first year, I now opt for a more manageable sign. But I carry it really well, if I do say so myself.

A stranger immediately greeted me and after bit of chatting, I learned that it was his first parade, so I answered his questions about the parade process. Organizer Lily saw me and came over, saying, "Karen, I love you!' the best possible greeting I could have hoped for.

This year's sign said, "We fight for the people and we die anyway" which I learned made me "Iraqi girl" when an organizer referred to me that way to the people following me. I was right behind the two people each wearing the giant skull heads that went down past their shoulders and in front of an enormous puppet that was carried aloft by three people.

I was joined by two musician friends, one playing accordion and the other a sort of panpipe, so I had musical accompaniment to hoist my sign to. Let me tell you, after moving that sign up and down rhythmically to the music for an hour, I was more than ready to lose it.

But the parading is so much fun and the crowds so enthusiastic that the time passes quickly. Periodically we'd be showered with bubbles and occasionally the wind would kick up, challenging my ability to keep my sign upright (it was like a sail going down in the wind), bur mostly we just smiled and had our pictures taken by onlookers. And they cheered a lot for us, but then, almost all of them had a drink in hand.

And it wasn't just the crowds who were snapping pictures and shooting video. A guy dressed as Prince, complete with toy guitar, and walking near me, shot photos of more than one colorful- looking O-Hill resident as we passed by.

I almost ran into him when he stopped short to shoot a neighbor in a mu-mu with a cigarette dangling from her lips and a can of Schlitz in her hand; when she smiled for the camera, she revealed as many missing teeth as those present. Say cheese.

When we reached the endpoint, we dropped our parade paraphernalia to listen to the music and mingle with other parade walkers for a bit. You never know who's in the parade behind you until the end of it all. And that's when everybody checks with everybody else to see who's going where next.

I'd already decided that my next stop would be the Night of the Living Dead bands show at Strange Matter. Just this afternoon, I'd run into a friend in Carytown who was also planning to go and a musician friend was one of the performers in Led Zepplica. No way I could pass this up.

The place was a zoo by the time I walked back from Oregon Hill, with a core group of non-stop fist-pumpers and even moshing up front. I'm not positive who was performing, although it may well have been the Misfits cover band. Or maybe Bad Religion.

In any case, when their ear-bleedingly loud set ended and the thrashing stopped, I asked a nearby fan if I'd missed Led Zepplica and was told I had. Sad face. I'd missed my opportunity to hear my beautiful music-loving friend do his best classic rock imitation and who knows when an opportunity like that will present itself again?

When he'd first told me about it, he'd presented it as " a show you'd probably rather skip." As you might guess, he's a new friend and doesn't know me very well yet.

But he'll learn. I don't skip many shows when someone I know is playing. There's no telling what I might see or hear that would enable me to give him endless crap about.

And isn't that the stuff friendships are made of?

Halloween Parade Veteran Fans Own Flames

The weather for Richmond's Halloween parade tonight was as warm and humid as that of a New Orleans' Mardi Gras parade.

At least according to several of the participants near me.

We were all in our black "burning building" costumes, complete with cardboard flames for our arms.

Our position in the parade was right behind the stovepipe hats but in front of the red, white and blue cars.

Lily, the master puppet-maker and parade organizer, told us to keep the fires burning, (which I made a point to do despite my arms feeling like lead after the first 45 minutes), although I did notice several other of the burning buildings being a bit lazy about their fires. Just saying.

We left Monroe Park just after 7 and headed into Oregon Hill where the anticipatory crowds awaited us.

This was my third parade in a year and still I'm not used to having photographers jump in front of me to take pictures every few steps.

I must not be a good candidate for being famous and stalked by the paparazzi.

Photographer Ashe Daniel was there, shooting for Brick, and we caught up; I also saw two other photogs I'd met at the recent James River Filmmakers' Forum, one of whom snapped my picture the second I pulled that hot costume off at parade's end.

The caption should read, "Ah, sweet relief!!"

After an hour and a quarter of parading, I needed a treat, so next up was Garnett's for chocolate pecan pie.

The corner spot afforded a little police drama during my dessert respite, with three cop cars screeching to the intersection to arrest someone.

The woman next to me at the counter sipping her to-go cup of water glanced over and nonchalantly commented, "Well, she won't be home 'til Monday."

And somehow, she looked like the type person who would know that.

And now I'm off to Gallery 5 for the Carnival of 5 Fires to have my fortune read, watch the fire performers and listen to the bands.

After all, we get an extra hour tonight to enjoy that big, beautiful moon and whatever it brings.

I'm ready.