You're not a real Philadelphian until you've been to the Mummer's parade. I'm not talking about watching it from the comfort of your living room, switching back and forth between the Fancies and whatever Bowl game catches your own fancy. I'm talking about being there, on Broad Street, stamping your feet against the cold (and probably getting them soaked in an early-morning reveler's urine.) It's not always pretty. And it's not always enjoyable.
But it's Philly, people.
Sure, there are those who say that the Mummers are just a bunch of overgrown juveniles tricked out in sequins and feathers, throwbacks to a time when people had patience for an eight hour two-step from South Philly to City Hall. Now, yawn, ho-hum, it's so passé. . . .
To read the rest of Christine Flowers' wonderful column from the Philadelphia Daily News click here.
No comments:
Post a Comment