Near the end of the previous millennium, things were different. A person could walk from my mom's apartment building, cross the street, pick up some food at the local Somewhat Original Ray's Pizza, and head back home. Elapsed time: 10 minutes on a slow day. And you didn't even need proof of your address or a party invitation! Shirra remembers an evening back in 1994 when we visited her friend Eileen a few blocks away for her big annual Turkey Eve party. We hustled over, hung about for a couple hours, and made our way back, noting how some of the balloons were a bit more inflated when we returned than when we'd left.
Just a few years later, however, the thing had gone viral. Blame word of mouth, blame the more-bored-than-usual media, blame the police, but when thousands of people started to make the balloon inflation into some kind of party event, the infotainment reporters arrived along with the police barricades, and that was the end of that. It took us more than ten minutes just to walk one block downtown on Columbus with Fiona in the stroller -- a mistake we never made again -- and pretty much took Eileen's party off our to-do list forevermore. At that was only 1998.
Here is a photo someone took of my mom's block last year.
I imagine someone -- someone staying in a hotel -- saying, "Ooh! Isn't that Shrek? What's he doing here, that big green silly! I can't believe I'm standing so close to greatness!"And now things are totally out of control. Shirra was blocked from passing thru one of the barricades because some rookie cop thought that she and the kids were just sightseers pretending to live on 81st Street. Direction-barkers are still making announcements to balloon workers at 11pm, and as I was putting the kids to bed in my old room (the one that faces the street), we could hear bands playing jaunty music to late-night revelers who came to watch -- oh, joy! -- the commingling of helium, painted rubber, and thousands of sandbags.
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