Observations and Images on Architecture, Culture and More, in Chicago and the World. See it all here. |
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[from the archive] - A year in closeted anxiety, a glorious moment in the sun. |
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One moment you're flying high, the center of attention. Young children on their parent's shoulders point to you and laugh in delight. The marching bands and anemic floats meander past with scarcely concealed envy, knowing the spectators regard them as little more than the filler leading up to your appearance. A thousand cameras focus on each step of your journey, while on TV screens throughout the city, you float down the canal of grand old buildings like a Godzilla who had come to Tokyo, not to destroy it, but to dance through its streets. Yet the assault continues, without mercy, until you're nothing more than a bundle of brightly colored rag, stuffed into a bag and put up on a dark shelf, to spend all the seasons of the coming year consumed in angst, worrying whether some freshborn cartoon will steal your place in next November's resurrection. (Parade balloons by Fabulous Inflatables.) Join a discussion on this story.
© 2008 Lynn Becker All rights reserved.
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