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The Mermaid Parade
Fun in the SUn
I write up a lot
of events for you voracious readers but rarely have the time to attend
them all. One of the few that I make a point not to miss is The Coney
Island Mermaid Parade. It has, as I’ve said, all the ingredients that
guarantee a good time: costumes, crowds and lotsa alcohol. When the
weather is spectacular and I’m surrounded by all the people I love,
plus dozens of others I don’t know but love just the same for their
unbridled enthusiasm to dress up and sweat glitter in the blazing
summer sun, well, that’s just frosting on my sticky sweet cake! And
Mermaid Parade 2005 was no exception.
This year, instead of creating a singular mermaid ensemble for myself,
as I usually do, I decided to join folks who were making a group
effort. My friends from Kostume Kult had chosen a Monty Python-inspired
theme based on the successful Broadway musical Spamalot. Swamalot would
be an aquified spin on The Holy Grail and other Python hilarity. I
helped out at one of their “craft daze” by glue gunning shells onto
tiaras for our virgin bride mermaids and donated fishnet fabric.
Chatter on the e-group was effusive; everyone was totally psyched!
After checking in at the semi-organized desk around noon, I was waved
through as part of the Swamlot mob. I found everyone applying body
paint and extra glitter beneath the shade of the only tree on the
street. Parked beside the chain link fence was our papier maché
Trojan Rabbit Seahorse. The contraption was mounted on a shopping cart
for easy pushing and soon someone would be climbing inside to ride and
launch projectiles into the crowd.
Waiting for the parade to begin is the best time to see all the
costumes, so I wandered around, camera in hand, trying to get a few
good shots. There seemed to be five photographers for every mermaid,
and especially scantily clad sea creatures drew particularly large mobs
of mammary-obsessed old men. I’m always amazed at the endless amount of
creativity on display; the costumes are incredibly clever and colorful.
And, of course, sexy!
As 2 o’clock rolled around, we lined up between Octopus’ Garden and
Billionaires for Bush’s Young Yacht Owners of America, lone Neptunes
and dozens of mermaids, and prepared to start our stroll on the
boardwalk. The record-breaking crowd was thick and enthusiastic,
cheering us on and laughing at our coconut-clopping and screams of “Ni!
Ni! Ni!” The parade route took us six blocks south on the boardwalk
before we passed the new stadium and doubled back north on Surf Ave.
Somewhere the official King Neptune, David Johanssen, led the way past
the reviewing stand and, eventually, cut the ribbons to summer and the
sea.
Once the parade ends, it is customary to ride the Cyclone, take a dip
in the ocean or head up to the boardwalk. My first stop is always
Ruby’s, an alarmingly grimy little spot with the world’s most
disgusting bathrooms, a long, long bar and enormous unairconditioned
seating area, lots of greasy food and plenty of Sinatra on the jukebox.
People wait on endless lines for corn dogs, ice cream and beer and sing
along with the house favorite “That’s Amoré.” And everyone gets
tanked. It’s like the East Village’s Avenue A circa 1992 has been
picked up whole and deposited on the oceanfront. It is, in other words,
sheer heaven.
Every hipster whose skin hasn’t seen the light of day in well, 364
days, is hiding behind giant bug-eyed sunglasses, their tattoos
providing them little protection from the sun. Kiss-kisses smear
lipstick and body glitter from one dominatrix to the next drummer until
everyone has the same sweat-smudged Budweiser-inspired smile plastered
on their faces.
Once I had a good buzz on, I wrangled a bunch of fellow drunks for a
ride on the Cyclone. It’s one of the oldest wooden roller coasters left
standing in America and is just as rattley and scary as you’d expect.
We filled up every car with wobbling, drooping virgin bride mermaids
and coconut-draped Knights of Ni and somehow I wound up in the very
last car. As we hit that first vertiginous descent, my haphazard hairdo
came completely undone and someone’s pearls were snowglobingly
unstrung, scattering to the winds. As we rattled and rolled around
every corner we became increasingly disheveled and when the coaster
screeched to a halt everyone was breathless and grinning like fools.
Following the afternoon’s festivities, there was a Mermaid Parade Ball
far more formal and organized than last year’s, held at a new club
called Velocity. When we bumbled in there was glorious air conditioning
and not much of a line to pee, hypnotizing live music and burlesque
beauties. We took advantage of all the perks, including the cheap
Rheingolds that were available to all costumed mermaids, and got
ourselves photographed by the shutterbug set up in one corner of the
cavernous room. We didn’t last long, though, as things just weren’t
wild enough for us. So we stumbled out into the dusk and humidity and
headed back into Manhattan, still hungry for more nightlife.
Days later we were all quite gratified to find that Swamalot had
received top honors in the Best Marching Group category. That was
frosting on top of my frosting! Best day ever!
To see pix from the parade, click on www.coneyisland.com /mermaid_2005.shtml
[Written July 2005]
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