October 11, 2005

Thanksgivings has always been lower on my list of priorities than the Oktoberfest. I don’t like dead birds. Or pilgrims. Besides, who in their right mind can resist beer, funny pants, and dead pigs rolled into juicy sausages? Since both celebration compete for attention in K-W, most of my long weekend involved Oktoberfesting rather than giving thanks.

I even got up at 8 in the morning to go down to the goddamn Oktoberfest parade. Mind you, Martin and I didn’t get there until nearly 10 o’clock, and by that time it was raining and the last band started its march. Hoping to catch more of the parade, we ran down the street with our cameras in search of Uncle Hans, but the band tenaciously kept up with us blurting out the same terrible version of “Louie, Louie.”

The more we ran the more things stayed the same. “Louie, Louie” chased after us like some kind of nightmare. I considered beating up the kids with their own instruments, but I was sadly outnumbered. After an hour of running, our cameras were wet from the light rain and “Louie, Louie” was still besides us. That’s when we said “fuck it.” Not only did we miss most of the parade, but my pictures came out pretty blurry too. You should see Martin’s though. They’re great.