In a completely uncharacteristic move today, I headed over to the Upper West Side on the spur of the moment to see the inflation of the Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons. Admittedly, I imagined the balloons spending the night in Central Park, softly bumping against each other on the Great Lawn, patiently queued up along the 102nd Street Transverse, or all huddled together around the bandshell at Bethesda Fountain, waiting for the show to start. Nope. So much for the romance of my running routes being populated with chubby and dumb aircraft–they just close off 81st and 77th Streets at CPW, on either side of the Museum of Natural History. The sidewalks were jammed (and I mean jammed) with kids and mommies and strollers. Every child had a rubber balloon tied to their wrist, which was kind of cute. When I wasn’t taking abstract photos of these massive cartoon characters, I was cracking jokes (The Pillsbury Doughboy tethered face down on the street: “Okay hands on the car fatso! Spread ’em, lard ass!”) and trying not to cuss out loud. Come on, you can’t expect me to actually be earnest about this holiday shit, can you?!
"Hands where we can see 'em, Chuckles!"
Snoops, lemme borrow your noise-cancelling headphones. This Lucy bitch won't shut up.
Miss Piggy once again practices taekwondo on Kermit.
This dawg is pumped, yo!
"How ironic," Spidey muttered dryly.
Pigtails Flying 
HAHA! Your awesome!!!
Happy Thanksgiving Mama Bear!
77th Street is 8 blocks south of where I lived for many years. In 1978, my first year, my wife and I headed down and watched the balloons being blown up. I particularly remember the Mickey Mouse balloon. I’ve never been a fan, but it was his 50th birthday or something, and the crowd, small as it was, sang “happy birthday.”
We returned the following year. Word had gotten out about this “event,” and the street was mobbed. I ran into one of my sisters, but we were almost crushed so we beat a hasty retreat, never to return. Like, so I understand it, the Haloween parade in the Village (which I never attended), this little, local event became a victim of its own success and popularity. It ceased to be what it had long been, something special to, and special about, the Upper West Side.
Alas, I think most fondly of that stretch of road, West 77th east of CPW, for Nov. 4, 2006. I exited the Park after the Marathon, very tired, slightly chilled. Waiting in the middle of the street — I was out of the Park before the masses — was my wife. I slowly walked towards her and she, more swiftly, towards me. She gave me a hug. She had put up with a lot in my preparation for the race. I had last seen her, camera in hand, on Fifth Avenue at about 93rd Street.
She gave me a hug, and I her. We slowly headed to Columbus and up to 87th Street, where she had parked, gathering congratulations, seeing how I was wrapped in the mylon blanket, along the way.
Joe, thank you for sharing this — as I was l walking around looking at the balloons, I was thinking about how it was also the staging area for the marathon finishers to meet up with their family and friends.
Love the pics, love the captions even more! I went to see the parade on Thursday (NOT my idea) w/ my sister and nephews. They seemed surprised that it was CROWDED! But I loved seeing Mickey Mouse and Picachew…even if I don’t know how to spell his name!
BTW, I am going to take your racewalking challenge. You have thrown down the gauntlet and I accept. When and where?
I’ll be in NYC this Thursday for lunch, and could walk w/ you or we could pick another day for Central Park.