When Agnes was a child, she loved a book called "Nothing Ever Happens on My Block." Sadly, this tiny gem is out of print, but the basic gist of it was a little boy sitting on a curb and being bored. He is oblivious to the happenings around him, including -- if memory serves -- the birth of a cat family, a fire that destroys a house and a visit from a witch. Needless to say, a lot happens on this kid's block. Well, a lot happens on ours too. Maybe not our block, but certainly our coin, or corner. Why just this morning we were beckoned to the window by a pumping bass line that shook the foundations of our 17th century building. Where was this siren call of cheesy club music emanating from? Why, the multitude of sound trucks on Boulevard Montparnasse. And what occassion warrants such festivites? Le Marche des Fiertées, aka Gay Pride parade. Agnes has fond memories of watching the NYC Gay Pride parade as a child. It always marched past the original Barnes & Noble on 5th Ave. (back when there was only one) that she would visit with her family each June to stock up on summer books. Here are the AirFrance employees prepping their soundtruck for the parade:
And here they are, hours later in the day, doing their "in case of an emergency, locate your nearest exi
t" dance moves.
There was much dancing and revelry in the streets. The Pink TV people were handing out pink whistles.
Eventually, the floats actually began to move. And we mean eventually. They were there for hours and hours, blasting music. Some of the eye candy that cruised by:
Within moments of the passsing of the last float, the streets had been cleaned and there was no trace of the revelry.
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