In Which I Ponder the Ultimate Fate of My Altra Lone Peak 6 Trail Runners

 Wow! Look at the length of that title! Might be a Gods Are Bored record! Long story short, I'm at a crossroads with my beloved Altra Lone Peak 6 Trail Runners. It's decision time.

A little background information first.

My feet are the part of my body that scream "She's a witch! BURN HER!" I have bunions, hammer toes, and fallen arches. Between 2009 and 2021 I didn't have one single pair of comfortable shoes. I had to size up two numbers to find anything that would fit over my gnarly feet.

Finally, in desperation, I went with The Fair to R.E.I. to look at their shoes. If there's no R.E.I. in your hood, let me introduce you: It's an outdoor goods emporium that manages to be rugged and bougie simultaneously. Not my kind of shopping experience, necessarily, but desperation will do that to you.

Fair and I went to the shoe department, and a nice outdoorsy kinda guy listened to my foot woes and disappeared into the stockroom. He returned with a box. When he unwrapped the goods inside, Fair exclaimed, "Ew! Don't buy those, they're hideous!"

Undeterred, I tried them on. It was like Dorothy landing back in Kansas with Toto in her arms. Ugly they might have been, but Altra Lone Peak 6 Trail Runners were the absolute tits.

EXHIBIT A: ALTRA LONE PEAK 6

Fair wasn't lying. They aren't things of beauty. But they are joys forever.

Altras are lightweight and arch-support-free, with zero drop and roomy toe boxes. The price point is competitive. The colors are a bit ... umm ... intense, but oh well! When you have witch feet, you'll settle for any hue.

And boy, did I settle. I settled right into those Altra puppies like I was born in them. I was such a satisfied customer that I joined the Altra fan page on Facebook. There, when I wistfully commented that I wish I could get Altras in black leather, I was led to Altra Torins. In shiny black leather. The best old lady teacher shoes ever.

So I had a pair of Altra Lone Peak 6 and a pair of Altra Torin 5. Then I bought a second pair of both. Then, in an uncharacteristic burst of self-indulgence, I bought the Altra Lone Peak waterproof hiking boots. For Anneland, and boy oh boy are they perfect.

This is where the Ultimate Fate part comes in.

It's November. That time of year when the Philadelphia Mummers Parade is coming into view.

Last year one little thing marred my Mummers Parade bliss. My feet hurt. The shoes I bought at the thrift store and painted gold might have been two sizes too big, but they still bit my bunions savagely.

My first pair of Lone Peak Trail Runners have given me two good years and are still rocking on. But I need a pair of gold shoes for the parade. Once I douse the trail runners in gold spray paint, they won't be good for daily use anymore. But they will give me many awesome struts on Broad Street...

It's a quandary.

I have until December 31, 2023 to make a final decision. I'm inclined to sacrifice the daily use of my first pair of Altra Lone Peak 6 Trail Runners on the altar of having a super comfortable pair of golden slippers to strut in during every Mummers Parade for the rest of my life.

Sacrifices, sacrifices! Let no one say Anne Johnson doesn't sweat for her art.

Bonding with the Philly Tarot Deck

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We're from Philly, fuckin' Philly. No one likes us, we don't care. Go Birds! Wanna cheesesteak?

If anyone had told my little self in 1969 that I would live my life out 6 miles from Philadelphia (thereby investing all my heart and soul in that hapless hamlet), I would have either cried or jumped off a cliff, depending if there was a cliff available at the moment. I didn't have any interest in Philly, any connections to Philly, or even a smidgen of desire to set foot in it.

Hold that thought in your mind through the back story.

Like almost every modern Pagan, I have dabbled in the Tarot deck from time to time. But never with any enthusiasm. As with religion in general, Tarot is so doggone earnest. All drama, no humor. I could never wrap my mind around the standard deck. Then I got a Knights Templar deck, and that one was worse. But I do believe there's some wisdom to be had from Tarot readings, so I never discounted them completely. Just wasn't my cup of tea.

Until now.

For Xmas, my daughter The Fair asked for two prints from a "Philly Tarot" deck. I had never heard of it. I followed the link she sent me, and the two she particularly asked for were Xed out. I don't know if that was because they were sold out or not. I couldn't see them.

But a quick perusal of the Philly Tarot deck made me think, "Gee, Fair must want the whole deck, really, she's more besotted with Philly than I am!" So I ordered it.

She didn't want the deck. Only the prints.

I didn't cancel my order for the deck. Hey, I live in fuckin' Philly, I should promote the local businesses, right?

Then my daughter The Heir and I went to Phoenixville, PA for the annual Firebird Festival. This shindig is always a highlight of the year. I like to get to Phoenixville early, in order to find a parking spot and do some shopping. Phoenixville never disappoints when it comes to Xmas shopping.

Nor did it disappoint this year. The local book store had the Philly Tarot prints, signed by the artist. And Oh. My. Gods.

EXHIBIT A: THE DEVIL

This was the print Fair wanted.

But as I leafed through the other prints I found this one:

EXHIBIT B:  THE KING OF SWORDS

I think that's when I started to cry. Because I had ordered the deck without knowing that this was in there.

In due time the Philly Tarot deck arrived in the mail, right in the swirl of the holiday, so I put it aside to examine later. And it only got better, if that could be possible.

EXHIBIT C: THE STAR

In addition to being beautifully created, these cards are a real love song to Philadelphia. Ben Franklin is the Emperor. Betsy Ross is the Empress. The Liberty Bell is the Hanged Man. And that ominous Tower, so foreboding that we have a whole era called Tower Time, is the detested Comcast Tower that everyone in the city hates with a passion.

I could go on and on.

You know how Tarot decks are. You have a major arcana and then the four suits, which are pretty much playing cards. Well, when I finally got to leafing through the suit cards, the Cups were on the bottom. In the Philly Tarot, Cups are cheesesteaks. And the figures on the Cups cards are Mummers.

I just want to throw these on the floor and roll around in them, I love them so much.

I don't think I will use the Philly Tarot strictly as card readers do. But I have my ways of using Tarot cards for myself and anyone who wants some advice. The important aspect of this deck, for me, is that this Tarot deck is chock-a-block with humor. Crikey! David Lynch, holding the iconic Clothespin statue, is the King of Wands! Throw that one in a reading and keep a straight face. I dare ya!

Long sermon short, I have fallen in love with my new Tarot deck, which combines all the standards of a regular deck with an abundant and loving tribute to the city I'm stranded in, probably until I croak.

If you want to see the whole thing, click here. I hope this artist is able to pay his rent on time just from sales of this card deck. That would make me happy.

2023 Mummers Parade with the Two Street Stompers

 Happy New Year, fans! Those of you just joining "The Gods Are Bored" might not be aware that I am a badge-wearing Philadelphia Mummer. The Mummers Parade is the oldest folk parade in America, happening in Philly every year on January 1.

If I can sum up the Mummers Parade, it's this: Lots and lots and lots of people, like in the 10,000s, dressed in satin and sequins and feathers, dancing and clowning at various skill levels in clubs, bands, and brigades. I am a member of the Two Street Stompers, which is a Comic brigade. We marched 240 people this year.

Our theme was "I Want My M(ummers) TV." This theme was chosen because the local station that aired the parade dropped its patronage at the 11th hour. Fortunately, a cable station called MeTV2 picked up the entire 8 hours of Wenches, Comics, and String bands. I'm sitting here now watching the recording, and the cable network is doing WAY better than the local station did.

Anyway, back to our theme. We had a giant t.v. and our captain dressed in that astronaut uniform and planted the MTV flag in a miniature moon. Then the ladies danced as Cyndi Lauper, and the guys danced as Twisted Sister, and the kids and their parents did Devo. It. Was. Amazing.

Every year someone watching at home records the performance from the t.v., so here it is.

And here are the Exhibits:

EXHIBIT A: GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

That's me in the back with the multi-colored hair and rhinestone sunglasses. I couldn't resist accessorizing this theme!

Does it look like we're having fun? I love this parade.

EXHIBIT B: GROUP PHOTO

Somehow, nine years out of ten we get these jaw-dropping sunny days. It wasn't even cold!

The parade consists of two components. The first one is the performance at City Hall and the strut down Broad Street (pictured in Exhibit B). Then we board buses and go down to South Philly, where the whole tradition originated, and we strut down 2 Street. The whole parade is quite a hike, especially 2 Street.

Our club marched at City Hall later than usual and didn't get to 2 Street until about 4:30. That's way later than we usually arrive there, and it meant that I got to experience being on 2 Street at night. It's a wild celebration. South Philly is a neighborhood, and the entire neighborhood turns out for the more intimate atmosphere. And by dark, everyone -- viewers and performers with one pathetic exception -- are full of spirits. (The pathetic exception is me.) Must say I did miss that one shot of Fireball I might have imbibed. But I stayed the ol' sobriety course.

I got home later than ever before, to find a lovely dinner cooked by The Fair. Whole family sat down together and ate. So I got to spend the day with my Two Street Stomper family, and the evening with my biologicals.

Speaking of biologicals, usually both daughters attend in person, but this year only The Fair did. That was okay, since the other offspring went to keep her dad company.

EXHIBIT C: She Loves Her Some Philly

It's so magical to spend the first day of the year dancing in outrageous satin, with a big group of fun and lively people!  Here's to another 10 parades!

Triumphant Return of the Two Street Stompers

 On New Year's Day 2021 I sulked around the house and watched reruns of past Mummers Parades. Not so 2022! Back on Broad Street with the Two Street Stompers!

Considering that Christmas was 50 percent here in Chateau Johnson, a 100 percent Mummer experience was welcome indeed. The parade was delayed one day by rain, so we stepped off on January 2 under cloudy skies and balmy temperatures.

This year our theme was "Not All Heroes Wear Capes." It was a salute to essential medical workers. Our suits were designed to look like scrubs, and we all had surgical caps and - yes - masks! (Well, I wore mine, except for photos.)

Sorry, but I don't have a video of the routine. If it's posted on YouTube by someone, I'll show y'all at another time. It was a touching show. We all wore the same color satin, and the kids came out in front and did a little dance (which was eye-popping adorable). Then all the health care workers in the club came out of the ranks and waved to the crowd.

I have to hand it to our captain. It's hard enough to get 230 sober people to move in straight lines and follow some dance steps. When your troupe has been liberally lubricated and still can bust the moves, you're doing something right!

We did our routine at City Hall and then headed down Broad Street. The crowds were sparse, needless to say, but my daughter The Fair and her boyfriend came down to watch. When we finished up at Broad and Washington, we made our way down to the Mummers Museum on Two Street for a group photo.

EXHIBIT A: Two Street Stompers NYB 2022

I'm in there somewhere. Aren't those dresses gorgeous?

From the museum, we strutted all the way down Two Street to Oregon Avenue. It's a long hike, but that's where the real mumming occurs. That neighborhood is steeped to the gills in Mummers clubhouses, and the people love seeing us.

EXHIBIT B: Two Street Strut!

That's me on the left, and looking over my shoulder is Mummers Hall of Fame member Ed "Buzz" McLaughlin, basically my brother from another mother. Buzz's grandfather was a Mummer, and now Buzz's grandson is a Mummer too. Generational wealth!

The day finally wound to a close in our home base of Gloucester City, New Jersey. It was an 11-hour strut, and every second of it a pure joy.

EXHIBIT C: But Wait, There's More!

Guess which club made the local newspaper, above the fold, on January 3? Bing bing bing! The Two Street Stompers! And this is a huge honor, given how elaborate the string band costumes are.

Another parade is in the history books. I'm so stoked that I can dance that much and strut that far at my age! I love being a Two Street Stomper. Such fun.

Working from home the next two weeks, I remain

Your correspondent from the City of Brotherly Love,

Anne Johnson, Fired Up!

Culturally Appropriate

 I spend too much time on Facebook. Click "Like" if you do too.

One of the reasons I spend so much time there is that there are so many pages with topics that are vitally interesting to me. How can I resist a Facebook page called The Turkey Vulture Society? It's candy to me, I tell you. Candy.

I also follow a page called "For the Love of Crows." Because, you know, if you can't be with a vulture you love, love the crow you're with.

Yesterday a young woman posted on "For the Love of Crows" that crows are her "spirit animal." It didn't take two second for a sniffy person to comment that "spirit animal" is a cultural appropriation that shouldn't be used. The concept of spirit animals is Native American, and we white Europeans have no right to it.

I have been as guilty as anyone in this. For years I called vultures my "spirit animal," my "totem," and on and on. I call them Sacred Thunderbirds, the Native American description, because it's so much lovelier than "buzzard," which is the European descriptor.

From now on I'll call them buzzards. I really don't have any right to appropriate Native American concepts.

Well, this whole cultural appropriation thing got me to thinking. What am I entitled to in my white, European traditions? Where is my cultural touchstone?

DING DING DING DING!!!

I believe that dressing up in costumes and dancing is probably more ancient to the human condition than any other invention. But the idea of dressing up in a costume (either nicer than your usual clothing or cross-dressing or both) and dancing at the beginning of the year is indisputably a product of the British Isles.

Being a Two Street Stomper is my culturally appropriate activity.

Which is swell, because today I went to a parade! The weather was impeccable, the crowds were friendly and appreciative, and we gave them a good show. It was so nice to see my Stompers fam again after 18 long months.

The moral of this brief sermon is:

*Don't call it a "spirit animal" or a "Sacred Thunderbird." Call it a buzzard, but venerate it just as much.

*Being a Mummer is a culturally appropriate activity for me. OH yeah! Two Street Fired Up!

Anyone who has gotten this far in this post: Thank you for your offers to help me with my disagreeable co-teacher! His initials are BD. Can't even believe I'm having this issue, never having had it before. But there's a first time for everything. I'm stuck with the boy, hoping I can teach him something. But not highly confident.

Pardon Me While I Wallow in Self Pity and Nostalgia

 Oh, Wretched New Year! This would have been my 10th year marching in the Philadelphia Mummers Parade. Alas, quite sensibly, the 2021 parade was canceled. Here I sit, on yet another day of self-imposed quarantine, dodging COVID and watching Mummers recordings on t.v.

Strutting down memory lane is the best I can do.

EXHIBIT A: 2017 with The Fair

EXHIBIT B: My 3rd Parade, 2013

EXHIBIT C: OUR 1st Place Finish, 2018 (I'm in the rear in the red hat -- it was 6 degrees F at the time.)

EXHIBIT D:  2019 on Broad Street

EXHIBIT E: 2020 St. Patrick's Day, Luckily Held in February, Most Recent Strut

EXHIBIT F: Gritty and I Need Another Assignment ... Maybe Overthrowing the Oligarchy

EXHIBIT G: 2021

I'm crossing my fingers that 2021 will bring us a new, effective president and an end to this pandemic nightmare. COVID is real, it's a killer, and I wouldn't be in the parade this year if I was the only one missing it.

Stay warm, stay safe, Happy New Year!

Raining on My Parade

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," wishing we could sneak into Davos and eat the rich! Or at least eat what the rich are eating, which I bet are some exceptionally fine vittles.

Mr. J and I are just emerging from an epic grippe. He was hospitalized with it, and I coughed for three weeks straight. Today was the first time since the Mummers Parade that I was able to get out and even exercise a little bit.

And with everything else going on in the world, today's post is yet again about the Mummers Parade.

The city of Philadelphia is quite clearly sick of this parade. They have shortened the route and put a third of the performances indoors. But the worst enemy of the Mummers Parade are some of the participants themselves.

The use of blackface in the parade has been banned since the 1960s, and even entries with "tanned" or red skin have been called into question. All Mummers know that appearing in blackface gives the press and the city ammunition in denouncing the spectacle. It also provides reason for the city's majority population groups to hate the parade.

And yet there are always two or three pinhead cracker morons who insist on blacking their faces.

The difficulty arises in the size of some of the wench clubs. (If you think of the parade as a hierarchy, even the wenches will tell you that they are the bottom feeders.) When you have a club marching a thousand people, your leadership can't police everyone. Sadly, it appears that self-policing or group admonition is beyond these fools.

The largest and rowdiest wench brigade was disqualified this year from their division for having members in blackface. The leadership of the brigade said those offenders will not march with the group again. But the damage is done. The appearance of those two or three wannabe Nazi creepers was the only thing the various news outlets wanted to talk about in the wake of the parade. And of course this malfeasance has been seized upon by everyone who wants the parade to be seen as racist, lawless, and a blot on the spotless reputation of the City of Brotherly Love.

I know there are racist and homophobic people who march in the Mummers Parade. Those people are not in my comic club. Do I stand down and denounce the event, or do I participate?

Well, I look at it like this. You go to a party, and over in the corner there's a pinhead cracker moron with a t-shirt that shows Trump dressed like Rambo, holding a semi-automatic weapon. (No lie, I have seen such shirts. Not at the Mummers Parade.) Do I get a plate of food and sit as far away as I can from the offender, or do I leave? Do I offer myself and my friends as better examples of the average party-goer, or do I just decamp in a huff?

I have no plans to decamp from the Mummers Parade. It hurts my heart to see it showered with disrespect by groups that I like (aka Antifa), but the experience does remind me that the biggest story is always the ugliest story. "Nice Mummer Lady Poses with Crowds on Her Way Back to the El Train" would hardly be something that anyone would want to read.

For the record, my club (Comic, not Wench Division) finished third. We had over 200 members in our group. None in blackface. That. Would. Not. Fly.

Morons At Play

What can I say? It was a sunny day, and I had a few hours to spare while my daughter The Heir and her s.o. went canoeing. That's how I found myself on Main Street in Haterville in time to watch a Revolutionary War re-enactment.

 What was I thinking?

EXHIBIT A: BOYS AND BIGGER BOYS



The gaggle of colonials in the street had a cannon that they fired with reckless abandon at a small aggregate of Redcoats advancing on them. Lots of noise. But just like in Star Wars, no matter how much the two sides shot at each other, no one fell down.

I honestly wouldn't mind battle re-enactments if they were really authentic, as in people paying a good couple hundred bucks for movie-quality gaping wounds, which they would claw at in futility as they screamed for their mothers. Another compelling element always missing is the panic in the populace. There were lots of women standing around in colonial attire, just watching. Whereas, to be authentic, they should have been screaming and running, their few possessions or a child clutched in their arms.

All this is my way of saying there's nothing historical about re-enactments. They are a more expensive form of LARP with different rules and no dragons.

But, to make matters worse, this particular "skirmish" had a new loathsome attraction.

EXHIBIT B: UGLIEST "GODS ARE BORED" PHOTO SINCE THE END OF THE CHRIS CHRISTIE ERA

So they had a guy re-enacting an Iroquois Indian. He was on the British side.

See, if I didn't write this blog, I would have just uttered a few select expletives and walked away. But I wanted to get the reporting done, so I could bring this travesty to y'all.

This person said he has no Iroquois ancestry, he dresses like this "for the history." I asked what his gear cost, and he said around $1,000. I asked him about the red paint, and he said it's what the Iroquois wore into battle, so they could wash up afterwards and go about blithely, like blend in with the populace.

I couldn't resist. I have such a smart mouth. I said, "Well, you're lucky to be in a brand of entertainment that is more accepted than mine. I'm a Mummer, and if we came out looking like this, we would be fried on a spit." And I walked away.

Mind you, I know the difference between a battle re-enactment and a Mummers parade. In one, grown men dress up in weird costumes and make a lot of noise. In the other, grown men dress up in weird costumes and are silent.

The way I carry on with every deity from every kind of pantheon, both Old World and New World, you would think I would be okay with cultural appropriation. But for a Caucasian man to dress up like this, "for the history" or otherwise, is disrespectful beyond the pale.

I've never liked watching people shoot at each other. I think it shows bad taste. It minimizes the suffering that wars inflict upon an entire populace and the ecosystem as well. I doubt that you see many of them done in Syria or Afghanistan these days.

Well! Enough of the sermon! I know you need to have your palate cleansed, so feast your eyes on this short video clip of my Mummers club, the Two Street Stompers, covering the same material a few years back.

Palate cleanser found here.

Why the Mummers Parade Survives

I think this is the 118th year that Philadelphia has hosted a Mummers Parade on January 1.

Like many events in big cities, this parade began as a civic effort to curb public drunkenness on New Year's Day. But in this era of warm and cozy bars and restaurants, open museums, and a less tolerant attitude toward public drunkenness, why does this parade survive?

Mind you, as many as 10,000 people take part in the parade. And there's a simple formula to its continued existence (even though Philly's civic leaders would rather it just fizzle out).

Have you ever gone to a family reunion? My dad's people used to have them every year on the Fourth of July, in a little creek-side park near Chaneysville, PA. Upwards of a hundred people would come, and the event consisted of eating, talking, playing horseshoes, a few kid's games, and ... not much else. And it lasted all day.

Now imagine if your family reunion had a goal in mind: marching in a parade as a family, with matching costumes and a theme. Yes, you would need to get together a little more often to practice and make costumes and props. But it's your family. You wouldn't really mind (mostly), would you?

Mumming persists in Philadelphia because many Mummer groups are basically big, extended families whose members have been in parades since they were tots. My club, the Two Street Stompers, was formed by a family whose parents, aunts, and uncles had marched with other clubs. Some members of the Stompers who are well into mid-life have been marching on Broad Street since they were too young to walk. (They were carried.) Now they are carrying their kids.

Every year at our Two Street Stompers practice, there are young parents bringing their babies and toddlers for the first time. And there are also esteemed elders -- some in their 90s -- who come to watch, and then stand up to strut a little at the end. It's a touching sight.

The number of participants in the Mummers Parade has dwindled over the past 20 years or so. Still, if you go to a Mummers practice -- any club of any size -- you'll see multiple generations of the same family, carrying on a family tradition. That's what keeps this thing going.

As far as curbing public drunkenness goes, well, emmm ... People are going to imbibe on a holiday, no matter what else they are doing. Judge not, lest ye be judged.

Where's My Gold Spray Paint? Another Year with the Two Street Stompers!

This tumultuous year is drawing to a close, and that means it's time for another Mummers Parade!

Philadelphia hosts an annual Mummers Parade on New Year's Day. For decades I would get out of bed on January 1 and turn on the t.v. and sit in a chair, watching the parade. "That looks like fun," I would say to myself.

And then something shifted. Instead of saying, "That looks like fun," I started thinking, "I wonder how I could do that?" So I asked Doctor Google, I got some phone numbers, and in December of 2011 I found myself in Brooklawn, New Jersey at the clubhouse of the Two Street Stompers.

EXHIBIT A: THE AUTHOR STRUTS AS A TWO STREET STOMPER

The Philadelphia Mummers Parade is a tradition that extends back 100 years or so and has its roots in South Philly neighborhoods. The Two Street Stompers have been marching as a club since 1978. They were one of the first clubs to have women members.

When I joined the D.A.R., I had to fill out a huge, long form and get two members to endorse me. I had to meet the membership and prove I was of high moral fiber. I became a Stomper after a phone call. They didn't even need to eyeball me first. The fact that I wanted to strut was enough for them.

My three regular readers know that I like to sport fancy costumes. In this respect, being a Stomper is intensely rewarding. Every year I get a beautiful, brand-new satin suit that I get to keep ... and I don't have to make it myself! What a relief that is!

This is our club in one of our first-place finishes. I helped to make the puffy parasols.

I think it's fair to say this isn't the D.A.R.

I've had so much fun as a Two Street Stomper. Originally I thought I would do it a year or two, just to say I participated. BAMP! Now I can't even imagine sitting in the chair and watching!

This is my favorite parade picture. That's me and my daughter The Fair. She marched with us twice. Look at City Hall in the background! Mind you, this is the first day of the year. The first. What an excellent way to launch another 365-day cycle!

If you want to see last year's first-place-finishing routine, click here.

We made the front page of the Philadelphia Daily News. It was 6 degrees with a stiff breeze. But hey. It's only once a year.

I'm in the back, wearing a red ski cap.

You can judge a girl by the company she keeps. The D.A.R. taught me that.

A Tale of Two Marches

There's some spark inside me that makes me want to march. Parades, protests, it's all the same to me. You close the roads, I'll walk 'em.

Most of my marching has been in Philadelphia. It's a pretty good place to march, mostly, as it's a grid and not hilly at all. The only thing adversely affecting a march in Philadelphia is the temperature.

In the summer of 2016 I participated in a march that was held at the time of the Democratic National Convention. The temperatures that day topped out in the mid-90s.

EXHIBIT A: 2016 SUMMER PROTEST MARCH, PHILADELPHIA

The "Michelle" thing is a long story. But this is me on a blistering hot day, with City Hall in the background.

What I chiefly remember about that day was that everyone was trying to find a speck of shade to stand in. People were clustered in the shadows of buildings. When we set out to march from City Hall to the stadiums, I aborted mission at Pine Street, dizzy from the heat.

Fast forward to January 1, 2017. Now, rather than hovering in the mid-90s, the temperature in Philadelphia was flirting with 15. The wind chill made it feel even colder.

EXHIBIT B: 2018 MUMMERS PARADE, PHILADELPHIA

Not only am I wearing exponentially more attire, you'll note that I'm standing in the sun. This was the funniest part, to me. In the summertime in Philly, everyone was looking for shade to stand in. On New Year's Day, we were all in search of the sunniest spot to keep our bones warm.

For those of you just joining the action here, I am a Philadelphia Mummer, a proud member of the Two Street Stompers Comic Brigade. Here's a better photo of this year's suit:

EXHIBIT C: ANNE IS FROM THE 1950s

Bad lighting. You can hardly see the poodle.

The Mummers Parade is a competition, and this year my club won! Our theme was "Back to the Philadelphia Future." We had a time machine, and the brigade was split into three groups (1950s, 1960s, and 1970s).

If you go to this link, you need to scroll down to the Two Street Stompers, and you can see a somewhat truncated version of our routine. It was a terrific routine, if I might brag a little bit. Shout out to the leader of my unit, Murph, who thought it might be nice to go shirtless in the subzero elements.

It was cold, but the sun was out, and the New Year got rung in with maximum craziness, and the Two Street Stompers emerged with another big victory. And today, the front page of the newspaper ...

EXHIBIT D: ANNE'S IN THE REAR IN A RED SKI HAT WITH POM POM

If you judge a girl by the company she keeps, I would say I hang out with an interesting crowd. Please note that, as in the first shot in this post, City Hall provides the backdrop.

Happy New Year!

Day Without a Woman

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I'm Anne Johnson, and last time I looked, I was a woman. So I guess I still am..Give me five seconds to confirm ... yes. Still female. This makes me eligible for March 8 Day Without a Woman protest!

Sadly, I must decline this opportunity to sound my political voice.

It's one thing to put on your pussy hat and go march in Washington, DC on a Saturday. It's another thing to participate in a general strike and call out from work. I'm a school teacher. I have 66 students, and it's my job to teach them to read and write.

I'll be wearing red, though. And I won't buy anything. I've got to save my money for future marches.

Speaking of marches, I was in a parade this weekend! It was so much fun.

EXHIBIT A: ANNE IS A TWO STREET STOMPER

If you think I look good in this satin, you should see it on the men! Oh, wait! I can show you that!

Back to a Day Without Women. I think this is a bridge too far.

Asking women to step away from their jobs for a day implies that their work is just a job, with no intrinsic value. I'm sure there are a lot of people (both genders) who just put in their eight hours every day, but I don't quite look at my work that way.

As I gaze out across my classroom, taking in the bored-stiff visages of my students, I feel that I am not making one damn bit of difference in their lives. I could leave tomorrow, and they wouldn't even miss me. Half of them forget my name or call me some other teacher's name. They would much rather look at their phones than at me.

But if I stay home from teaching on a general strike, then I become the kind of teacher that the creature Betsy DeVos claims all public school teachers are. To hear the voucher pushers tell it, we public school teachers are just in this profession for the paycheck and the tenure and the health insurance. Taking a day off on a whim is just the sort of thing we would flock to do.

So I'm not doing it. Red shirt, yes. Day off, no.

Spare is going to be disappointed, but I think even the thrift store counts as shopping. Maybe not? Your thoughts? I do need some new candles.

Mummers Parade 2017

Wow, what a beautiful day! Look at that sky!

It's Spare and me, out with the Two Street Stompers on New Year's Day, brightening up Broad Street in the City of Brotherly Love! Our routine was amazing. At some point I'll be able to upload a video of it, but it hasn't been made public yet.

Our routine went something like this: The Redcoats marched out first, behind Lord Cornwallis. (The tiniest tots carried fifes and drums. It was adorable.) Then the Colonials came marching out behind George Washington to some badass music. Then there was a dance off between the two armies to see who could bust the best move. Then, we ladies -- led by Betsy Ross -- came out to sort things out. To the strains of James Brown ("Living in America') the troops mixed and mingled in an orderly fashion, until the whole unit was all conglomerated. Point being that everyone is welcome in America.

Nice point, don't you think?

Here's a photo of our fighting Colonials. Check out the darling tot.

If you judge a person by the company they keep, here's my posse. Come to your own conclusion.

We had over 200 participants this year. The Two Street Stompers is one of the largest comic brigades. I think I counted seven school buses that we filled in New Jersey for the transit to Philadelphia.

So this parade is a competition. We finished in third place. Today I watched a recording of the entire Comic Division, and I didn't see the two clubs that finished ahead of us. Not every club gets on t.v. If there are commercials while you're performing, it's just the luck of the draw.

You would think, given the current political turmoil, that I wouldn't be in the spirit of a patriotic routine just now. But this did my heart good. This country is just as much mine as anyone else's. I'm an American, proud of it, and I won't back down. I live here, with my opinions that I'm entitled to.

Next year is the 40th anniversary of the Two Street Stompers. I'll be saving my pennies from this day forward. Wouldn't want to miss that!

Using the Old To Ring in the New

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where nothing is new under the Sun ... except the year, which turns over every 365 days (and sometimes 366).

Does it seem at all weird to you that adult folks of both genders would dress up in odd clothing and go wandering around on New Year's Eve or New Year's Day? Well gosh, I doubt if there's anything more ancient than dressing up in costumes, except maybe singing and drumming.

Actually I put this question to some extremely, extremely bored deities, and They told me that putting on masks is something that people have been doing for 20,000 years. Imagine that! No, wait. Why would that be hard to imagine?

When we put on masks, costumes, or odd clothing, to parade from house to house, or from street to street, we are removing ourselves from ... well, from ourselves. For one short moment in time, we're someone else, or at least we have license to behave like someone else. This is powerful stuff. Make no mistake, this is some ancient and holy behavior.

The tradition known as "Mumming" comes from Ireland. It is also found in Newfoundland. The scrappy little city of Hagerstown, Maryland has a Mummers Parade every year on Halloween. Irish Mummers were known to go from door to door, in costume. They weren't exactly mum -- they would sing songs or recite rhymes. The tradition is associated with the solstice, but for me it's not a reach to imagine that it was also possibly practiced at Halloween, which after all is the Celtic New Year.

EXHIBIT A: Anne at Philadelphia Mummer's Parade, on Right, and It Was Cold AF That Year

The city of Philadelphia has been holding a Mummer's Parade for more than 100 years. In their wisdom, the Town Fathers of yesteryear decided that having a parade would be a good way to cut down on drunken, rowdy behavior at the New Year. Well ... yes, and no. You see, the costumes give us license to be rowdy. They just do. It's organized rowdiness, but when you get 30,000 people involved in something, in costume, you are going to get some mayhem.

The Philadelphia Mummers also have a storied tradition of political incorrectness. This I will not deny. The parade judges had to outlaw blackface (way before my time), and last year a club got all kinds of heat for doing a Mexican theme in brownface. (Personally I thought it was a warm nod to Mexico, not at all nasty ... but the snobby Vaudvillains begged to differ.) My club doesn't go in for political incorrectness, but we do blur the line for what passes for "family entertainment." Yeah, some years that line is wayyyyy blurry. Okay, refer to the above. Can we get out of ourselves for a day? Can we be outrageous without offending any racial group or hurting anyone physically? Yes, we do it all the time.

Our routine this year features George Washington and Lord Cornwallis facing off in a dance contest, doing the whip and nae nae. If you don't think that's funny, you might be on the wrong blog. There's nothing I would rather do at this very moment in time than mock our nation's rocky birth pangs.

As I write this on New Year's Eve, I would be remiss if I didn't note that I have lacked energy for a few months now, and especially since the election. This morning I bustled around, assembling my Under Armor, Mardi Gras beads (red, white, and blue), and foot warmers. Then, suddenly, I felt like moving. I stacked firewood for an hour and did yard work for another hour. Wow, a body in motion!

If the Philadelphia Mummers Parade makes me a body in motion, I can't be anything but grateful. It's a comfort to know that I can leap outside myself, shake and shimmy, and put all that real stuff away for a day.


There's a link in the post below for a live stream of the 2017 parade. My club will be performing for the judges some time between 10:00 and noon, EST. After that you get a whole afternoon of amazing string bands. Their routines, costumes, and props are amazing.

Oh yeah, one more thing: We Mummers don't call our costumes by that name. They are suits, or dresses.

Happy New Year!

Two Parades This Year -- The Fun One is First

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," home of a proud Philadelphia Mummer!

EXHIBIT A: Anne and Spare, Philadelphia Mummers Parade 2016

Here I am last year on Broad Street, starting the year with a smile and a parasol!

EXHIBIT B: The Two Street Stompers

This is my club, the Two Street Stompers. I think this is 2014. I'm in the front row, standing.

I'm now in my fifth parade as a Two Street Stomper. Before joining the Stompers, I spent more than two decades sitting in an easy chair, watching the parade on New Year's Day. Finally I decided to get up off my keister and join the fun. Best decision I ever made!

I was really fortunate to find the Two Street Stompers. I tried to join a club called the Vaudvillains, but they weren't accepting new members. As you can see from the above photo, the Stompers don't have a problem with new members. It's a parade! The more the merrier! And boy, are these folks fun and nice! You can't argue with grown men willing to brave January chills in shiny gold tutus.

I've made a new close friend from being in the Stompers. It's never too late to make new friends, either.

EXHIBIT C: Anne's new friend, Buzz!

That's Buzz on the left. The photo says it all. You four readers who know me, doesn't he look like someone who would make a good friend for Anne? (Oh, wait! One of the four readers is Buzz. Well, Buzz, what do you think?)

The irony of having a friend named Buzz has not escaped me.

I must admit, my heart is heavy and my spirits are low this year. But damn it, I'm saving that angst for the next parade I'm going to be in, a mere three weeks from this one. Right now, this very minute, it's a new year, I live in Philadelphia, and I'm part of a proud tradition. I am a Mummer.

You can live stream the whole 8-hour parade here, beginning at 9:00 on New Year's Day.

And now please excuse me while I spray a fresh coat of gold paint onto my sneakers. Every Mummer must have golden slippers!

No Time for Losers

Most people stay up on New Year's Eve to be awake at 12:00 when the next year begins.

Not me. I go to bed early.

I go to bed early because I get up early on January 1 (basically 6:15 a.m.). I put on a satin-and-sequined costume and go to the clubhouse of the Two Street Stompers, a Philadelphia Mummers Parade comic brigade.

We wish each other a Happy New Year. We put on makeup and wigs. We partake of beverages of our choice. Then we get on buses and ride over to Philly to be in the Mummers Parade.

Our youngest marchers are actually carried or pushed in strollers. Not sure how old the oldest marchers are, but they are certainly senior citizens who know that being able to dance all day gives you a longer, healthier life.

Philadelphia has been hosting a Mummers Parade since 1901, when rowdy behavior in the neighborhoods was cause for concern. Now the parade is a tradition, and I think the Powers-That-Be have been trying to marginalize it for awhile. Good luck with that, because 10,000 marchers and over eight hours of entertainment aren't going to be something you just sweep under the rug.

The parade was live-streamed on computer and broadcast on t.v. Ahem. Our Two Street Stomper routine lasted exactly one minute and 52 seconds, and somehow the network cut to a commercial after the first five seconds, resuming live coverage with five seconds left in the routine. Basically a commercial break of two minutes right in the middle of a routine? Curious. Could our content be deemed worthy of censorship?

It's difficult to get a video of the routine. Even in these days of YouTube. With that in mind, I hereby re-create it with still photographs shamelessly stolen from the Internet.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE MISS MUMMERDELPHIA PAGEANT, 2015!

Out comes our "host," Donald Trump (a member in a suit and wig) and all the kids under 12, dressed as judges with cute white wigs.

OUR FIRST CONTESTANT, FROM 9TH AND WASHINGTON, MISS ITALIAN MARKET, IN HER SWIM SUIT!

(cue "Rocky" music)

SHE'S A REAL KNOCKOUT.

OUR NEXT CONTESTANT, FROM 8TH AND ARCH, MISS CHINATOWN!
(This was the unit I was in.)
(cue Donna Summer, "Lookin' for Some Hot Stuff")

SHE'S HOT AND STEAMY.

OUR NEXT CONTESTANT, FROM 5TH AND CHESTNUT, MISS OLD CITY, DOING HER SPECIAL TALENT, THE MUMMER STRUT!

(Miss Old City's unit limps out, then cue music, "Get Up Off Of That Thing." The whole unit, with Miss Old City front and center, begins the energetic and traditional Mummer strut.)

AND THE WINNER IS, MISS OLD CITY!

(Miss Old City is crowned.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR! HAPPY NEW YEAR! HAPPY NEW YEAR!

And we're finished. Exit stage right, onto Broad Street.

The weather was absolutely glorious.

And, thanks to some special fans on Broad Street, I got this terrific image of Self and Spare.




The Two Street Stompers strutted. And strutted. And strutted. We were on Broad Street, basically Philadelphia's main drag, and the cross traffic was allowed to go at the green lights. It took us a long time to complete our entire circuit. Not that we minded. Did I mention that the weather was beautiful?

Between the weather and our general good humor, the miles seemed like ... well, today I must say they felt like miles, because my bones ache from stem to stern. At the time they felt more like furlongs.

At length we danced up to the banquet hall on Oregon Avenue, where a warm lunch awaited. (Beverages are distributed bountifully along the route.) As we chowed down, our captain came in, hushed us all, and told us ...

...Some members who passed away this year looked down upon us, and ...

We won.

In Which I Admit My Total Failure as a Parent

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Wow, a whole week and no post! Annie has been a lazy girl.

Let me tell you parents out there: You can raise your children in a loving household, showing them the difference between right and wrong, fucking up before their very eyes, and by golly, when they get to adulthood, they are going to do as you did, not as you said. In other words, they're going to muddle through, making all the same mistakes you did ... and you have to watch, just watch and hope that some of the sensible things you told them sank in.

Today I am dismayed to report that my daughter The Heir has risen in total rebellion of all I hold dear. I'm heartbroken. Heartbroken, I tell you!

Tomorrow is Philadelphia's annual Mummer's Parade, and as my six readers know, I'm a regular participant in this gala. I am in a Comic Brigade called the Two Street Stompers.

And boy, oh boy I am proud to be a Two Street Stomper!

Many Mummer's units are comprised of extended families and friends who have been marching together for years. It's sometimes hard to find a club to join.

In 2011 when I decided to become a part of the Mummer's Parade, I read in the newspaper about a new group called the Vaudvillains. The name was intriguing, and Mr. J actually knew someone in the group. So that was my first call -- to the Vaudvillains, who are mostly artists and writers. Actually I sent a text to Mr. J's friend, he asked his club, and he got back to me. The Vaudvillains were not accepting new members.

I'm sure there was nothing personal about it, but I still felt totally and utterly rejected by the Vaudvillains. This doubled my determination to find a club that would have me.

That's when I started making phone calls. That's when I found the Stompers. My first conversation with their captain was warm and welcoming, his philosophy being basically "the more, the merrier." If I could come up with the reasonable fee for a costume and beer, I was in.

The first year I strutted with the Stompers, we finished first. It's a competition, you see. We are in contention with numerous other brigades ... one of them being the Vaudvillains.

During this calendar year, my daughter The Heir moved away from home. She now lives in West Philly, down the block from the Fresh Prince. She's an artist, and she runs with the artistic set.

Bet you can see where this is going.

At least she had the nerve to tell me.

She is going to be a marshal for ... the Vaudvillains.

Oh! Disloyal and rebellious offspring! In vain did she protest that the Vaudvillains practice in a big studio chock-a-block with discarded art supplies that she could cart away for her own use! So what if one of her house mates is in the group? Shouldn't she remain steadfast for her own dear mama? And oh yes, she is apologetic, full of excuses like the high cost of art supplies and a chance to network with her own kind. Snap! I'm crushed. Crushed, I tell you! Crushed!

Now see, this is where you need to have two children -- an heir and a spare. Hearing of her sister's perfidy, my daughter The Spare promptly went out and bought posters. Last night she and her best friend spent the better part of the evening creating signs to cheer on the Two Street Stompers. That's Mama's little girl! Never mind that she lives one block from the parade route. She knows where loyalties lie. I'm sure she'll hiss and jeer at the Vaudvillains if she still happens to be watching when they glide past in all their artistically-created, socially conscious, message-laden costuming.

(I'll add here that we Two Street Stompers have a message with our routine as well. It's that men look funny in women's swim suits.)

This is us. See these lavish costumes? I don't have to make mine ... trust me, I couldn't even choose the fabric. But every year I get a new one, and I get to keep it. Someone in my family is going to have a treasure trove of authentic Philadelphia Mummer apparel in the years to come. Guess we know which daughter that will be!

(For the record, I'm the second gold girl from the left, front row.)

Navel Gazing on the Mummers Parade 2014

Maybe it was the arthritic hip. Maybe it was my daughters growing up. All I knew was that I had spent too many years sitting on my perfectly-upholstered barcalounger, watching the Philadelphia Mummers Parade. So I had surgery on my hip and joined a comic club.

Here I am with fellow Two Street Stompers at this year's parade. Our theme was "Salute to the Troops." I'm the one without the nurse cap.

I will have a few more pictures to upload over the next few days, as fellow Stompers put images up on Facebook. There's no link yet to the performance. It was magnificent. We were patriotic and funny at the same time ... something that was lost on the judges, who awarded us 8th place.

It might not sound like fun to get up before dawn on New Year's Day and go outside in the cold for twelve hours or more, dressed in satin and dancing with a parasol. But trust me, it's fun. It's really fun. If you've ever had a period of your life when you could hardly walk, and then suddenly you could walk, and dance, through a city in a parade, it is fabulous fun.

Here's a photo someone snapped of us as we came north on Broad Street toward City Hall. The nurse in this picture isn't me, but we all basically looked the same.

The television announcer said that the Philadelphia Mummers Parade is the longest-running folk parade in American history. It began in 1901. There's a competency level for everyone in this 12-hour extravaganza, from people who just want to walk down the street with an umbrella to professional dancers, costumers, and musicians.

Anyway, I felt considerably lively today, thanks to the post-parade happy high. I want to thank the Two Street Stompers for having me. I want to remember the upscale dad and baby daughter in the crowd that I chatted with while we waited for our turn in the judging area. I want to honor the Red Cross nurses who cheered for us gals as we went by in our white satin.

And as for the window cat on Two Street who watched, fascinated, as we floated by with our sequins shining and our ruffles floating ... Happy New Year, cat! Bet you don't see the likes of us every day.

Two Street Stompers 2014 ... starting the year with a smile and a strut.