. . . more than in other days anyway. There was a time when I would rather have had one of my smaller toes amputated than stand around watching a parade. But we change in some respects over time, don't we?


Conde de la Canal on 29 September 2012 at 5:25 p.m. waiting for a 5:00 start. See the lady resting her head on the man's shoulders under the window? This is Mexico.



Sanctification of the route at 6:15 p.m.


I honestly do not know if the intention was Cuauhtémoc, but for the purposes of this blog, I am saying that he is Cuauhtémoc.

These two men were voted the best dressed in the parade . . . by me. As far as this blog is concerned, my vote is the only vote that counts.




Comandante San Miguel Arcángel, generalísimo of the armies of God and patron of the city casts a stern eye on a gringo expatriate. The helmet was a little askew, but we are not particular in these things.

There are national fiestas. There are state-wide fiestas. There are municipality fiestas. (A municipality is like a county.) There are city-wide fiestas. There are neighborhood or colonia fiestas. (Neighborhoods are colonias in Mexico, not barrios.) There are private fiestas on patios. La Alborada is the annual city-wide fiesta in honor of the Archangel Saint Michael. It is bigger than Independence Day here.  It is huge.


I thought this lady brought some real presence and style to the show.

Lupita attended the parade with me earlier in the day and was fairly worn out at the restaurant afterward. To paraphrase the lyric that Joe Cocker interpreted so well, I was not feelin' too good myself.


Views: 234

Comment by Jonathan Wolfman on November 27, 2012 at 5:21am

This is charming, Stephen!

Comment by Stephen Brassawe on November 27, 2012 at 5:42am

Hey, Jonathan. Thanks for taking a look.

Comment by Arthur James on November 27, 2012 at 6:20am

Beautiful. I No Like Mummers Parades.

I Loath those Military Pompous Parades.

I Have Photos Of Hanoi Funeral Parades.

These Photos are Fun To Keep Looking.


Ni ever Cut Toes Off. You said that.

I knew a woman who Lost a Toe.

She rode a bike with bear feet.

The spokes amputated a toe.

In Vietnam I saw a sore foot.

Honest. A grenade cut toe off.

He was wounded with me too.

John Baca hop on a steel pot.

I have de-classified records.

Maybe Later I Prove. No toe.

I Lost a left calf Fibula bone.

Gaud Has Mercy on sinners.

You need lame Body Guard.

I'll protect you and toes.

Introduce me to foes,

Friends, and a ten-

toed kind Woman?

Comment by Zanelle on November 27, 2012 at 6:37am
Ohhh The photos are so vibrant! I love a parade...any kind, any where. Thank you for being where you are and keeping your eyes open. I don't think I would have liked you in the former days when you didn't like parades. They are just like life...rolling by.
Comment by Stephen Brassawe on November 27, 2012 at 6:45am

I admit that that toe thing was only a rhetorical flourish, Art. I love my toes and would not willingly part with one.

I especially dislike parades having anything to do with the military myself. Veteran's Day in my estimation has become nothing more than a public relations ploy for the military-industrial complex in our entirely militarized society today for example. We citizens feel immense pressure to cross that fine line that separates thanking our veterans from glorifying the military itself. I am neither ashamed nor proud of my own time in the military and want nothing to do with that shit. I know my good friend The Hammer, a union carpenter, felt the same way. He never spoke of the horror in which he took part in Vietnam except on those few occasions when he was hopelessly plastered. He would have hid in the most inconspicuous place as far away as possible from any parade having anything to do with the military. This was the way it was up until he killed himself in the most self-hateful way. I wish somebody would check the paperwork on those veterans that march in those parades. Take a look at their DD-214's . A bunch of clerk typists and supply clerks. Rear echelon types. There are undoubtedly a few psychopathic exceptions of course.

Sorry, Art. You tripped my trigger on that one.

Comment by Arthur James on November 27, 2012 at 6:58am

Tripped trigger? How about another analogy?

You no offend me. I agree. I Remember:


When my Son was in Grammar School

I was asked to be a chaperon guide.


We went to Annapolis, Maryland.

The class toured The Naval Academy.

I calmly mentioned the Parade Regalia.

The Teacher seemed Annoyed at me.


My Grandfather was West Point.


Shine shoes.

Sit up straight.

Uncle Bernard died.

He was a Cadet.


My Father was anti-pomp.

He was sad he 'fell-out'

He always was Jolly.

My Father suffered.

In New Your 3-

weeks to the day

Dad's Mom Died.

She died near

West Point,

New York.


On and on


If I walk with bare 

feet I trip on toe

from drop-foot.

Old war wound.

No shine shoes,

feet, nor use

red Toe Nail

@ DC Solon


Comment by Stephen Brassawe on November 27, 2012 at 7:10am

What a pain in the ass drop-foot is. That was my own father's affliction.

Comment by Stephen Brassawe on November 27, 2012 at 7:32am

Good morning, Zanelle. To tell you the truth, I did not like myself then.

I was like most other white norteamericanos for most of my life, Rita. Not many are interested in this place at all. I understand that because neither was I. I still cannot adequately explain what brought me here. But I do so love it now. If I am kidnapped, stood up in front of an adobe wall somewhere out there, and shot, my last words will be ¡Viva México!

Comment by Jeanne Sathre on November 27, 2012 at 7:34am

Your pictures always make me want to add some color to my wardrobe. 

Comment by Stephen Brassawe on November 27, 2012 at 7:46am

Book a flight  to the cute little international airport in Leon, Jeanne. I will haul you back here in the pickup truck. We will add so much color to your wardrobe that you won't be able to stand it.


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