Wednesday, January 31, 2007


Early this morning, I was in Venice (the Los Angeles neighborhood, not the city in Italy) trapped in traffic, mentally zoning while waiting for the light to change when a high school boy crossing the street caught my attention. He wasn't walking, he was marching. And not just marching, but the chair step with high lifted knees. As I watched him, his hands stared moving and I realized he had a mace. By the time he was half-way across Lincoln Blvd, he was in full strut with that mace twirling smoothly over his head, behind his back, and then in front of him again. Obviously a drum major.

I wanted to shout out to him - tell him he was wonderful and that he made my morning, but anyone with enough balls to lead his own parade down Venice Blvd. doesn't need my validation. Besides, he might have thought I meant that his twirling was good. It was, but I wanted him to know that he gifted me with a rare moment of awe, and a honk and a wave doesn't convey that well.

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