I just wanted to say that with that pic.
…
Remember last year when I raved about San Genaro? Well, this year it is a different tune. Hate it. Hate the noise, the smell, the carnies, and the wandering slack-jawed yokels that pour in every night and spend money on re-fried food and games of chance.
The insult dunking clown had the abrasive insanely loud laugh that he spews after every contestant toss. He works politically incorrect and last night I heard him tease a man of Asian descent saying that he should turn his head sideways to improve his aim. The man got quite angry and thus bought five more balls.
The majority of the food is fried–smoke stack cakes, empanadias (more hispanics in the hood than Italians), donuts, mozzirepas (sweet pancake mozerella sandwhiches), and tons of fried onions. The aroma that waifs up can grease your glasses. I have been keeping the windows closed.
All the excess food and grease gets piled in leaking garbage bags on the corner at the end of the night, leaving a fetid black stain the teams with cockroaches after the trucks leave. I’m reminded of Templeton the rat’s ingestion orgy at the fair. San Genaro must be like Christmas to the neighborhood vermin.
Still, the blinking lights, closed streets, and miriade of bizaar people make for an interesting evening stroll and I do walk down the center for a bit every night. But it’s a short walk as I leave the whole area to sleep somewhere else.
The authorities don’t allow alcohol anymore, so I can’t recommend stopping by, but if you insist, give me a call. Last day is Sunday.
…
Site of the Day: From My Robot Friend, a funny video about a man and his Winnebago (warning, some swear words).
I just wanted to say that with that pic.
…
Remember last year when I raved about San Genaro? Well, this year it is a different tune. Hate it. Hate the noise, the smell, the carnies, and the wandering slack-jawed yokels that pour in every night and spend money on re-fried food and games of chance.
The insult dunking clown had the abrasive insanely loud laugh that he spews after every contestant toss. He works politically incorrect and last night I heard him tease a man of Asian descent saying that he should turn his head sideways to improve his aim. The man got quite angry and thus bought five more balls.
The majority of the food is fried–smoke stack cakes, empanadias (more hispanics in the hood than Italians), donuts, mozzirepas (sweet pancake mozerella sandwhiches), and tons of fried onions. The aroma that waifs up can grease your glasses. I have been keeping the windows closed.
All the excess food and grease gets piled in leaking garbage bags on the corner at the end of the night, leaving a fetid black stain the teams with cockroaches after the trucks leave. I’m reminded of Templeton the rat’s ingestion orgy at the fair. San Genaro must be like Christmas to the neighborhood vermin.
Still, the blinking lights, closed streets, and miriade of bizaar people make for an interesting evening stroll and I do walk down the center for a bit every night. But it’s a short walk as I leave the whole area to sleep somewhere else.
The authorities don’t allow alcohol anymore, so I can’t recommend stopping by, but if you insist, give me a call. Last day is Sunday.
…
Site of the Day: From My Robot Friend, a funny video about a man and his Winnebago (warning, some swear words).
