CARNAVAL
BY CASEY

Wednesday morning after a big Fat Tuesday. I got to sleep about 1:30 I think. They close off the Malecon from the marina to the other end of town way past the bus station. Very loud music stages, food, games, blanket salesmen, carnival rides, and crowds that grow steadily larger day by day. We went Thursday, Monday, and last night.

There are some good food deals like five tacos al pastor for fifty pesos. That also being the price of a single carnival ride of the big type that takes you way up in the sky, upside down and spinning, and it holds you there before whipping you back to earth, uh, variety. On Monday night the smart members of the family, Tommy and I, declined to join the other three on Pile Driver Death Spin Whipper or whatever it's called in Spanish. Cavan gave Tommy his straw fedora so it wouldn't fly off into space. Not even wanting to look, T and I decide to try a Mexican version of a corn dog called a banderilla (consult Hemingway here for bullfighting term) at a stand near by. I get into a typical no Spanish, less English, set of exchanges with the guy behind the counter ('2 of these, bawndereeyahz, yes, no, no, these') and Tommy starts tugging on my sleeve with the urgent Dad, Dad motif, and points to these two girls holding out a camera phone. 'They want you to take their picture' I say, 'Do I want en todo on them? No, no, plain' (any thing outside tacos and burgers, the Mexicans sometimes add really peculiar bland things like mayo and watery ketchup to pizza and cream cheese to ice cream) and Tommy is tugging again and I'm wondering if the strange roaring sound coming from somewhere in the distance is the Mex-maintained carny ride holding 60 percent of my family tearing itself apart, or is it another end of the universe Mex-Metal Thrash band starting a set. “Dad, they don't want me to take the picture.” I turn and look at the two girls closer, and they appear to be about his age, thirteen. They are cute, and I'm not sure what has him confused unless it is that. The girl closest to him is actually, really, really beautiful, which might make me start stuttering if I already wasn't. “Cuantos pesos, huh, what?” I ask the man behind the counter. It is about twice what other stands advertised for corn dogs. I hand over more colored money. 'Dad, I think they want me to be in the picture.' I get the two banderilla's, they are very large and covered with mustard, ketchup, and mayo. 'Look at these Tommy they are beautiful,' I say handing him one. 'Dad they want to take my picture.' I look at the girls again. 'What? Why?' They are nodding yes. I shrug and take the corn dog back from Tommy. The really pretty girl stands beside Tommy and the other girl takes their picture. They giggle and smile and leave. 'Okay, that was weird,' Tommy says. The rest of the family, still alive, rejoins us looking wind blown, but happy. I tell them about someone wanting to take Tommy's picture. 'I think they wanted my picture,' I say, 'but were too shy to ask.' 'It was the hat,' Cavan concludes. I chastise Tommy for not getting their names or giving them a boat card. 'Her father probably owns a mega-yacht. I could sell you to him.'

So last night we go to Mardi Gras, with the family from the sailboat Del Viento. The parade is pretty much the same as the day before with 'floats' of blue spandex adults and children costumed as aliens dancing to music that had to be extra-extra loud to be heard over the on-the-truck generator. I tell Michael, the other Dad, as we sip Tecates, about the Tommy picture request. Knowing me, he doesn't immediately accept its veracity. I'm doubting it a bit myself a day removed. After the parade we all stroll down the street buying snacks and beers. As we wait for 10 year old Eleanor from Del Viento to get a slice of mushroom pizza, a pair of nicely dressed Mexican ladies stop and look at Tommy who is wearing his own fedora this evening and standing beside Mike. The women exchange looks and words, then say to Mike, who they must assume is his father, while pointing at Tommy, 'Muy Hermoso.' The women walk on, and Mike and I share disbelieving looks. 'Maybe he looks like some Mexican kid star we don't know about,' I suggest.

We go to the carnival ride area, and along with the rides, the girls requesting to have their pictures taken with Tommy thing, happens a couple more times. A Mexican Carnival carnival is sort of alternate reality territory anyway, and this photo thing was an extra layer of unusual. Tommy is a good looking kid, but so are Cavan, Sophia, Eleanor and Francis. After dinner, we walk along the water side of the Malecon and there are more picture requests, and Del Viento's parents, Mike and Windy, are asked his name, etc. 'Boy this sure brings back memories from my youth,' I tell a non-fooled Windy.

Eventually we try and work our way down the street back toward the marina, and have to go past the main stage where the headliner band was playing. The crowd coming from both directions was hour glassed between the stage and the light/sound booth and all the people standing to watch the show. It got very tight with strings of people trying to force their way through. Our group got separated and it was nerve wracking trying to protect the children in the crush. As we finally made it out into space where you had enough room to fully fill your lungs, Mike said, 'I guess word got out about Tommy being here!'