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This New Year's Day, more than 10,000 Philadelphia-area carpenters, electricians
and other tough working hombres dressed up like beautiful birds of paradise and
strutted around in flamboyant costumes. Now in its second century, the
dwindling but durable
Mummers Parade (and "Show of Shows") is a
lingering tribute to an age when a real man could still get turned out like a comely,
queeny showgirl without having everybody assume he was, you know, a little light
in the loafers. With prizes awarded in the "Fancy,"
"Comic," "String Band," and
"Fancy Brigade" categories, the Mummers have endured a controversial change of
parade routes and the indifference of residents unmoved by the sound of "Oh Dem
Golden Slippers" played on a dozen banjos, and continue to make the first day of each
year a 12-hour
test
of the City of Brotherly Love's notoriously limited patience. We spoke
with George L. Banks, president of the Riverfront Mummers, tough, cross-dressing
competitors in the Comic division.
Last week, the Washington Post reported that in preparation for what's expected to be a controversial
presidential transition, DC police were "quietly attending
organizational meetings of groups they worry might try to disrupt things."
Sadly, this policy came too late for DC's finest
to infiltrate the Supreme Court. But the Washington police force isn't the only
group increasingly anxious about what's going to happen on January 20 — at least on
January 21st, they'll still have their jobs. Democratic staffers in DC might not be
so lucky. Across the District, the gruesome reality of the Bush restoration has sent
the Democratic political class -only months ago consumed with such luxurious
dinnertime chatter as favorite Hillary pantsuit ensembles or preferred modes of Nader-impalement — atwitter over their suddenly dotcommish employment prospects. Walking
down K St., you can practically hear the resumes being polished. But what to do with
those resumes? Undoubtedly, idle speculation about this question is what prompted
the creation of the prescient www.demjob.com, with its
delightfully all-purpose adspeak. "In today's fast paced political world," says
DemJobs, "Those who are up to date on current issues and topics facing Democrats are
at an advantage." True enough, though it's also true that those who are up to
date on current issues and topics facing
Democrats are more likely to be employed if they are actually Republicans.
And a Republican browsing DemJobs for
intelligence on Democrat operatives will find amusing puffery (a profile of a former
Bradley staffer insists, "Lenzner firmly believes that it is most important to have
fun and to not take yourself too seriously.") and just a handful of want-ads — most
whose casual punctuation and lack of clarity bespeak a party whose jabs at
President-elect Bush's verbal imprecision come from deep inside a
glass house.
But lest Democrats feel they are exposed unfairly, they should trip on over to
www.GOPJob.com, owned by the same company, which blandly assures all comers
that "the best Republicans are the ones who stay informed." Of course, informed
Republicans are probably elsewhere. Just how informed are the Bush-Cheney applicants? Well, beyond
knowing they want a job, and who the next administration it, the transition team
assumes little else, informing applicants, for instance, that "There is much
public/press scrutiny, as you would expect in an open, democratic form of government
such as ours." Perhaps most touching, the site warns applicants that "Most
appointees' dealings with the Federal government during and for a period of time
after their service will be significantly restricted to prevent possible conflicts
of interest." Of course, to judge by the resumes of the already appointed,
concerns about conflicts of interest seem to fade away when the career move
is made in the other direction.
A new tradition threatens — and we mean threatens — to eclipse
even the week-long hangover as America's most prominent post-holiday
marker. No, a margarine company isn't sponsoring another bowl game: we mean
the workplace killing spree. When 6-foot-3, 280-pound, black-bearded
software tester
(and chemical properties wiz)
Michael "Mucko" McDermott decided on Dec. 26 to bring
his guns into his Wakefield, Mass., office and shoot 7 co-workers as
stand-ins for the IRS, was he conscious of
the fact that he was running amuck (or in his case, "amucko") down a
hallway-trail blazed almost exactly one year ago by a disgruntled hotel
worker in Tampa, Fla.? Those who follow workplace slayings will recall that
on Dec. 30, 1999, Silvio Layva, 36, brought a couple of guns into
his place of employment, the Radisson Bay Harbor Hotel, and there
killed 4 co-workers and a woman whose car he wanted to use as he fled.
We can assume there was more bothering these men than lousy Secret Santa
gifts. But whatever their reasons for murdering their co-workers, office
slaughter — the second most common cause of death in the US workplace —
has entered the holiday consciousness as surely as McDermott's Christmas
Special dopplegänger, Yukon Cornelius. With his long dark hair and beard
and his not-so-jolly girth, "Mucko" is St. Nick in negative, an anti-Santa
Claus who shows up the day after to collect more than cookies; one who
makes a list, checks it twice, and delivers lead instead of coal to the
folks who didn't measure up to his standards of goodness. He's the Xmas
Freddy Krueger, a franchise-in-the-making that could help Wes Craven forget
Dracula 2000 ever happened.
Even if the film industry decides to pass on the enormous box office
potential of a more deeply mythic Silent Night, Deadly Night series,
"Mucko" (isn't that what the British tabloids call Michael Jackson?)
shouldn't be forgotten next Dec. 25th. There have been over a dozen mass
slayings in American offices in the last ten years, about half of them
during the holiday season. As Christmas approaches next year, remember that
even if they're letting you out early, it doesn't hurt to plan an escape
route. In the pre-designated-driver era, a queasy What did I do? — and
to whom? feeling used to be the worst you could expect as morning-after
accompaniment to the office Christmas party. In the last two years,
however, the holiday hangover has gotten grimmer and turned tragic and
ultimate, the Christmas blues have been replaced by the mean reds, and
"Mucko" is what that in-lit, plastic Santa on the roof becomes when it's
turned off for the night. You better watch out!
Let the rest of the world tour the catacombs of eBay, looking for that
antique plastic dino, Nazi regalia, or 1962 issue of Tales to Dazzle a
Cretin #56 with the Steve Ditko cover in VG condition. For us, the best
fantasy-fodder is Journalismjobs.com, the Shameful Profession's answer to a
Foreign Legion recruiting poster. Dial up that URL and daydream about the
awe of currently unawed friends and editors when they receive your postcard
from easy street.
Chuck away this bloody business of living in California and head
straight off the map into the center of darkest America! Perhaps the grit
of living in Mississippi
would be that grain
of sand, so to speak, which could incubate that literary pearl yet-unformed
in the oyster of your soul.
On second thought, these hinterland newspapers are likely run by drill
sergeants of the old school — mean cranks who believe in getting the story
properly spelled and done on time in all kinds of weather. And none of us
Golden State goldbrickers can even guess what kind of weather they've got out
there. Not to mention Baptist maniacs, Sheriff Lobo, rattlesnakes, fire ants,
and a populace that approves of the old American custom of horsewhipping
reporters. Which is why it's a shame that there isn't an altjournalism.com,
and if there were — cue the harp glissando — maybe it would look
something like this...
Makeup columnist courtesy of the Sucksters |
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