 Kate Lovelady's Report from the Curb: Independence Day Parade, 2002  over the warbling arms of her volunteer puppet-handlers. Following her long poles, the fabric of Carrboro ripples by -- the body of the parade is a little loose-jointed, as usual, like a rag doll or a well-loved toy whose stuffing is lumpy and escaping, here and there -- There go The dog marchers, their bandana'd mutts shooting off like fireworks toward smells and squirrels; everywhere wander the kids, costumed like their parents -- reasonably patriotic or reasonably radical -- though Red, White, and Blue mean only cake to every child alike. Everyone pulled along, threading a straight course alone or knitted into bunches of friends, dressed for church or hiking, dressed to show their respect or their scorn or their indifference; everyone looking attractive to someone. Weaving in and out are the stroller pushers, their world for now contained in each stroller; and the flier pushers, petitions at the ready, the world hanging on each signature. All the independent textures of Carrboro somehow today one body on Weaver Street -- perennially the same, like some truths; like other truths, waving and on the move. Computer Stuff | Downtown Carrboro Map | Events | Prices | Restaurants | UniqueOrn Enterprises 
|