If one was to truly Homestead, not do the half-ass kind of stuff we’re doing, one probably wouldn’t go often to the kind of urban “festivals” you find in America these days. Why not? Because they are so anathema to the whole weltanschaung of homesteading, which is by definition all about the “home,” and decries the search for “off farm” entertainment. The “purpose driven life” extolled by people like the Nearings of Harborside, ME., is all about generating your own entertainment–partaking in a fiddling competition, ice skating on the pond you dug by hand. Spending an afternoon watching “farm TV” (i’m referring here to the view through the kitchen window, or from the porch of chickens, or other farm animals, going about their business, which provides a kind of ongoing soap opera).
With certain notable exceptions such as Burning Man, and I guess Mardi Gras, these modern-day festivals are almost always civic activities driven by chambers of commerce more than by the profound sense of restlessness created by the change of seasons, or the maddening sense of dread engendered by the onset of fall. In otherwords they don’t come from an almost primordial urge, but from a very contemporary and mundane place–entertainment capitalism. Here the real prime movers, the juice in the veins, are the tourist boards and local merchant associations.
No, Thank You!
But often the Nearing way, the hard-core back-to-the-lander attitude seems too hard-core, in fact it often seems downright pathological in its austerity.
We, on the other hand, quite often venture into the city, to entertain ourselves, but it has to be said, we sometimes come back smarting from a sense of agrophobia, nursing a sense of disappointment, nay, distaste for contemporary mainstream society, and wishing we hadn’t bothered. Last weekend was a case in point.
The “Old Port Festival” in Portland is a pretty typical modern American festival. Unlike ancient festivals–the bacchanalia of Ancient Greece, or the Mexican Day of the Dead, or the Easter Parades of Sicily– these modern American “celebrations” tend to celebrate nothing more than consumerism. Whereas old world festivals still have a sense of participation, and are focussed on transforming consciousness to some extent (usually in some pre-Christian sense, involving a certain licentiousness, a purging of every day restraints and conventions) the modern American festival is a venue for one thing: Fried Dough.
pump those sales up
Perhaps that’s an exaggeration, but they tend to cater to a very low denominator, and when its not fried goods that are being sold, it is something else, the focus here being on sales. Sure, there was a nice parade, for what it was worth, but even that, unlike old-world parades, was not exactly audience participation, it was something you watched, sipping your Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks, before you went to have a fried lunch and take in the vendors who were….selling stuff.
Granted, there were a few attempts at reasonably creative floats, some vaguely political statements about how we should eat local, or somesuch, but thats not really the spirit of a festival–the pushing of a political message, even if it is quite on target and necessary to save the planet. But the entire festival was a planet-destoying activity anyway, so that’s a bit of a paradox right there.
who the hell am i?
nice match
Hmm
want some?
Whoops, that must be Rio!
cheer the f&*k up will you?
Anyway, we sat though this, and it was fine, the crowds didn’t really bother us, as we half expected them to (dragging small children through crowds, while they are whining to have all the garbage they see around them is never fun). Then when the parade was over it was time for lunch.
American street food
