Everybody loves a parade, except when 35 mph arctic wind gusts find their way up pant legs and cause unspeakable sensations in the crotch. Yesterday’s Thanksgiving Parade down Woodward wasn’t quite what it usually is, with fewer people lining the streets this time, and with many of them scrambling back to their cars rapidly midway through the parade in a weather-induced panic. It looked like a muggers’ convention out there because everyone was wearing facemasks or else otherwise wrapped from head to toe, with little slits for eyes. And the organizers grounded the inflatable floats because of the gale-force winds that defined the weather yesterday morning. So it basically amounted to marchers shivering past with severe tremors.

And frosty weather makes for a cranky blogger. Right about the time my gloved fingers became too stiff to operate the camera, we took a break inside a local eatery along the parade route that was selling obscenely overpriced hot chocolate served by absurdly lazy waitstaff. We ordered some. Ten minutes later we were still waiting for it. That’s OK, go as slow as you want, not like there’s a parade outside just parading on by or anything while we waste time watching you be irritated with being employed, expressed through slothful service. But they can be forgiven; I mean, there were all of three people in line, creating a crush of customers. And busy time obviously means go as slow as possible. No wonder the City has been trying hard to introduce the novel concept of “customer service” to its businesses before the Superbowl.

That minor irritation, which I overemphasized, plus the airborne torture, caused us to bail before Santa and Kwame marched down the street, two characters making unrealistic promises that neither can keep, though at least you grow up and realize Santa is a myth, while unfortunately Kwame is all too real. As are the Detroit Lions, sadly enough.