Friday, November 6, 2009

Does what happen at Fantasy Fest stay at Fantasy Fest? Not when there is an annoying columnist lurking around.

Although I swore to myself that the first time I went to the week-long party's culmination two years ago would be my last, I returned again on Saturday. This time it was for the express purpose of getting some good material for this column.

And if my column ran in Penthouse Magazine it would be a killer read, filled with all sorts of wacky tales. As it stands, however, I am writing this piece with two of the Free Press' content czars staring over my shoulder to ensure I do not cross any family newspaper decency lines.

With that in mind, let's take a careful look at a Marathon resident's trip to the big city to the south broken down by the hour.

2 p.m.

I arrive at my friend's house in Summerland to begin our trip to Key West. In return for me driving us into the lion's den, he has agreed to be the designated driver back home.

While getting ready to leave, my friend gets a call from a buddy of his who lives in Key West and was having a pre-parade party. That buddy just happened to be godfather of Keys satirical column writing David Sloan, author of Paradise's old Key West 101 column, and several similarly themed books. This was going to be like when Plato met Socrates, except much more cynical.

Another sign from the gods was finding an empty free parking spot right in front of Sloan's house. Nothing drives me into a manic state quicker than trying to find a parking spot in Key West.

3 p.m.

When we get to Sloan's, he is busy stitching together the pieces of two stuffed animals to create a wolfman teddy bear to go with his Eddie Munster costume. This, for some reason, does not seem out of place.

This year the big Fantasy Fest parade fell on Halloween, which meant even more people wore costumes than usual. I did not wear a costume, since I value feeling comfortable over my desire to impress strangers. In order to at least make an appearance of effort, I did, however, wear my Kanye West-style shutter shades. Not only did I look like a hipster, but my eyes were also marginally protected from the sun. Thanks, technology.

4 p.m.

A particularly bad mix of '80s music is being played. I joke that it is a best of Poison CD. Someone else corrects me, saying that it is Motley Crue. Way to take a stand for bad '80s hair metal.

5 p.m.

Another one of our friends arrives at the party via motorcycle. In what was ironically the first surprising part of the night, he tells us he would have gotten there sooner, but there were too many people on Duval Street blocking his progress.

Realizing that he meant there were too many people on Duval Street blocking his motorcycle, we asked if he knew that the road had been closed to vehicles.

"Yeah, when the cops kicked me off of it."

6 p.m.

Sloan and his buddies are getting ready to head to their float, so I try to procure a taxi to take us down to the center of town. Unfortunately, I'm not the only fat, lazy guy in Key West with those plans. Every cab company I call is flooded with busy signals, so we hoof it the two miles down to Sunset Pier.

7 p.m.

Instead of taking side streets, we walk a majority of the way right down Duval Street. I saw lots of things. None of them can be mentioned here.

8 p.m.

It's parade time, and that means 50 floats will slowly meander down Duval Street and not throw me a single freaking bead. Unless you are an attractive girl, pressed up against the railings or sitting pretty on a balcony, don't expect anything to come your way.

On the plus side, I knew groups of people on two floats this year. This virtue alone allowed me to seem cool to the crowd of tourists around me. Unfortunately, I didn't seem cool enough to be able to sell signed copies of my column to those tourists.

9 p.m.

The floats are still coming, but I've now managed to convince the surrounding group of people to chant "we want free stuff," to every float that passes by. Our clever tome didn't work.

10 p.m.

Shock of shocks, this thing is running late. One of the floats is claiming they managed to knock out power in part of Key West with their all-too-powerful confetti cannons. Now you know all it takes to cripple the mighty city of Key West is a short burst of fast moving bits of paper.

11 p.m.

The parade winds down, and we wind our way back to Sunset Pier, where our bartender buddy Al is still wearing a two-foot afro wig that he had on hours earlier. His brain melted into a puddle shortly thereafter.

My shutter shades, on the other hand, are a huge hit, as everyone at the bar now wants to try them on and take a picture. The moral of the story is I now have lice.

Midnight

Although the more industrious crowd will party late into the night, myself and many others begin the slow shuffle back to the real world.

After the parade is over, Duval Street is opened back up to foot traffic, meaning if you have ever wanted to walk two miles on dirty hot garbage, now is your chance. Also, it was the night we set the clocks back for daylight saving time, so who knows what time you really woke up in a pile of beads, plastic cups and shame.