DC Freaks Come Out to Play at H Street Festival
After much deliberation as to what to do with my life, last month I bit the bullet and made the official move to DC. My biggest reservation about this place was that it would be too bland, a city devoid of personality and fearful of self-expression. Just when I had gotten comfortable in my judgmental skin, a big boisterous bomb of color tore down H Street, reminding me that freaks dwell in even the most politically correct of places. (In truth, freaks need khaki-wearing normals around to act as foils for their freakiness. In places like New Orleans or Key West, freaks are so abundant that they become the norm, and the normals become the freaks.) I was pleasantly surprised when I found myself in a surge of drunks and sea creatures, deaf signers and booty-shakers. Some came on fancy foot, others by float, others by otherworldly vehicle, like a giant banana on wheels or a drip-sandcastle of a minivan. I soon realized that I was the normal one, and so I let go my judgments and danced in the wake of a bubble machine.