Forget it Blake, It's Chinatown

Yesterday afternoon, I received an anonoymous tip that the Chinese New Year Parade would be that evening in Chinatown. For those of you on solar calendars, last tuesday rang in the the year of the rooster for our compatriots across the pacific. Since a rooster was crowing in the yard next to me at the time of this tip, I readily concluded that the fates had conspired to send me to the parade. I called up my pal Andrew and convinced him to skip getting groceries and come to the Chinatown parade. We met up and rode the train under the Bay to San Francisco. Arriving in Chinatown, the scene was festive, but not more festive than usual...

Me (to lady in front of restaurant handing out menus): Where's the Chinese New Year Parade?

Lady: Chinese New Year! Yes! Thank you!

Me: Yes, where is the parade?

Lady: Oh, Chinese New Year Parade? Next Saturday, Next Saturday!

End Result: Wind-up one-legged monk talking on a cell phone, picture of Jesus being crucified surrounded by blinking lights, tasty plate of orange peel chicken, and I owe Andrew a ride to the grocery store.