Locals
a shupimta column by Chris Jungle

It's the big week in my town. Bigger than Christmas, bigger than Independence Day, bigger than March Madness. It's the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta. Make that the 1998 Kodak Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, and if anyone needs a manufactured reason to check out the big town in the middle of New Mexico, a ton of hot air balloons is as good a reason as any. It beats being another Oktoberfest town.

In all honesty, I don't go to the Balloon Fiesta. I've never been a morning character and always assumed an event planned early in the morning will someday cause the downfall of civilization. Mass ascension is at 7 a.m. and good views are sucked up by six. The one time I made it, I ended up staying awake all night beforehand. The balloons went up with many cheers, and then I went to bed.

I didn't make it to opening day this year, but I know a lot of people did. They were all over the streets. Places five or ten minutes away took fifteen to twenty minutes. Gas stations currently involved in a gas war had pumps gushing at all times of the day. Cars drove very slow in no particular direction. My lost existence had been momentarily cluttered by people who were actually lost.

I'm not mad at the tourists. They've driven hundreds of miles to be a part of an event I can't get myself out of bed to see. They have spirit, wonder, and amazement. I talked to some tourists who went on and on about the things they'd seen. Old town, the tram, authentic Indian jewelry, the mountains, the desert, and of course, hot air balloons. They were more excited about my town than me, and I'm here all of the time. How can I be mad at them?

So what are the people who live where tourists come? They are locals. I'm a local. Of course, everyone is a local somewhere. I just happen to be a local in a city which has The Biggest Fiesta In The Nation this week.

I had a subtle warning that the Fiesta was coming. As I drove to work last week, I caught glimpse of what I thought was a red balloon, but it turned out to be a blimp with the word Budweiser scrolled across its hull. Advertising from the air is a big clue that the masses are on their way. A good chunk of the balloons are massive advertisements in themselves. If you've never seen a bottle of Jose Cuervo slowly inflate and rise high off the ground, you haven't really seen it all, have you? I saw that once, but no hot air balloons were involved.

As far as fiestas go, the balloon fiesta is as good as any. I know the city does it for revenue, stores need people to buy all of their outrageous southwestern outfits and genuine cowboy hats, and it's probably the best promotion for growth the area gets. The flip-side to this is that most people like living in Albuquerque because they can hide and do whatever strange bizarre behavior they've developed a sick fetish for doing. Do you think I could get away with being a rambling, blathering, pointless columnist in Amarillo? Or Akron? Or Anaheim? Or Albany? Or any other place starting with the letter A? Okay, maybe I could, but I wouldn't feel good about it.

The Fiesta lasts only a week, and after next Sunday, there will be no more unique special events offered from my town. All of the tourists will move on to the next week's unique special event in some other town, or maybe just go home and revel in their memories of the magical place where balloons rose high into the air for their pleasure. Us locals will keep the place up and running until they come back next year, and we still won't tell them the secret crazy reasons why we never leave.

Chris Jungle recently lost funding to create a hot air balloon resembling his head.

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