The nation is not at the top of the list. It does not have many “No. 1”s. Undeniably, though, its ceremonies have brought international attention from ethnographers and the like. Indeed, they have been described as a ceremonious people.
The boot is one such ceremony. It begins with the boot, as any good boot ceremony will. An agent handles it, waiting patiently for the parade to end, waiting for the hour of the boot. When the hour arrives, the agent springs into action, running up and down the parade line, at Ultimate Warrior speed, slapping the boot against the sides of every float and every person. The agent’s assistant trails behind, selling pull-tabs in exchange for donations. There is a lot of rhetoric and politicking and ice cream. The tabs are pulled. No bingo is called. The lucky winner keeps it to their self…or else. For it is the pigeon’s job to announce the winner. The seven-foot-tall two-hundred-fifty-pound pigeon touches down, shits on the asphalt, and picks out the lucky winner with a peck and a coo. The rhetoric is swept aside, and is replaced with new rhetoric and fanfare and people wearing boots on their heads, followed by more ice cream. It’s not the best ceremony, and it’s not the worst.
Well, here is the anthem of that said ceremony, which belongs to a nation exclusively found described in a letter from a small child. The child has described its ceremonies in great deal, yet has failed to provide the nation’s name. When I first found the child’s letter (in the trash at an Exxon), I felt as though I had discovered a treasure map. Now I know that I have not.
I have found something much more extraordinary.
• Kraus: http://www.kraus.co.nz
• Ultra Eczema: http://www.ultraeczema.com