I love me a marching band and I admire the ephemeral art of a flower-festooned float, replete with a has-been or never-was singer, but I don’t really get the point of a giant Underdog balloon. You can’t play with it, you can hardly see the details of it from ground level, and it takes a small army to keep it from taking flight. Is the point to create something large enough to be seen from space? I think Kayne’s ego and Opryland Hotel pretty much have that covered.
In a year where Balloon Boy took us on a fright of fancy, helium’s never been so hot. But sorry to burst your bubble, Buzz Lightyear, but I think the hundreds of thousands of dollars it costs to create, fill, and parade you down Seventh Avenue could be better spent feeding the homeless during the holiday or hiring Rick Astley to rick-roll a few floats. Didn’t we learn anything from Mr. Stay Puft? Giant inflatables are freaks of nature and bound to give kids nightmares.
Stick a fork in these things, already. (Unless, of course, you want to bust out a blow-up Rob Pattinson, in which case I might be forced to reconsider my position.)