Recently I went to two rural country fairs. You can learn a lot about America at a county fair. Here, in no particular order, are random observations:
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I expected to see herds of mutant whack jobs in the style of “People of WalMart”. You know what I’m talking about; fat ugly cretinous losers in overstretched fluorescent spandex screaming obscenities while stuffing their faces with deep fried everything. I had my camera ready. (Strictly for research of course. Certainly not to mock them on a blog. That would be bad.) Surprisingly, it didn’t happen. Yes, it was a cross section of rural Americans and of course, nobody was discussing Descartes or dressed like Gordon Gekko. Even so, very few looked or acted like weirdos. One lady wearing a crude Kid Rock T-shirt was all I could find and she wasn’t a big deal. The whole scene was rampant with normalcy.
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To the woman who had a Kid Rock T-shirt that said “Let’s get shitfaced”. Really? I’m not shocked by a rude T-shirt but I’m shocked someone so lame would wear one. Once you reach a certain point in life it’s time to use the offensive T-shirts to wax the car. When you look like Florence Henderson from the Brady Bunch it’s time to give up with the “rebel yell” because you’re not fooling anyone. (I’ll bet she drives a minivan and has photos of grandkids in her purse.)
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There were no teenage girls wearing pajamas at either venue. Thank God!
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One fine woman had cutoff jeans and a halter top that would make a country song weep with joy. Thank God!
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Everyone under a certain age apparently has something tattooed somewhere; in order to express their individuality. On the other hand, the trend of youths getting pierced until they look like they’ve been hit with shrapnel has finally run its course. There was a distinct lack of outlandishness. A time traveler could step out of 1950 into a rural fair in 2013 and recognize it as normal. Try that on a street corner in Manhattan.
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Fairs are for children. All children were having the time of their life. Adults are there to fork over cash to the kids, eat food their doctor would disapprove of, and look at the farm critters. This is how it always has been and how it always shall be.
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Despite what Al Sharpton would have you believe, all races and creeds share something in common; a universal love of fried stuff on a stick. Nor are rural hicks running rampant like the media and race baiters (such as our president) describe from their fevered imaginations. Everyone got along fine; because it’s a fair dammit! Interracial war didn’t break out in front of the ferris wheel and us unstable gun toting rural hicks didn’t accidentally burn down the cotton candy machine. People surrounded by hay bales and cowshit don’t get too serious about anything. Congress should aspire to such humility. (Exception for old ladies: see below.)
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There is nothing cuter than a little kid showing her prized bunny.
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They still give out awards for vegetables!
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They give out prizes for kid’s Lego creations. I call bullshit.
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Horse people (mostly kids I think) have a whole lot of gear per horse. Also, it’s flashy enough to suit Liberace. There must be an innate urge to outfit a horse with the equivalent of chrome mudflaps and ground effects lighting. Cows, sheep, chickens, goats, pigs, and poultry are apparently owned by more level headed people.
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I take that back. Chickens get flashy too. Have you seen some of the chicken breeds? Most are just feathered sandwich meat manufacturing devices and some are “heritage breeds”. But a few are an argument against human manipulation of genetics. (My chickens don’t go to the fair. They go to the freezer.)
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If you walk past a pen with baby lambs and don’t reach down to pet one you’re a monster.
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The rides are almost certainty the very same machines I might have ridden long ago. Apparently fair rides last forever? Where is the new stuff? Did fair ride technology top out at the “Scrambler”? Is it a liability thing? One ride had murals of a futuristic far off time called “The Year 2000”. They play the same music as when they were new; regardless of what modern teenagers download to their MP3 player, the bumper cars still play Led Zeppelin.
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Something about the smell of horse stalls and fried food makes $5 lemonade seem reasonable.
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I have no idea what 4H represents but those kids keep their animals clean.
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I like to see real agriculture carried on in all it’s dirt laden and commerce based glory. Pigs, chickens, cows, and various other edible creatures were auctioned, bought, sold, and traded. Many were scheduled for slaughter. Many of the same were the property (and profitable investments) of children. The pig barn at a rural fair supports more trade than a State University!
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Several old ladies had one building for their own stuff. Competition was as fierce as it was cutthroat. I got the heck out of there! You don’t meddle with Gladys’ quilt or Florence’s preserves on fair day. They live for the fair. If you knock over a jar of jelly and cost someone a ribbon you might wind up sleeping with the fishes.
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I really wish I could afford a Kubota. I’m just sayin.
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Flyover country is still vibrant. Suck it LA!