fair notes, last days

The fair is over. So sad! Do you miss it already? I do.

Highlights from my final three days (precious few!) of fairgoing on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday:

• Saw an old police officer/crossing guard/whatever, for whom—I believe—fred baby has a certain soft spot. I don’t know this for a fact. But the guy’s really old. And he’s always at the fair. And I do know that such dedication is enough to win fred baby’s respect and admiration.
• Managed to buy something completely unnecessary (not food) within about 10 minutes of getting in the gate. Huh. That was fast.
• Met Amy at the Bazaar for Café Accordion. A few minutes later, a guy with cotton candy walks past. Amy says, “Whoa, I thought that guy was [fred baby] at first.” I look and agree that, yeah, he kind of walks the same way. And wears his camera strap the same way. And you know, fred baby has a pair of shorts just like that. I’m sure by now you’ve caught on. It was fred baby, back from D.C. a day early! For extra fair!
• Tried lethally hot fried green tomatoes.
• Tried the new sweet potato pie. Much to my disappointment, I didn’t manage to get the old stuff and do a direct comparison. But here’s the verdict: nutmeggy and good.
• Was saved by CB—what a martyr! thanks, CB!—from trying the Reuben Dawg. Yes, dawg. It’s just like a regular reuben sandwich, except molded into the shape of a corndawg and shoved onto a stick, of course. It looked foul. CB confirmed this assessment.
• Heard someone say, “I’m full. I don’t want any more food.” He clearly did not train properly.
• Watched the Mark V demonstration. Can I have a lathe, please?
• Rode the Megadrop (want one? buy it here) and the double Ferris Wheel. Both scary in their own way—Megadrop in that primal, uncontrollable, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs kind of way, and the ferris wheel in a “Gee, this is creaky,” and, “Do you think those axles are supposed to be crooked?” kind of way.
• Saw a couple getting…intimate. On the Midway, no less. He’s sitting on a bench. She’s standing , straddling his legs. She’s wearing one of those flippy little skirts that everyone has now. Hot pink. One of his hands is missing, shall we say. Classy.
• Saw Santa on the bus home one night. Along with the missus. (How do you like THAT segue?)
• Had a big cup of Vernors ginger ale from the Michigonian pastie stand. (Pronunciation tip, as I read it in a fair article: “Pasties [PAST-eez] are for eating, and pasties [PASTE-eez] are for wearing.”) Yooper!
• Met my parents and took a second pass through the crop art with them. Lillian Colton herself was there, creating crop art right there in front of us! For a few moments, we were in the presence of greatness. And honestly, I’m only being a little bit sarcastic. That lady has one hell of a steady hand for a 93-year-old.
• Also with my parents, took a second pass through the Gallery of Vegetables. Took a last look at the Big Pumpkin (washed out and weirdly shaped) and the little eggplants (dark and glossy). Discussed with my father the possible evolutionary reasons for the hotness of hot peppers and the roundness of cherry peppers and the bellishness of bell peppers, reaching few conclusions. Admired the perfect rows of bright green beans and clean little green-topped carrots and shiny cherry tomatoes.
• Bought 6 Rice Kristie Bars (I highly recommend the Chocolate/Peanut Butter and Snickers varieties) for the folks at fred baby’s cabin, where we headed on Saturday afternoon.
• Had one last corndog.

I know there was more. Lots more. But now the nights are getting chilly and the leaves are starting to turn and I’m waiting to feel that waiting-for-the-bus feeling. You know that feeling? It’s that crisp autumn melancholy that always fills me with vague nostalgia for some vague past, and at the same time makes me want to seek out some sort of change and to start something new. The fair is over, everybody.