My Fair Review

I know that it has been a while since my last blogging. I want to be honest and tell you that I have not been able to post a blog because I have been extremely busy. However, I can't be honest and tell you that so I'll just lie to you instead. I haven't posted a blog in a while because I have been extremely busy. In the past month or so since my previous posting, I have been working as a fry cook in a dive of a restaurant. My boss was an extremely tight-fisted old crab. The other guy on my shift was a cashier who approached his job with the same consideration that a bear has for toilet paper (not the ones in those creepy Charmin commercials either). I have been living in a pineapple shaped condo next to a friendly yet completely stupid guy who only wore swimming shorts and despite his unattractive physique, never wore a shirt. I did hang out with a squirrel-ly girl who taught me a great deal about martial arts.

At any rate I won't bore you any longer with the details of my summer. In all of the busy-ness, I did manage to break off a day to spend with my family at the Del Mar Fair. We had an enjoyable time there. We ate all manner of inappropriate foods; we saw all manner of livestock and various things that we put on display just before we turn them into food; and we laughed at the many people who really make you wonder why there aren't greater restrictions on reproduction.
I shall turn my attention first to the fair fare. It is no secret that the true meaning of Christmas is not found in the commercialization or the gifts given and received (something I learned while spending time with a group of neighborhood kids including a pushy know-it-all, a piano prodigy, a wise yet blanket-addicted little boy and my faithful beagle who always seems to be more popular than me). In the same sense, it is no secret that the true meaning of a fair is not the awards for best farm animal or craftsmanship, but rather it is found in the food that is offered up at the fair. What would a fair be without the deliciously unhealthy aliment? It would be entirely populated by future and past farmers and that's pretty much it. While there are different things to try, the theme of a fair's food is "fried". They have all sorts of fried foods to be had. I think it is a little ironic to take something healthy like zucchini and drowned it in oil until every last vestige of nutrition is gone and then serve it with a generous portion of ranch dressing to be sure to mask any of the actual taste of the vegetable (which when you think of what it really is, the swollen ovary of a zucchini flower, is not so palatable anyway). I decided to go with something that didn't at one time resemble something healthy and ordered up a deep-fried Oreo. Basically, it tasted like an Oreo wrapped in a donut. It may not be overly healthy, but it was delicious. There were many other deep-fried options from which to choose: twinkies, snickers, hot dogs. Deep-frying even found it's way into the beverage category with one kiosk offering deep-fried Coke. I can't even begin to wrap my brain around how they accomplish that but suffice it to say if the chemical make up of your drink is such that it can survive being plunged into boiling oil you may want to rethink your beverage choice.

Believe it or not, there are rules when it comes to consuming fried foods (or at least I have rules). My main rule is: "I refuse to eat anything fried that I wouldn't eat un-fried." What I mean to say is that if I wouldn't consume it under non-fair conditions, then I won't have it fried. Which is one reason why I avoided the deep-fried...wait for it...sticks of butter! That's right you heard me. If you didn't make it to the fair this year then you missed out on the kiosk that was selling deep-fried butter. Now there is nothing I enjoy more than relaxing at the end of the day with my remote in one hand and a stick of butter in the other- whatever, I don't even like to eat my toast until all the butter is melted. But that wasn't the only thing stopping me. There were a few other omens that deterred me. One was the fact that the name of the kiosk selling these items of coronary ignorance and apathy was "The Heart Attack Cafe". While I give you a point for truth in advertising, the only type of people you'll attract with that kind of name are the mullet wearing, denim shirt with the sleeves cut-off and their name on a patch across the front Billy-bob's who's last words are generally, "Ya'll gotta see this." Another reason is the other things this particular kiosk sold. Namely, Chocolate covered Bacon. Now I love bacon, and I like chocolate, but somethings are just not meant to go together. Just because two different things taste good doesn't mean that they taste good together. But perhaps the most compelling deterrent for partaking of this schlock is the fact that the authorities saw fit to set up a triage station (which always seemed to be busy) no less than 30 feet from this outfit.

But enough about that. This post grows longer and I haven't even begun to discuss the denizens of this open air agoraphobic nightmare. There really are just too many weirdos at a fair to cover them all and do the subject any true justice. So I will select one particular group and conclude my review with a brief discussion on the failings of this particular set of people. The group I wish to discuss is one that is close to home because I have a member in my family that fell prey to their worrisome ways. I am referring to the "fanny-pack" people. I am not going to give any names but one person in our family wears one of this atrocious oddities every time we go to a public place such as this. We, and by we I mean every other person in her family, torment her mercilessly in hopes that she would finally acquiesce and discard that public eyesore. This time we decided to hold up a proverbial mirror and show her what sort of people generally use this derriere accoutrement. So we began to use our phones to discreetly snap photos of people we spied sporting these hindquarter habiliments. There was the corpulent woman with the stretchy pants and ripped sweater over a tank top, with a head band and thick socks looking like she stepped out of a Flashdance themed Jenny Craig meeting. There was also the guy in the black t-shirt with khaki shorts, black socks and dress shoes whose fanny pack I'm sure contained the key to his bicycle lock and his velcro wallet. Well, my mother-in-law finally gave in and bought herself a new shoulder bag to carry around with her. Her chief complaint is that a fanny pack is infinitely more difficult to steal from you than a purse or wallet. While I agree with her argument, I think we have all learned a valuable lesson from our trip to the fair. People may sometimes steal your wallet, but fanny packs will always steal your dignity!