We went to my hometown county fair last evening. This is the first time I’ve been to the county fair in over 20 years. (We’ve been to the state fair a few times over the past several years.) I remember the county fair of my younger days—going with family, going with friends, going with a date. The lights, the sounds, the smells, the shoddily-assembled rides, etc. were all there last night.

We went a bit before sundown and stayed a bit after sundown. My boys loved it. I had fun, and I think my wife and mom had fun, too, but it really wore us out. We had pizza slices and cheeseburgers for dinner, and I got a funnel cake for dessert. The first half of a funnel cake is great, but the second half gets to be a bit much. So I only ate about 9/10ths of it.

I slid down the Fun Slide with my 2 year old (the 6 year old didn’t like climbing the open and rickety stairs up so high). That slide was taller, faster, and more of a ride than I expected—was pretty cool.

The 6 year old drove a bumper car by himself for the first time. The 2 year old wanted to ride the bumper cars, too, and I was going to ride with him, but it was only one person per car, and the little guy was under the height limit. He cried in disappointment.

I took the boys into two fun houses. The first one was a maze of glass and mirrors. It’s actually pretty hard to find your way through that kind of thing. You have to choose direction by feeling the walls, because the disorienting effect of the mirrors and the invisibility of the glass defeats visual attempts to find the path. I’d love to go through a really big maze like that. The whole effect is really cool, and the boys laughed and shouted the whole way through.

The second fun house was a disappointment. The floor was supposed to be moving in places, but it was broken, apparently. At one point, there were rollers on the floor to make walking difficult, but the rollers were stuck, so they didn’t do anything. But the boys still laughed and shouted the whole way through.

I also took the boys into the petting zoo to feed the sheep, goats, donkey, and lama. The boys dropped most of the feed pellets on the ground when the animals tried to eat out of their hands, and then they’d run back to the vending box for more food.

The wife and I rode the Ferris wheel together. I was interested in seeing the fair from up high, and my wife was interested in waving to the boys down on the ground. We didn’t even think of making out while up there alone. The Ferris wheel used to be an excuse for alone time and kissing.

I also rode the sky drop thingy, alone. It has a circular seating arrangement, facing out, around a tower 120′ high. The circle seat rises slowly up the tower, with the riders’ feet hanging out over open air, and then it freefalls about 100′. That was more intense than I thought it would be. For one thing, there is no warning when you’re about to fall. I expected there to be brief stop or bump or click or something at the top just before the drop, but nope, you just suddenly plummet. Falling is a very unnatural feeling, and I had the natural panic emotion for split second. But the experience was very cool. I’d have loved to do it another time or two, but we didn’t have time for it (nor enough tickets).

This year’s fair was about half the size of the years when I was a kid. The rides and attractions were arranged on only half the fairground area; the other half was empty and open. Among the missing attractions were the freak show tents. (I’d never gone in one, myself, but some of my friends did, and they explained that they just had pictures of freaks, or statues “representing” the freaks.) Also missing were half the rides and some of the big eats places. There was still enough to thoroughly entertain the boys for two and a half hours, but it was a noticeably smaller fair to me.

Still, it was a fun experience for my boys. It completely exhausted all of us, especially us parents and grandparent. The smaller size was a good thing for us, I think, because it made it easier to get around. I’m wondering if the state fair would be too much this year, what with both boys walking.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

During the hour I was supposed to be writing this blog post last night, I instead sat on the couch and watched the new Sci-Fi channel series Doctor Who. I remember seeing the original series back in the early 80s; I probably saw it only a half dozen times. I remember only a few bits and pieces of the specifics, and I have only a vague understanding of the general concept. But, I remember the feeling of, “This is cool!”

If other remakes, TV and movie, of old shows were as close to the originals’ styles, I’d be interested in seeing them at least once, too.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

My first grader has homework, Monday nights through Thursday nights. It’s all cute, simple stuff that is actually kind of fun to help him do. For instance, one piece he did last week and has received feedback on is a page of comparisons.

The instructions for parents are:

Dear Family Member:
We are studying the ideas of more than, less than, and about the same. Please help your child complete the table below.
Thank you for your cooperation.

The instructions for the homework are:

Write or draw five household objects in the table below. After comparing the lengths of these objects with the picture of six [chain] links on the right, circle “more,” “less,” or “about the same.”

My 6 year old chose and measured these items:

Shoo – “About the same”
blik – “Less”
sdoftanomol – “More”
Kop – “Less”
Book – “Less”

The teacher gave my son a star on his page for this homework, but she put a question mark next to “sdoftanomol.” I’m a bit surprised she apparently could translate “blik” (block) and “Kop” (cup). I helped my son do this homework, so I know what all the items were. “sdoftanomol” cracks me up every time I look at it. It’s obvious once you know what it is supposed to be.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Junkyards are interesting places. The first thing that came to mind when I visited the three junkyards this week, was astonishment at the sheer number of trashed cars. I could see a couple or few dozen cars scattered around in various states of destruction: from smashed fenders that looked like the car could be repaired rather than trashed, to twisted and torn and shattered pieces of metal only barely recognizable as a car.

And this collection of destruction was just the vehicles that hadn’t yet been crushed and moved on. Some of these vehicles were late models, and even the older cars were less than maybe 10 years old. When I think of junkyards, I think of old derelict vehicles, but the reality is much younger. Some of these trashed cars look like they may have come off the dealer’s lot recently.

Looking at the devastated vehicles, I wondered how many people died in the wreckage. A few of the cars had wholes in the windshield above the steering wheel, and I could picture an unbelted driver smashing through it. Some of the cars were smashed in on the driver’s side door, and some had a collapsed roof—these had to be fatal collisions for the drivers. If ghosts and hauntings are real, I would figure that junkyards would be as probable a location as any graveyard.

There are so many interesting things to note about the junkyards I went to that I could make a week’s worth of posts relating them: the stacks of car doors, the scattered engines blocks, the ground piles of various parts and pieces, and the occasional car cab stuffed full of random junk.

And then there are the people working at the junkyards.

At one place we dealt with a young woman and her mother. Neither woman looked like a “junkyard” type, and in fact, the young woman was surprisingly attractive and clean to be found at such a place.

The next place was staffed by a bunch of skinny young guys. None of them were dirty, although the ones out in the yard showed signs of sweat from working in the hot afternoon sun. Every guy we talked with, there, was helpful and friendly.

Then there was the last place we visited. It was a bunch of obese, older guys who just pointed a finger and told us to go look for the part we needed. Although these guys more fit the preconception I had in my mind of junkyard workers, they turned out to be the more unusual team from what we had seen that day.

If I were twenty years younger, I might have asked the “junkyard girl” out on a date. If I had a 20 year old daughter, I wouldn’t have minded if one of the “junkyard boys” had asked her out on a date. But the “junkyard men”? Not so likely for either option.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com