Yeah, we went to the Western Fair today. We were motivated by the The Boy's love of rides and The Girl's entry fee in the horse-jumping competition. It was the same old, same old - but a little less so.
The rides seemed a bit more expensive, but the usual assortment nonetheless. The buildings seemed to have fewer reasons to poke a head inside. The various competitions - photography, local crafts, and the like - pushed further into the corner of irrelevance.
Like last year and many of the years before, the patrons were largely the tattooed demographic - with their piercings, their strollers trailing cigarette smoke, and the general vibe that life was not going to get any better than today.
To be fair (ha!), there were some memories to take back to the 'burbs:
- a woman leaving as we arrived produced the day's best quote: "You know, the fair is as ghetto as I can remember"
- watched The Boy eat a deep-fried Mars bar and then ride every sickening ride without choking up something vile
- saw a warm family moment unfold as Mom and teen daughter fought over the last smoke in the pack (just bad planning if you ask me)
- witnessed a small lamb squeeze through the enclosure bars and prance over to nearby children, eliciting surprised shrieks
- watched Nick Paparella - family in tow - eat a corndog and not once did he make his goofy TV-guy-at-the-fair face. Astounding!
- The Girl, after a long day of waiting her turn, got her rented mule jumping well enough to win a First, two Fourths, and a Sixth in her various classes.