U Gotta Love It!
It's that time of year again. Time for butter cows, corn dogs, funnel cakes, prize winning ewes, pork, pork, more pork, and cute Iowa chicks posing with pigs.
Yep. It's time for the Iowa State Fair. It started last Thursday and will continue until August 17th.
I had a love-hate relationship with the Iowa State Fair: I thought it was really cool, but only when I wasn't there. It's mostly due to the circumstances. When I was a kid, my sister's dance class performed at the fair each year. On the day of the show we woke early to make the two hour trek to Des Moines. Waking up early in the summer = strike one. For some odd reason, the show was always scheduled on what became the hottest day of the year (strike two) and the day with record breaking attendance (strike three!). Imagine this: You're tired, it's 98° (90 percent humidity), your mom makes you stand in line for 20 minutes to see a cow made of butter, and everywhere you look there are people (120,000 of them) eating God-Knows-What-on-a-Stick.
Of course, that was when I was younger, when I wasn't really interested in what the fair had to offer. Sure, there were tons of cute chicks from all over the state (especially those Des Moines girls, who Kerouc said were the prettiest in the world), giant tractors and combines I could climb on and in, and gyro stands down every row. But I was a city boy. There were no computers, no video games; no hip-hop, no basketball. The Iowa State Fair, for the most part, is an agrarian exhibition. I liked the 4-H exhibits, the shooting galleries in the midway, and the animals were cool, but I could only look at so many penned-in bulls, sows, and sheep before I started pestering my dad about leaving. It seemed the more I pleaded with him and my mom the longer we stayed. My sister was busy, so she didn't have to endure the fair's slow, rural torture.
But you want to know the weird thing? After we left, even before we got home, I started thinking, "That was fun. I love the state fair."
What? You're crazy, boy!
Seriously, though, I liked the state fair. I didn't like it as much as my mom did (she showed sheep there in the '60s, so the fairgrounds and animal buildings are a source of nostalgia), but I respected the importance and immensity. The state fair was a microcosm of Iowa. The pastoral, the cosmopolitan, and the real, kooky, character rich people who inhabit the former prairie empire between the Mississippi and Missouri were all represented.
It's true: you gotta love it.
I haven't been to the state fair since 2001. My girlfriend had just broken up with me so I wasn't in the right mindset for the fair. Though my sister wasn't dancing, the day I went still became the hottest of the year (my thick, wavy hair ballooned into a giant afro) and broke the single day attendance record. A fire broke out at a restaurant and fairgoers pitched in to douse the flames.
I wonder what I'd think of it now since I'm older, more mature, and have moved away. The fair represents Iowa — the people I know and love and the land I miss.
Yep. It's time for the Iowa State Fair. It started last Thursday and will continue until August 17th.
I had a love-hate relationship with the Iowa State Fair: I thought it was really cool, but only when I wasn't there. It's mostly due to the circumstances. When I was a kid, my sister's dance class performed at the fair each year. On the day of the show we woke early to make the two hour trek to Des Moines. Waking up early in the summer = strike one. For some odd reason, the show was always scheduled on what became the hottest day of the year (strike two) and the day with record breaking attendance (strike three!). Imagine this: You're tired, it's 98° (90 percent humidity), your mom makes you stand in line for 20 minutes to see a cow made of butter, and everywhere you look there are people (120,000 of them) eating God-Knows-What-on-a-Stick.
Of course, that was when I was younger, when I wasn't really interested in what the fair had to offer. Sure, there were tons of cute chicks from all over the state (especially those Des Moines girls, who Kerouc said were the prettiest in the world), giant tractors and combines I could climb on and in, and gyro stands down every row. But I was a city boy. There were no computers, no video games; no hip-hop, no basketball. The Iowa State Fair, for the most part, is an agrarian exhibition. I liked the 4-H exhibits, the shooting galleries in the midway, and the animals were cool, but I could only look at so many penned-in bulls, sows, and sheep before I started pestering my dad about leaving. It seemed the more I pleaded with him and my mom the longer we stayed. My sister was busy, so she didn't have to endure the fair's slow, rural torture.
But you want to know the weird thing? After we left, even before we got home, I started thinking, "That was fun. I love the state fair."
What? You're crazy, boy!
Seriously, though, I liked the state fair. I didn't like it as much as my mom did (she showed sheep there in the '60s, so the fairgrounds and animal buildings are a source of nostalgia), but I respected the importance and immensity. The state fair was a microcosm of Iowa. The pastoral, the cosmopolitan, and the real, kooky, character rich people who inhabit the former prairie empire between the Mississippi and Missouri were all represented.
It's true: you gotta love it.
I haven't been to the state fair since 2001. My girlfriend had just broken up with me so I wasn't in the right mindset for the fair. Though my sister wasn't dancing, the day I went still became the hottest of the year (my thick, wavy hair ballooned into a giant afro) and broke the single day attendance record. A fire broke out at a restaurant and fairgoers pitched in to douse the flames.
I wonder what I'd think of it now since I'm older, more mature, and have moved away. The fair represents Iowa — the people I know and love and the land I miss.
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