I need a day to relax.
This should not surprise anyone. Between the Great Digestive Upsets of June 2015 and the GIANT FLOODED BASEMENT O'DOOM of August-September-now October dear God will this ever END 2015, it's been a hell of a few months. Throw in ongoing money problems and a car that I can't afford to replace but should, and if there is ever someone who needed a day (or two, or three, or...) to eat, drink, laugh, window-shop, and spend with friends, it's yours truly.
A spa day with the girls isn't going to cut it. None of us has the cash to do more than gaze longingly at the price list for the local day spa, or even the local Ulta. The same applies to time at the local mall; not only is there nothing there any of us really needs or particularly wants, the crowds and expense and noise are anything but soothing.
Even a quiet trip to area bookshops is dicey, since a) books are a great way to spend one's mortgage in advance and b) the suspension on my car sounds like a little of baby mice, so heading up into the hilltowns in quest of books is probably not the best or smartest idea I've ever had.
Fortunately, there's a solution, and no, it is not "flying like an eagle, to the sea." It's called the Eastern States Exposition, aka the Big E.
The Big E is, at its simplest, nothing more than the regional version of those late summer/early fall staples, the GIANT AGRICULTURAL/FUN FAIR O'DOOM. Iowa's version may be the best known, especially when politicians and celebrities try to eat a corn dog without looking like they're performing a sexual act, but there are thousands of similar events everywhere there's a farming community that wants to get together to celebrate the end of summer, criticize each other's livestock/crafts/food storage methods, and whoopee it up on possibly life-threatening equipment while the youngsters turn green from the unexpected G force.
In many ways the Big E is absolutely typical of this phenomenon. There are merry-go-rounds and Ferris wheels, sideshow attractions and petting zoos, competitions for quilters and knitters, exhibits of chickens that look like dust mops (or perhaps 19th century hussar officers) and emusthat actually are dust mops. Fried food, souvenirs, clothing, entertainment ranging from Lynyrd Skynyrd to the Village People (sometimes on the same bill), prize vegetables and handicrafts and canning - it's all here, and so much more, that some people need a whole week to plow everything.
At the same time, the Big E is unique in that it's not a state fair or a county fair or even a local fair. It's a true regional fair, with exhibits drawn from all six New England states - and before one wonders what possible reason there is for a fair that encompasses everywhere from the Northeast Kingdom to Aroostock County, the Berkshires to Narragansett Bay, Darien to the White Mountains, remember:
Our states are very, very, very small, even if Little Rhodey's actual legal name is "The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations."
The Big E has been going on for nearly a century now. It's survived hurricanes, floods, two World Wars, the shift from ox-drawn plows to modern tractors, and uncounted millions of visitors who raise blisters, stuff themselves on tasty but nutritionally suspect treats, and hang around the Midway until the security guards throw them out. It's a regional institution, and since blood donors (like me) get a free pass for parting with our precious bodily fluids, I'd be silly to pass it up.
Besides, what could more unlike the rest of my life than a whole day wandering around with my friend Bunky as we eat, people-watch, eat, listen to music, eat, buy souvenirs, eat, pet the cute baby goats and sheep, eat, watch the racing pigs, and did I say eat?????
reaches for the Alka-Seltzer and the Tums
So! Since I'm still in a food coma from my day of fun, tonight I bring you not bad books, but six of my very favorite things about the Big E. Some are culinary, some are informative, some are pure entertainment, and some are just plain frightening:
Avenue of States - chief on my "can't-miss" list is the Avenue of States. This row of six small buildings modeled after the historic capitols of the New England states is the place to get more information about everything from Morgan Horses (the Vermont building, and yes, they usually do have a live Morgan or two) to maple syrup (Massachusetts, surprisingly enough) to H.P. Lovecraft (Rhode Island) to Legos and Pez (Connecticut). Each state's businesses, people, attractions, and culinary delights are showcased, and I defy anyone to waddle wander away hungry after sampling the baked potatoes (Maine), cheddar cheese (Connecticut), wine (Massachusetts), clam chowder (Rhode Island), dips and sauces (New Hampshire), and maple cream cones (Vermont). Best of all, it's at the entrance to the fair so you can fuel up for a long day of rides, shows, souvenirs, and petting zoos before you enjoy Millie's pierogis, cream puffs, Tom Thumb donuts, and a deep-fried martini. Bring your antacids and go for it!
Better Living Center - if you can move after making your way down the States, a good place to walk off all the carbs is the Better Living Center. This enormous building is home to more souvenirs, t-shirts, furniture, decorative statues, shoes, dip mixes, juicers, cooking equipment, massage chairs, and hair ornaments than you can shake a cornstalk at, and it's all for sale! Whether it's the splendid vulgarity of pale blue unicorns dusted with transparent glitter, the overpriced quality of no-sharpen knives, or the exotic tie-dyed rayon of clothing suitable for raves and Grateful Dead concerts, you can't go wrong. And if you don't believe me, just ask the Double Felinoid - this is where I get the fresh organic catnip that drives them absolutely berserk (especially Gil the Wonder Cat, who starts hallucinating before the flakes have even hit the kitchen floor).
GIANT TERRIFYING SLIDE O'DOOM - this seemingly harmless attraction is actually a soul-sucking, bowel-dissolving, scream-inducing mode of going from one place to another that makes the Highway to Hell look like a picnic for very tiny toddlers. It involves giving your hard-earned money to a flunky, climbing a very very very long very very very high staircase, sitting on a worn mat woven of fine quality jute or coconut fiber or maybe the remains of its victim, sitting down, and then sliding at approximately Mach 3,056,827 down a series of waves, bumps, and grooves long enough to shriek until your vocal cords are bloody pieces of cartilage. To add insult to injury, your cries of dismay are broadcast on loudspeaker throughout the fairgrounds, and the only aftercare you receive is when yet another flunky shambles across the strip of Astro-Turf that serves as a landing, reclaims the jute/coconut/corpsey-bits mat, and wishes you a good day.
Highly recommended, especially if your will is up to date.
Mardi Gras Parade - why, you may ask, is there a Mardi Gras parade at the Big E? Which in Massachusetts? In the fall?
Who knows? Or cares? There are gorgeous floats, pretty dancers, Dixieland jazz, and seemingly endless strings of glittery beads, charms, and similar delights flung into the eager crowd. It's a great little mid-afternoon break (particularly if you're still recovering from your merry jaunt down the GIANT TERRIFYING SLIDE O'DOOM), and it's close enough to the food tents that you can chow down on a mammoth cream puff/Tom Thumb donuts/jumbo Italian steak sub/deep-fried martini before staggering off to the Mallary Center to stare at the butter sculptures and the llamas, cows, sheep, emus, etc. in the agricultural classes.
The New England Grange - history teaches us that the Grange was a major force in the late 19th century Populist movement that petered out by the time we entered the Great War. That would be news to the good ladies and gentlemen who staff this building and can the preserves, knit the scarves and hats, and stitch the raffle quilts that one can peruse. Probably the single quietest place in the entire fair, this place is an unexpected treasure and a look back to the true traditions of a New England agricultural fair. Bunky and I always stop by to browse and maybe pick up a scarf or two, and it's well worth our time.
GIANT TERRIFYING PUMPKINS O'DOOM - these monstrosities, some of which are upwards of a half a ton, lie inert and orange in the Farm-A-Rama building, right by the chick hatchery and the butterfly exhibit and the Hallamore Clydesdale team. They seem harmless enough, these gigantic symbols of Halloween, and spectators point, laugh, gasp, and take picture after picture picture.
Little do they know that after the fair closes, the GIANT TERRIFYING PUMPKINS O'DOOM (many of which are fed on milk, or possibly Muscle Milk, or even ickier bodily fluids) roll off their stands, sneer at the night watchmen, and trundle their way out into the dark of the night. They do not stop, not for golf carts nor cream puffs nor even the fried dough stands, until they occupy the dusty track where the hot rods and the racing pigs and the tractors entertained fair goers. What they do next has never been revealed to us puny humans, but rumors of milk stealing, Ferris wheel tipping, and hideous howls of ghastly glee have swirled for years about these future Thanksgiving pies.
Gaze upon them only if you dare, and try to ignore the faint rumbling chuckles from the Hubbard squash....
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Do you ever go to a state fair? A town fair? Have you tried to raise a giant pumpkin? Have you been to the Big E? Survived the GIANT TERRIFYING SLIDE O'DOOM? Ante up for a hamburger from the Lions' Club food tent and share....
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