The Forty Days

I have not been to the Texas State Fair since I was five years old.  Here is what I remember from that experience–Big Tex looming overhead, a car show, hay, riding down a slide on a potato sack, sleeping in my stroller, pooping in my pants, and crying.  But now I’m 31 years old, and, twenty-six years later, I am going back to the Texas State Fair!  It will be interesting to see what has changed and what will remain the same.  For one, I seriously doubt I will need a stroller.  We’ll see how tired I get.

My sister (who is also currently funemployed), my father (who is semi-retired), and I stroll onto the Fairgrounds at around 12:30 pm.  As this is a Wednesday, I assume the parking lot will be pretty empty.  Not so.  Jeez, are all these people funemployed as well?  We enter through the gate, and the first item on the list is eating.  None of us has eaten lunch, and we are hungry.  We peruse the food vendors, and notice that an inordinate number of menu options are fried.  Fried twinkies, fried oreos, fried marshmallows, fried caramel apples, fried cheesecake–you know, the standard fare of fried foods.  Because caramel apples are too healthy and not sugary enough unless they’re fried.  Then I look closer at some of the signs.

Fried pizza?  Fried coke?  How the heck do you fry coke?  Wait . . . just wait one second . . . just one damn second.  Did that . . . did that sign say fried butter?  That’s right.  It did.  Fried.  Butter.  Because the proprietors of the Texas State Fair are not satisfied unless you have a coronary on the premises.  So, as any self-respecting Texan would surely do, we get one fried butter and one fried coke.  The fried butter is surprisingly delicious–why wouldn’t it be?  Tastes like buttery doughnuts.  Yum.  The only downside is the knowledge that, yes, you are indeed eating fried butter.  The fried coke, which consists of odd-looking fried coke-balls covered in some kind of syrupy whipped cream, is disgusting.  Just terrible.  We shortly move on to some healthier, more substantial eats, such as a corn dog, frito pie, philly cheesesteak, and some butter-soaked corn-on-the-cob.  Got to get your veggies!  There are literally no healthy options at the fair–sticking my head in a vat of lard and sucking would probably be a healthier option than dining on the Fairgrounds.

Having filled ourselves with fried goodness, we decide that we must ride the enormous Ferris wheel–one of the iconic symbols of the Texas State Fair–which is apparently the biggest Ferris wheel in the Western Hemisphere.  (My sister contends that the London Eye is taller, which is true; however, much to our surprise London is actually in the Eastern Hemisphere.  Really?  Who knew?)

From the Ferris wheel, we can see Big Tex–the other iconic symbol of the Texas State Fair and of Texas, in general.  As a little boy, I remember seeing that enormous Texan loom over me and thinking that it was the biggest, coolest thing I had ever seen.  As I approach Big Tex today, however, I do not experience the same sense of awe and wonderment I once did.  In fact, I experience a complete lack of awe and wonderment.  First, Big Tex has traded in his rugged red cowboy shirt for a metrosexual canary-yellow one.  Yellow?  Oh, Big Tex.  How the mighty have fallen.  No self-respecting Texan and/or cowboy would ever be caught dead in that terrible shirt.  Second, it appears that Big Tex has obtained corporate sponsorship.  As you can see in the photograph to the left, Dickies (the alleged number one name in workwear) now owns Big Tex’s ass.  Now, Big Tex not only looks like a pansy, but he has sold out to boot.  Say it ain’t so.

Utterly deflated, we move on.  First, we go to the car show.  Why exactly is there a car show at the state fair, again?  The car show bored me to tears as a five-year-old.  This time around I have a little more fun.

Next, we go to see some livestock–specifically, some piggies and cattle.  This area of the state fair is like a different universe.  Lots of hay, cowboy hats, and manure floating around.  Mmmmm, manure.

Finally, we decide to play one of the games on the Midway.  My sister and I play one of those race-type games where there is a winner every race.  We are the only two playing.  We discourage other would-be patrons from joining.  I win.  Man, I’m on a hot streak.

We play one more game–involving a wiffle ball and a bunch of white and colored cups–and both my sister and I win.  We are flush with stuffed animals.

As we leave the Fairgrounds and head back toward our car with smiles on our faces, my father says to us, “I thought I’d need grandchildren before I went to the fair again.”  No, Dad, just two unemployed children.

See y’all next year at the Texas State Fair!  (By the way, the Texas State Fair is expensive.  Ordinarily, entrance alone costs $15 per person.  On Wednesdays, however, one can get in for $1 and three canned goods.  But once inside the fair, food, games, and rides are expensive.  I’d be surprised if a family of four could get out of here dropping less than $200.)

Reminder: Don’t forget to enter The Forty Days Contest!  I could be your personal assistant for one day.  Go to this page and leave a comment explaining why you deserve to have me as your P.A. by 5 pm on Friday.  Do it now.