It’s a little known fact that two of a Mainer’s favorite things in life are either observing or participating pissing contests and consuming vast amounts of fried/deep fried foods. The best place for one to partake in the most heated farmer rivalries while chow down on a funnel cake is the fair.. Maine loves fairs, and while in the state you can easily attend it’s roughly 7 or 8 major ones (and 3 major festivals).
Saturday I took the time out of my busy schedule (sarcasm) to take the hour and a half journey to the town of Skowhegan to attend “the nation’s oldest continuously run agricultural fair”…The Skowhegan State Fair.
Although my memories of that same fair years back are nothing but glimering seas of farm animals and corn dogs, I found this time around to be slightly disappointing. Large sections that used to be devoted to exhibits were needlessly handed over to the carnival rides and shitty merchandise vendors. Although the show animals were still in abundance, a lot of the barns were closed due to it being the first day of the livestock grooming and inspections (don’t worry I ‘ninja-ed’ my way through to some places and got some good pictures).
Hanging with my brothers-in-arms
The only thing that might have redeemed the afternoon was the discovery of wonder that is the bacon wrapped hot dog. I ate one and the angels wept….
- The rest of the photos are here.
- A set from the Fryburg Fair last year is here.
My heritage is drastically split into distinct sections…Cavedad’s “idyllic worker” German side and Cavemom’s swishy/virtually unremarkable French-Canadian side.
- Since I’ve never met the entirety of my Father’s side of the family I can only go on his example that the German Cavemen are very tough, nose to the grindstone people which obviously does not reflect my free spirit.
- The Franco-Canadian Cavemen, to whom I’ve spent my entire life with, are completely (for lack of a better word) normal, which is out of standard with the idiosyncrasies of the Vintage Caveman.
I’m just a round peg with nothing but square hole when it comes to my family….Or so I thought until about a year ago when Cavemom told me the story of my Grandmother’s Uncle.
>My Great-Uncle (lets call him Barney) was the truly the black sheep of the Franc-Canucks Cavemen. He rejected the path the rest of his his family (which at the time was working in textile mills) and forged his own. Unfortunately, “Barney” got himself wrap into some illegal actives (Cavemom won’t tell me) and was sent to the brand-new, “unescapable” county jail the next city over.
“Barney” had no major issues with the whole “being sent jail” thing…it was the “unescapable” part that pissed him off. See, “Barney” had a very rebellious streak (which probably got him into jail in the first place), and no one could tell him he couldn’t do something..
Roughly a month after entry he escapes, and makes it into the Maine history books. Shortly after his unauthorized exit, he was discovered sitting on a park bench waiting to be picked up. A month later he escapes again, just to further “drive in his point”.<
It’s that rebellious, “fuck you” attitude that makes me feel like I wasn’t kidnapped by Gypsies and sold to my current family.
I guess I had a good day today… Which after the mediocre week I had, it really means a lot.
From 8am to 10:30ish in the morning I was in orientation for my summer job. Orientation wasn’t even that bad because I sat there for 2 hours, was told to be safe, and was paid more than 5 hours of work at Radio Shack. One of the highest points in my day was when I was told that my new job required me to be able to operate something called “the crane”. I have no idea what “the crane” is, but the thought of operating excites me to no end…
I got home at 11am and I didn’t see another living human being, that wasn’t on the television or the Internet, till about 10pm. Whenever I don’t see people for long stretches of time, and I can get more stuff done, the day instantly moves up to 80th percentile. The great thing about the end of my day is that I got to work on one of sooper sekrit projektz, and I finally got my hands on some awesome garlic bread pizza.
All is right with the world. (finally…)
Tomorrow I’m taking a trip down to New Hampshire for some great barbecue, and then I’m going to make my way back up here to catch a Drive-In movie. Lots of pictures will be taken and shared.
Saturday (May 17) I finally got a chance to see one of my musical idols in concert, Bob Dylan. I didn’t want to forget a single second of this once lifetime experience so I took a ton of notes right up to the concert start. No notes taken during the concert though…I mean what kind of nerd do you take me for? (I you just to read my thoughts on the show, then just skip to the bottom)
4:00pm -I throw on the appropriate concert attire and I head out to grab a sandwich to eat while I wait so I wouldn’t be so inclined to stuff my maw with horrible concert venue food.
4:15pm -I discover that the sandwich shop is closed on Saturdays (what is up with that?) , so I intend to make due with some mini muffins I bought at a gas station down the street,
4:55pm ish -I finally make it to the front of the venue and discover that 2 and a half hours early is not early enough for Bob Dylan. There are close to 200+ people in front of me…
At first glance I can pick out the standard concert going crowd: the music geeks, hipsters (so far I count 6 ironic t-shirts, 3 large pairs of sun glasses, 4 fedoras, and a handful of flannel), and a smattering of people who are there to enjoy themselves. This being the concert of a musician who gained popularity in the 60’s and 70’s you also get a mixing of old hippies, your standard reformed 60’s roustabouts, and the elusive yet invasive “yupster” with their children (OH from a yupster “My little Billy has taken an interest in folk music since he was 6 months old”).
Biding my time listening to an old hippy tell a gunner who is on leave from Iraq about why he’s not a bad person “just doing bad things”. Awkward to say the least…
5:55pm -The official line is solidified when everyone rushed forward for some odd reason, and I realize that there are couple thousand people behind me. Feeling good about my line position I begin the countdown to door opening.
6:00pm to 6:30 -Spent my time talking to a housewife from New Hampshire, a brand new minister from Massachusetts, and a professor from two towns away.
6:34pm -The doors open and it is a mad rush through the gates. I give up my line position to purchase a souvenir program (because I’m a nerd). I find a perfect seat and I settle down for a good long night.
I don’t do the area in front of the stage. It’s full of hipsters and youngings who really can’t be enjoying the music because they’re standing for 2 hours, sweaty, and crammed up against other sweaty people. Of course it is great to be up close, but you won’t find me there unless I’ve gone crazy. But I digress.
Around 7:30pm – Music blares over the speakers, the lights go down, and the crowd goes crazy.
It is nearing the end of my second semester of college and in my College writing I’ve been sacked with the choice of writing an analysis essay on anything I fancy. Giving me a choice of anything to write about is taint amount to giving a handgun to a cute puppy, there are a billions of ways it could end but no matter what happens the end product will be entertaining. Last time it happened I was a sophomore and I wrote an investigative report which fingered the mafia as being responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy.
This time around I’m taking a less dark turn, and I’ve decided to write about something more lighthearted. I had several ideas which mainly came from TV and movies and I threw the proverbial dart which stuck once I discovered that the “Ghostbusters” box set was on sale.
As recorded in the annals of time, the fifth and final paper for my College Writing class will be “The cultural significance of the movie Ghostbusters” and it is shaping up to be my third best essay ever.
I just discovered that Bob Dylan is coming to my city in a month. My tickets will be bought tomorrow, and more details will follow.
I have returned from my illness inspired hiatus (hallucination) and I couldn’t feel better (lies!). I got home strait from class this afternoon and begin my feverish work on first post since my 2 week break (it’s 8:54 PM right now).
Just about the only good news I received all week is that I didn’t have the black plague with touches of temporary insanity and hysterical blindness. Although there were moments in my day where the fog would lift and I would be lucid enough to check blogs and converse normal people.
It was so bad that at some point last week I was convinced that I had completely lost my inner monologue. For the last 3 or 4 days I denied myself any extraneous conversation due not to the fact that inner Caveman is overtly obscene or dirty (outer Caveman is), but that inner Caveman is incredibly stupid. The only reason that I come off as some-what intelligent is that I edit myself way to much.
I think I feel o.k. now, but only time will tell…
– – –
My Brother moved to Arizona last Saturday.
I haven’t mentioned my siblings that much here at “Vintage Caveman” mainly because I haven’t seen much of them for awhile. Both my brother and sister are irritable, angry, hateful people and I love them. They have found their own way in and I fully respect them for it.
I wish nothing but luck for my brother J and his cooler-than-him girlfriend R.
Now I have an excuse to go to Arizona! (I know Arizona sucks, but it is better than here.)
I always try to enjoy the winter time mainly because there isn’t much to hate about it (except the cold). For some strange reason it’s the time I always find myself falling into a funk. I had to wake up early, and I just knew at that moment the rest of my day is just going to suck.
The kicker of all of it is that I’m being very critical of my writing. I log on this morning, check all my favorite blogs and all I can do is mentally compare myself. I know I shouldn’t compare my writing to others, but a writer’s biggest critic is himself and I’m a very crappy mood.
I know I’m being really disjointed, but what can you do?
Hopefully I’ll be in a better mood later today, or tomorrow so I could post what I originally intended. Have a great day…
Oh, I totally get it now when Will talks about “little people”. I had one walk into the store the other day and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. I don’t mean to be rude or offensive, but the guy couldn’t look over the counter. It was pretty creepy.