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I Brake For Cantwell Mutants

When I was in Homer two weeks ago for my father’s 60th birthday, plans were made for a trip to the state fair in Palmer on Labor Day weekend.

I waffled quite a bit about the trip — it’s a long drive, one I had just made two weeks previous and one I would make two weeks after Labor Day — but when my brake light came on in my car and my friendly mechanic told me it would be $700 to replace the ABS controller, I firmly decided that The ABS Can Wait For The Fixing, and also, There Is No Way I Am Driving Six Hours With Faulty ABS That Will Likely Be Blown From My Car With A Sawed-Off Shotgun By Inbred Mutants In Cantwell.

I called everyone and told them that the car gods hate me, boo-hoo, can’t make it.

And then? Very last minute? The warning lights binged off. Just went away and stopped bothering me. So what did I do? I jumped on the road as fast as I could pack.

Of course, once I got to Anchorage I found that my oldest brother was headed back out on the boat for one more round of commercial fishing before the season is over, his wife wouldn’t make it, and then John and Heidi decided they were too cool (read: broke) for the fair.

But I drove all that way to go to the fair, dammit, and that was what I was going to do.

I hooked up with The Man Formerly Known As The Internet False Prophet Of Choice (TMFKATFPOC), who really has nothing to do now that he’s shunned the entire internet, and had myself a great time without any of my family.

So there.

The day proved to be exceptionally sunny. We made fun of just about everybody and their terrible choice of clothing,

and we watched a Dog and Pony show that was lacking any sort of pony whatsoever. They didn’t even have a dog dressed like a pony. Which would have been awesome.

But there were basketball playing dogs and dogs climbing on people and dogs jumping high into the air and dogs so full of the adrenaline of performing that they refused to do tricks properly.

I dragged Steve through the photography exhibit, got a sunburn, ate approximately zero things one can buy on a stick, made him stop every two seconds so I could take a picture of some rust, and bored him to death with millions of one-time-when-my-youth-group-came-to-the-fair stories.

The weekend was a smashing success.

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Looks like fun. We were too cool (broke!) to go, but now I wish I had made it happen somehow. I’ve never been to the State Fair. Maybe next year.

A complete lack of dancing ponies, a Philly “cheesesteak” that was made from a cut up hamburger patty, a pound of soggy, greasy french fries that cost almost $10, and all of the good pukey rides had been disassembled because of the previous week’s rain.

If it weren’t for the badly drawn anime characters in the art contest and the little girl poking her head over the back of the car to watch us on the ferris wheel, it would’ve been almost no fun at all.

What? You mean no Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey?

Alaska is not nearly hip enough for a cowboy monkey.

I Brake For Cantwell Mutants

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