Posts Tagged ‘crowd

03
Sep
22

The State-Fair Drug Trip

****

If you live or spend enough time in the USA, you might get the chance to experience what is known as a “state fair.” I’ve only been to the one in Wisconsin, so I cannot speak for the other states. But, I assume every state fair features a variety of the local restaurant options, some form of animals-yet-to-be-slaughtered-for-food-or-lab-testing, music, magic and comedy acts, some sort of parade and plenty of places to dance, drink and smoke the night away. If I’m wrong, then that’s just the Wisconsin State Fair, and what exactly are the other states doing? [Heh.]

There is something intoxicating and equally unsettling about the (Wisconsin) State Fair. [And, I’ll come right out and say it’s not a place for prim vegetarians/vegans; they’d feel like a nun at a biker bar.]

From the moment I pass through the front (or side) gates, I feel like I’ve just walked into an over-crowded amusement park and struggle to retain my sense of direction. Sure, I can bring or get a map with relative ease, but my head still spins as I try to decide where to turn first. People around me are busy yakking, stuffing their faces and essentially ignoring anyone outside their little bubbles of awareness. So, if I’m not careful, someone could step on my foot or knock me down with the arm holding their cotton candy or deep-fried cow poop on a stick. [Don’t worry; they haven’t actually crafted that one, yet. It was just a little joke from a place where everything is sold on a small, wooden, easily broken stick.]

And, even if I come with someone else, I have to keep close watch on them, lest they become lost in the surging crowd. You’ve got to keep your wits about you at the Fair. Pay attention to the shady and sunny spots; avoid the sun whenever possible to protect your health. But, also, mind the shady spots, lest you lose your wealth. Watch your wallet and your companions, and keep moving (unless you are lucky enough to find a safe place to sit).

Let’s just pause right there and talk about safe places to sit. If you see TV footage of the Fair, you might find people sitting in the sun, wearing sunglasses, hopefully applying sunscreen (lotion), looking happy and content. But, that’s far from the reality (unless your family is somehow blessed with being impervious to sun damage).

The truth is the Wisconsin summer sun can be quite brutal. Humidity–paired with body heat and steam from all of the places cooking, frying, enflaming and otherwise boiling food to feed the restless, careless masses–is both agitating and draining. So, if you’re smart, bring a small misting bottle to keep spraying yourself down with water (and refill it every chance you get when you see a “bubbler”/drinking fountain). Also, bring a canteen/water bottle and refill that, too. Remember what I said about keeping your wits? Try to keep the bottles out of direct sunlight, even if you think you are smart by putting ice in them, to avoid creating a hot-water bottle. [Good luck with that at the peak of summer.]

Now, add a current health crisis to the mix and the sheer madness of extroverted people (people who cannot stand another minute by themselves indoors) bent on promoted alcoholism and generally rowdy behavior. [Some of that has come from the Texas invasion; Texas has injected so much of itself into Wisconsin that one begins to think Wisconsin is the southern state’s summer home or winter retreat.] When people are supposed to be cautious about minding their distance and wearing masks, you can expect plenty of stupidity in Wisconsin. [Good luck with that, too.]

So, if you see someone who looks ill/intoxicated and sunburnt, that’s just a typical fool from Wisconsin. [You might want to steer clear of them unless you came with them or wish to play doctor.]

Noise comes and goes in waves. One minute, you hear some stage blaring rock music so loud that you fear going deaf; you can hardly shout loud enough for anyone to hear you. If you cannot communicate with your neighbors/companions, you’re in trouble. The next minute, you step into surreal silence and wonder where all of the commotion went. Yet, wait another minute, and you’ll be back at risk of getting trampled by the next wave of careless pedestrians, yakking, stuffing their faces, smoking, sipping alcohol and generally ignoring everything around them.

If you venture far enough in one direction, you’ll find the somewhat unclear animal region of the Fair, where barns and other buildings house collections of various species. Most of the featured animals are potential ingredients in the foods you may sample at the fair. And, if that’s not unsettling enough (especially for anyone who chooses to forego meat), the other non-food (if that’s even possible) animals look like sad spectacles trapped in cages. Sure, it’s nice to see some that are well groomed and wonder how many species of pigeon exist in the state. But, look around long enough, and you might start to feel like you’re caged, yourself, surrounded by prisoners, some on route to becoming someone’s next meal.

Oddly enough, I think I’ve seen just about every species of animal at the Fair except for cats. There has been the occasional dog show. Rabbits even picked up a little space to race and perform. Birds, cows, sheep, horses…even camels…check. The odd reptile exhibit (more like a bad sideshow). Maybe not giraffes, monkeys (unless they are riding on performers’ shoulders) or elephants, which are typically found at the zoo and saved for the circus. But, I don’t recall ever seeing a cat section or building. I guess most people in need of the Fair are cat people and don’t need to see creatures that resemble their roommates. [So, they come to watch dogs jump in a pool?] And, obviously, fish tanks would be a disaster in a space where the sun is too often too hot and the A/C is too cold.

If you venture far enough in the other direction, you reach a big building that houses a mad assortment of vendors taking advantage of an air-conditioned environment. You’ll thank the gods for the cool air…shortly before you crave warmer clothing (if you have any exposed skin). And, if you have friends or family like mine, you’ll likely be subjecting yourself to mindless wandering and gawking at stuff and sales-pitch folks on microphones for the next few hours, forgetting what time it is until you step back outside into the humidity and wonder where the day went.

[That’s a good way to waste your ticket; get stuck at the “expo center” for four hours or more when special events** unfold at the fair, every hour, scattered around the grounds. You miss out on contests, stage shows, parades and special food sales. So, if you ever come to the Wisconsin State Fair–or any state fair–avoid the big building unless you just stop there to cool off and use a restroom. But, if you’re a tourist looking for T-shirts and the like, go ahead and look around, skipping right past all of the window, bedroom, sports and hot-tub vendors; the crowd is slightly thinner and nicer than the one outside.]

**What do I mean by “special events?” Well, there is a seemingly boundless array of daily activities, and, among those (which seem to ALWAYS be happening, every day, at a set schedule) are a few which stand out because they might only be for a day, a few days or special time of day. There are shows performed by people of various cultures (typically in the shadowy parts of the Fair often overlooked by the carelessly roaming/feasting visitors, and often after sunset). There are rare races to be observed…some less exciting than they sound in the pamphlets/guidebooks. There is occasionally a scavenger hunt to be pursued; I’ve never completed one…so I can’t say what the reward is at the end…perhaps just filling your booklet with pen marks? There are rare eating contests, some attended by “local celebrities;” usually they take place early in the day, when the local news likes to spotlight the Fair and their own employees for promotional materials which flood TV screens until the next season or festival arrives. ‘Plenty of spectacles to be witnessed and questioned as the late summer sun begins to fry your skin, causing some to wonder why they smell food (when it’s just you sizzling). And, there are the evening shows on the “big stage,” which only happen once; you get one chance to see one act one night before it’s gone. And, hopefully, you bought your tickets well in advance (or are fortunate enough to navigate the promotional maze of other methods for acquiring tickets, such as radio-station schemes…for anyone that still listens to broadcast radio).

[Now, just imagine spending a half a day in an air-conditioned building, listening to sales pitches and walking past countless collections of STUFF, leaving the Fair–because you’re out of time–and then looking back at the guidebook, seeing all the stuff you didn’t experience. Or, maybe you just don’t care about anything but shopping; how sad and discouraging.]

[This sort of thing doesn’t just happen in summer; many of the same vendors return seasonally for different “festivals.” It’s exciting and new to visitors from outside Wisconsin. But, for residents, it’s kind of like crappy television littered with infomercials. I just want to flip channels until I find something unique and of interest.]

[When I was a kid, I didn’t get the freedom to explore enough and see everything; so there was always something mysterious to find in the “expo hall.” But, as an adult, I quickly realize(d) the “mystery” wasn’t worth exploring. It’s just a lot of “swag”…and the occasional ice-cream-treat surprise.]

Of course, in Wisconsin, intoxication is highly promoted, even though “safe driving” is also promoted. Bars are on every corner of the “lesser” neighborhoods. The same goes at the Fair. Look around, and you’re sure to spot a neon sign, waiting to light up (at night), for some place selling alcoholic beverages.

[If you don’t drink, you’re a…what’s a nice word for coward? I don’t know. So, I guess I’m a coward. And, if you’re a coward, you should feel right at home in Wisconsin, where cows are mascots (just not mascots for any of the sports teams, oddly enough).]

What time is it? How long have I been talking? I’ve already forgotten. And, what have we all missed? Let’s look at the Fair’s guidebook, coupon book and other promotional materials (most of which are purchased prior to the Fair or at the entrance)… Yep. I missed that, that and the other one. Great. So, pitch those in the nearest trash bin, watch out for the pooping animals on parade (wherever they’re headed) and try to salvage the rest of my time at the Fair.

[You know that Lady Gaga song, Just Dance? That’s how I feel, at some point, at the Fair. I feel drunk (though perfectly sober), lost and confused. And, part of me says I should just keep moving (dancing) until I reach an exit.]

Maybe it’s just my choice of companions. [Sadly, I cannot choose my family. They’re just there.] But, I don’t get my fill…ever…at the Fair. There’s just never enough time or freedom to think clearly. And, it doesn’t help knowing each day has different specials to experience…when you might only be able to visit one particular day, usually the day that doesn’t have the most favored features/events. Timing is everything…except for the weather and crowds; that’s a whole other ball of wax.

[Even if you have an excess of money to “blow,” you need to pick and choose (plan) your directions wisely to get the most out of a day at the Fair; otherwise, you just get a glimpse and probably don’t give a damn about what you’re doing other than impressing a date.]

Typically, my “group” leaves the Fair after sunset, when the lights turn on and the sky looks amazing. I’ve left amusement parks at night, like this, and the feeling is both stimulating and depressing. One part of me is just elated to be there in the moment…and the other is distraught because I have to leave. That, too, is like being doped up or intoxicated. It’s a high you don’t want to stop. But, it must stop. You must stop and leave the madness behind.

There’s a stark difference between the day and night life at the Fair. Just about everything that was available during the day remains at night. But, the general vibe/energy of the Fair shifts. Animals take a back seat or get put down (TO SLEEP…to sleep). [Hey. What happened to that cow I liked? Oh… I think I’ll skip that special hamburger.] And, things you might have overlooked in broad daylight suddenly emerge from the shadows (while other things and people disappear into the new shadows). The carnival/games section of the Fair certainly becomes more appealing and tempting. Comedy and other stage shows take on new life after dark.

[Daylight stage shows feel more like costly distractions for young families just looking for a place to get out of the sun and bind their obnoxious children to the ground for thirty minutes, without having to fork over more money for sugary treats.]

When you finally escape the noise and crowds and slip past the exit gates, you might feel a need to check your pockets, your bag(s) and struggle to recall if you achieved everything you had hoped to experience. If you’re like me, most likely, you come up short. Something is missing (lost or stolen). And, you feel like you put a wad of money on a bar counter or poker table just to come away at a loss.

Strangely, there’s a tiny spark left inside you, urging you to return, just like the watchful bartender who might look at you as you leave his/her establishment and casually say, “Thanks. Come again.”

…Just dance…it will be okay…do-do-do-do…just just just dance…

16
Sep
19

A Party Year and I Don’t Feel Festive

***

Chinese astrology (and, maybe, predictions from astrology in general) is a bit like a certain brand of computer games that seems to have a mind of its own, telling me how and when to play. And, I guess, as I recently experienced a major “glitch” (troubling error), perhaps that too resembles my experiences with Chinese astrology.

I refer you back to 2015…a Wood Sheep year I thought was a sign of finding the love I have sought most of my life. I thought good things were in the near future; I just had to get out and find them. But, not long into that fateful year, I wound up in a hospital and was subject to a number of tests and treatments like a lab rat just to get me back in semi-normal functioning order. The expression “it cost me an arm and a leg” became a grim, somewhat sinister reality that year and continues to haunt me. I saw pretty faces but lost all or never had any chance of achieving a greater connection with them. So much for finding love. If there was any love that year, it was more like pity and it came with suffering.

Now, to be fair, there was no book or placemat telling me that was the year to find love. I took it upon myself to believe that from what I had grasped of/from Chinese astrology. I didn’t have a master/medium/guru to consult. I simply “divined” the possibility from what I had learned. Which, like many of my mistakes in this life, resulted in a slap-in-the-face disappointment.

In 2004, I took a costly trip overseas to fill a big hole in my life’s “experience folder.” I followed the ways of Bruce Almighty and said (to anyone who wrinkled their nose at me when I told them what I had planned), “If you don’t like what I’m doing, you can ‘megabyte’ me.” I didn’t know much about Chinese astrology at the time but had an inkling of good feeling and built my hopes up by carefully planning everything I could. Sadly, while I was ensured a measure of safety from certain harm, plans fell apart, social experiments failed under a cloak of deceptive friendship and I returned home with a case of souvenirs which left me feeling nearly as empty as I did when I left home.

I cried for days if not weeks, nearly as long as it took me to shake the jet lag. I felt as if the monkey (year) had made a fool out of me, once again. I remember watching so many others enjoying themselves while I struggled to insert myself into the fun, somehow. It was a bit like watching a celebration on a big TV and thinking I could step through the screen; there was no logical way to fit into the picture. The party crowd was just an illusion on the other side of a glass wall; I was not welcome (unless I changed who or whatever I was/am, maybe). I took what small positives I could from that experience…it was an experience which taught me a few things I’d hopefully be able to use on future trips to avoid repeat disappointment.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? Perhaps nothing.

But, this year, 2019, is said to be a year to party and enjoy the fruits of past labors. Yet, as I think of the past eleven years, I cannot fathom how or what to celebrate. I used to dismiss the disagreements with family, who seemed unable to understand my interest in, my passion for celebrations of other cultures, and find my own small way to enjoy something like the Asian moon/harvest festival.

2011 was probably the last year I can recall feeling remotely good about that. I made an effort to grow pumpkins and redeem what was lost in my youth to very strange foul weather, a freak hail storm which destroyed a precious pumpkin plant in my family’s garden in the middle of summer, as if some god threw down a lightning bolt and said, “No! You can’t have any! No pumpkins for you!” I sought out my own kind of moon cake and bought paper lanterns. I had a party for one outside while the rest of my family isolated themselves with TV and computer screens. It was both mildly amusing and deeply tragic.

This year, I feel very un-festive. I feel like…what’s the point? And, somewhat accepting my lack of company on the same wave length, I feel like leaving the lights off and the decorations packed away. The Asian moon/harvest festival just came and went, and I didn’t even check out the moon until the night my most recent upset unfolded, the cliche Friday the 13th. I didn’t find my special moon cake. And, as family talked about caramel apples, I didn’t feel as strongly as I have in the past to get a special one of my own (which usually costs more than I’ve been told makes any sense to pay).

I couldn’t care less about dressing up for Halloween, if family can get together for Thanksgiving or if there are any decorations or presents out for Christmas. I’m slowly starting to agree with all those who “bah humbug” the holidays as commercial trickery. And, that really makes me want to cry. But, perhaps, all my “dammed” tears (tears I cannot seem to shed alone and which continue to amass behind a mental dam) are merely the sound of paper tearing, paper torn by the grim reality of practical value, telling me what is merely an illusion of happiness and what is the biological function of inevitable decomposition.

It’s really difficult to stand firm on any feeling because there always seems to be that other side of the fence making some kind of noise. If you’re the festive sort, there’s someone who’s a “humbug” nearby, trying to lower your lights and silence the music. If you’re the “humbug,” there’s someone turning up their music, launching firecrackers and/or turning their home into a spectacle. It’s like, no matter where you go, there’s no peace of mind. And, if the peace people carol about cannot be found, well, that’s just tragic and tears me to the core. It makes me question everything. And, questioning everything just stops the world dead. Everything becomes a rusting amusement park strung with cobwebs.

I “hear” some factor of Virgo (and/or Pisces?) might be responsible for this recent bout with self-doubt. But, who knows for sure. Though, I do see others, even here, having similar doubts. At least, it appears the doubts are similar. But, knowing my luck, this is just another misconception, another assumed grasp of reality ready to be shaken by disagreement.

It just makes me feel lousy to think this year could be the biggest party in twelve years and I, once more, don’t feel like being part of the crowd. Imagine going the next eleven years, listening to people rave about that party back in 2019 before they bemoan the toils of the present “labor” year.

To be fair, I’m not much of a crowd person, as far as I know my core spirit (though my thoughts of such have been swayed by research of astrology). I’ve never been comfortable at loud parties with countless people…or even a family of fifteen. When I was a kid, grown-ups did all of the partying; and us kids just had to sit quietly with a present, if we were lucky to get one. We didn’t get to play much together nor with the adults. I would latch onto brief smiles from pretty older aunts and cousins and think I was at the door to some magical world…and then be forced to let it all slip away as I returned to a restricted life at home like Cinderella and try to reset my mind for school work and all the education I was being told was important. I rarely knew the true warmth of friendship; friends would appear and disappear or change into something I could no longer accept.

And, I still occasionally mourn the loss of what I consider the best friend I’ve ever had, partially blaming myself (and partially blaming her). She was the only friend who stood beside me and came to my aid when I was suffering; she checked in on me like a good nurse. Male friends were only looking for fun I could rarely supply because I didn’t share the same sort of imagination or have the latest toys. But, *she* wasn’t like that; she would have been my friend, no matter what I had or didn’t have. And, though I didn’t share all of her interests (which made me worry I wasn’t the best of friends), I was fairly content just being with her, seeing her smile and hearing her infectious laughter. Yet, we drifted apart after she denied me the growing feelings I had and went to a different school where she became involved with some guy using drugs; and, back then, that was like a cardinal sin to those of us who had been raised on anti-drug campaigns. Had I known then what I know now, I might not have shuddered at all at the realization and fought to keep her at my side (instead of letting her go and drifting into my own solitary misery). [Granted, to be fair, I was in no position to fight for someone else at the time. I was grateful to have any friend visit me and give me some sign of comfort and/or strength to fight with my own internal monsters. I couldn’t be someone’s hero when I needed my own hero…or heroine (a female hero, not the drug).]

If I had an inkling of that same good, enduring feeling (that I had with her) with another person in the past thirty years, I’d be less inclined to mope. But, sadly, I cannot say anyone could compete with her. A rare phone call or email just isn’t the same as someone who could pay me a visit and shake the tears from my branches until I could smile, again. A pen pal is a nice dessert but far from the main course I still do not have in/with me. And, I think of all the things we had yet to do together, things so many young lovers claim they’ve done (or so I hear). While many turned their focus to the pursuit of sex, I was thinking about so many other possibilities that would bring far better, enduring joy. It just never came to pass. And, at my age, it seems like a foolish notion to consider anything outside of a world of broken marriages and single parenthood, of “sloppy seconds” and “second chances,” if that, of people making desperate moves out of desperate positions only to fall back into fruitless ruts after attempting to satisfy their “sweet tooths” (or sweet teeth?). I don’t want to think any window has closed for good………..

….So, we’ve reached that point in my train of thought when I know I need to hit the breaks (Tsssh!) and regroup so I can get on with my life before I am completely and permanently derailed.

I know I shouldn’t let any of this get to me. But, I feel an inclination to mentally stab myself (not using an actual knife) for missing out on some festivities, for not making the proper moves to share in the fun, every time word of some party going on reaches my ear. I don’t buy into all the “best ever” and “bigger than ever” crap people keep pitching. But, I know there’s a party…and, even though I’m not the best party joiner…suffering from some variety of social discomfort/anxiety…I’m missing…something. I suspect what I am really missing is the joy of good companionship, of friendship and revitalizing love. But, many if not all of us feel that pull when people are enjoying themselves; don’t we? You feel like you’re on a dark street looking in on some lively, colorful crowd laughing, dancing, eating and drinking. You feel just a little like that infamous Scrooge traveling the pathways of time and space with those three eerie spirits.

But, down the road, I doubt these feelings will matter much…or they will just become “wash” in the layers of sand gathered during aging. I just…don’t want to be an old humbug. But, I also don’t see a way around it. And, that makes me quite nauseous and tense.

And, how does one go on living when the past seems so empty, when your story cannot feel as good as that of another you encounter (and it makes no sense to say it’s better than the case of some other poor chap)? When that fateful day arrives to write an obituary about yours truly, what will it say and who will write it? I currently don’t have someone I know will do myself justice in print. Nor, even if I did, can I feel good about filling this life to its fullest. Maybe I never should let such notions get into my head. Maybe everyone can only live life as full as they can or the Fates allow. Maybe I only get half a life while someone else gets twice their expected share. Maybe that’s just the way of the cosmos and beyond human understanding…and not something we humans should dare pass around as fact or expectation.

So, what if I write my own obituary? Would that matter? A little. And, still, it would feel empty. Because, aside from my good intentions and fewer deeds of service than some I’ve come to know, I see plenty of missed opportunities either thrust upon me by controlling and/or mentally abusive adults or spawned from within myself by genetic “doubts” and “fears.” And, it pains me to think of when I did take chances only to fall flat on my back and injure myself. It’s as if even trying to do something was in error. So, why try anything? It’s a question that continues to peck at me and leaves me feeling restless.

If only I could tune out the rest of the world and focus only on what is in front of me. Even if I could or would do that, could I be content or find contentment in that? Or, is it already too late?…because I’ve bitten the apple that flooded my eyes with illusions of wonder?…with ideas of what could be and pretty faces I wish I could call my friends and lovers?




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