Step right up

When Jim and I arrived to see Joan Jett at the county fair Thursday night, we were informed that we needed to buy whole-week passes in order to gain admission to the concert. We grumbled a little, but at 25 bucks a pop, it really wasn't a bad deal, even if Joan's show was all we saw.

Since it rained on our parade so badly Thursday, which made me fear for my camera and completely fucked my plans to take nighttime shots of the midway, we decided to go back last night and try our luck again, seein' as how we already had our admission paid and all.



We arrived in style on the back of my favorite racing goat, Farfisa.

My fascination with the midway stretches back as far as I can remember. I grew up in Grand Haven, Coast Guard City if you didn't know, and my biggest thrill of the year would come when the carnival was erected for the week of Coast Guard Festival every August. Compared to fairs and carnivals I've since seen, it was a fairly small and unimpressive display, but it was my only point of reference at that age, and it was the event for which the rest of the year was spent in anticipation.

It wasn't so much that I wanted to go on the rides, because I never got much more daring than the Scrambler - no way in hell was I gettin' on the Zipper! Most of my time was taken by gawkin' at the collective spectacle of it all, the wheezy, groaning contraptions our parents should never have let us ride, the throngs of smarmy teenagers let loose to roam, the aisles of clearly rigged games, the danglin' prizes, the giant stuffed kangaroos and the cocaine mirrors, and maybe the best of all, the way the whole shebang looked at night when all the lights were done up and the place was in full swing. I can still stop, close my eyes, and remember the exact feeling I got, that elation where the chest swells and the brain feels just a little buzzed when you've done nothin' to chemically provoke it, when I would see the lit-up midway for the first time each year.

My swoony infatuation with the midway never went the way of my crush on Daryl Dragon, and I still drag Jim to at least one fair/carnival a year so we can wander the midway at night. Our plan last night was to ride the ferris wheel and get some good elevated picture, but would you believe these fuckers didn't have a ferris wheel? The nerve, the very nerve!


Show us your Tuts!



Ooh! Ooh! It's Daryl Dragon! No, wait...



I don't normally talk to carnies, but I let this one take me home.


Jim and I have decided that, every once in a while, just to broaden our horizons, we should partake in some activity that we would never in a million years have thought we'd do. Last night: tractor pull.

Yes, we did go to the tractor pull. There were more people in the grandstands for the tractor pull than there were for Joan Jett. I'm not sure what that says about the people of Mt. Morris. I have never seen tractors in such a macho display before. Now I'm moist as a snack cake down there, in my pole barn.



As the lights come to life, so does my delight.



Jumbo dream catcher?



Sunset behind the Ring of Fire.


I have to confess something here. A number of years ago, I saw a ride at some street fair that was set up in downtown Flint, and I have since been haunted by the fact that I neither rode the ride nor took any pictures of it. It's kept me awake nights, lyin' there with my tear-puffy eyes as open as they can get, wailin', regrettin', wishin'...

Finally, last night, I was able to atone for these oversights, to lessen the overwhelming stockpile of regret. It's true, I got to ride...The Bee Ride.


Back dat ass up!



If you see me fly over...make a wish!



You all understand, don't you, that it's impossible for me to keep my tongue inside my mouth for more than ten minutes at a time?

I didn't mind the looks I got from the ride operator and from all the children on the ride when I boarded the bee all by my lonesome. I'm pretty accustomed to those "there goes the crazy lady" looks (or "there goes the crazy sir" looks). But as soon as I crawled into the yellowjacket's cockpit, I suddenly got cramps in both feet at once! What was that about? What kind of karma caused this? It's not like I pushed any little kids outta my way to get on or anything (though it was certainly in my plan if need be). But it's okay, I survived the Bee Ride, all my extremeties are intact, and I'm here to tell you all about it.

The darker it got, the more interesting it all was for me and my camera.


Even the ticket booths look cool at night.











It was obvious that rain would start soon, so I didn't get as many shots in total darkness as I'd have liked. This one is probably my favorite:



And then I got on my motherfuckin' bee and rode home.