By Mark David Blum, Esq.
This year I am seeing the Fair through 50 year old eyes. Though I will never be any younger than I am today, it seems as though for the first time, I am seeing the Fair as a old person. The child in me hasn’t yet come out to play. As an old person, nothing seems to phase me anymore, not even the woman who walked the Fairgrounds in a full length white wedding dress complete with mud splattered train.
Even when an opportunity presented itself for me to actually get a job at the Fair doing night security for a friend, I had to turn it down. Being an old man means that an air mattress and sleeping bag are not as comfortable or desireable as they once were. It is supposed to be cold for a few days and I don’t look forward to waking up in 50 degree weather and having to sprint to the bathroom. The real reason I turned down the job was its location; in the Cole Muffler Court area. Nightime in that part of the fairgrounds has all the life and excitement of a cemetery. The job I want is down on the midway, near the action and so that I can be a part of the nighttime Fair. I keep on asking and will keep on hunting. I was told that I would be too expensive to have around. Correcting the error, I told the exhibitor that I could be had for as little as a parking pass. Alas, but perhaps next year.
Yesterday Day 2 of the Fair was indeed a nice day for a white wedding. Temps held in the low 70s and the rain didn’t start until the parade got underway. Nevermind the parade, it was time then to leave. The Fair in a cold wet rain is just not the place to be when you are 50.
This year’s Fair continues with its neverending war on wine. The rules used to be that you were locked into the wine court, then the wine tent and had to consume your 30 ounce sangria slushie inside the tent or court before you could leave. Talented souls such as myself always found a way to get the wine out of the area and into the fairgrounds. This year, the effort is wasted. Vendors in the wine tents are selling 10 ounce slushies only; which are the size of a small cup of water. For $3, you can get one of these gripping frozen goodies and they even let you walk out of the tent with it. After all, how much damage can you cause with a tiny cup of slushie? The only real risk would be bumping into the guy walking around with two huge cups of beer. To its credit, the Fair did open a second wine tent. One tent has tables and is open. The other is like a prison. One tent is by the Horse arena and the other (which opens at 4pm) is by the grandstands. For a responsible 50 year old, it is a miserable feeling to be treated like a child and told that I can carry around and drink all the beer I want but lord let me carry out a quantity of wine and its PUNISHMENT time.
These fifty year old eyes of mine are seeing a much more sanitized Fair. Little if anything is new. There are plenty more food vendors but a lot less to actually see and even less to do. If you enjoy meandering about from place to place while being enthralled by such exhibits as the 95X daily Mullet count, then the Fair is your place. But if you want to be immersed in New York culture, touch something other than a flicking giraffe tongue, or eat something that has some unique relevance, then the Fair is sorely lacking. To mine aging eyes, the Fair is watered down, brought to its knees resting on the least common denominator, and is lacking more tables and benches for seating than ever.
They still have deep fried everything. From a deep fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich, to fried green beans, to alligator, shark, and cheesecake, it is all fried. No healthy eating is allowed outside any of the buildings. My fifty year old digestive tract which at one point in time could have handled any and everything fried frozen or filleted looks at these fried ups as just another way to tip my bad cholesterol and raise my blood pressure.
Still, though I am 50 I still find joy in the little things and it is the little things that give the Fair its life. Seeing a kid win at a game, or young lovers lapping at each other’s tonsils, or the raw beauty and power of a showhorse still get my heart a pumping. Walking 5-10 miles a day does the same thing which my doc would agree has to be good for my heart. Even if he doesn’t agree, I know that walking the fairgrounds at any age is indeed good for your heart … and your soul.
