Really the carnies have classed up some. Yesterday at the Boonton Fire Department Street Fair, I saw none of the soot-covered grizzle, flared nostrils and dangling cigarettes I recall so fondly from the olden days. I'd always assumed that kind of lifestyle - hard drinking, heavy smoking, strapping people into teacups - takes its toll on your body. But yesterday, the staff was all natty in turquoise golf shirts. It was uncanny. There was an alternate universe moment when I fully expected the cotton candy boy to break into his impersonation of Boston Symphony conductor Seiji Ozaw.
Fortunately, I spotted a battalion of jellybean homegirls in their summer stretch denim tottering off the Scrambler looking like very short hoochie mammas with acute inner ear infections. And then there was a screecher of a catfight by the 50/50 booth. After the guy vaulted over the cajun hotdog counter to break it up and rescue the one from under the other one's enormous pleather handbag, I felt totally serene. It's a comfort to know nothing much changes at the cosmos level.
Tom got a little sweaty taking in the swings with Sean and Lea:
When the ice cream and spinning around in circles had raised the spew red alert to dangerous thresholds, we shambled back to Jen and Eric's. The kids strung little alphabet beads into cute bracelets. Adison spelled out "Celebrate Labor Day," which wrapped three times around her little wrist. I was surprised she managed to find all the letters but I believe anything Jennifer says.