Carlos - 10/22/2007 - State Fairs in the United States

Last weekend my family and I were in North Carolina scoping tentative outing options. One such option was the North Carolina State fair.

By no means am I a fair connoisseur; I typically do not enjoy fairs. Up until last weekend I had never been to a fair in the United States. As it were, I was not about to interrupt my streak by going to a weeny fair. Only a fair of the utmost importance and disproportionate scale would do. The North Carolina State fair fit the glove.

Quite a staggering number of smiling locals handing out pamphlets directed us to an underground parking garage of a small office complex in the middle of nowhere. It was not a far walk to the fair grounds, maybe four minutes by foot.

I don’t know what it was, but from the moment I saw the gigantic sprawl that was the fair, I felt troubled; “this is probably NOT my crowd,” I was sure of it.

The entire ordeal was an experience, but the first few steps into the grounds were really a shock. It was like walking into a pop-surrealism piece – everything screamed.

It seemed that the main attractions, if you can call them that, were, in no-particular order, the colossal, gyrating, and vomit-inducing death machines, the sugar coated lard, and the brain-rattling noise levels. Like a hammer to the temple.

Your traditional Ferris wheel was there, as were your “hit-the-dolly-and-get-a-prize” games, but it seems fair machines have evolved significantly from these classics. There was simply no way I would have gotten onto the newer stuff. Those metallic dinosaurs could have very well been leased (or stolen) from a nearby Six Flags and reassembled on the fly by the local electrician – Paco, formerly the Mexican Luncheonette owner.

Nowhere else in this world will you find people holding several hot-dogs (or hamburgers), a bucket sized soda drink, and cotton candy, who are also in line for some other fried choke hazard. The sheer body mass of some of these people was evidence that this diet was anything but unusual. Some were so large that they actually transported themselves on those old-people carts. Unsurprisingly, those things are meant for old, typically small, people, and as such are very (very) slow to carry the weight of typical fair-attending patron. Of coarse, I have lived in the States a few years now and such sizes are nothing new, just always sad.

Watching those never ending appetites is like watching a scary movie. It’s hypnotic. You know you don’t like it, that you won’t be able to sleep, and surely it will ruin you’re appetite, yet it’s near impossible to look away. You certainly cannot smell away.

My father said something that really speaks true: “it’s the first time in the history of the world that a species has too much food.”

What was most unique to this fair, most popular and, in my opinion, least enjoyable, were the trucks. At the center of the fair were some stands alongside a short racing track. The name of the game was: pushing (or pulling) heavy things with a tractor. Coming from the city, I cannot describe how unusual this appeared. Part of the allure, it seemed, was revving the tractor up as much as possible before actually driving. The crowds loved this noise. I never got a chance to ask why. I wonder what the prizes were?

My last shock was revealed to me halfway through my 45 minute experience (that’s all we could muster). I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but it seemed that a lot of people, somehow, were not quite alright. Aside from the superior fattyness levels, that is. I’m not sure what triggered it, but all at once I realized the proportion of healthy to mutant was significantly higher than average. Perhaps 2% of the crowd was, in one way or another, slightly deformed, or retarded looking. Then again, maybe it was just the fat.

A few days ago I told a friend about the fair, he quoted back a saying: “If you ever want to feel good about yourself, go to a state fair.” I didn’t exactly walk out feeling good about myself, but I did walk out content. Sometimes you forget why you dislike things and a good refresher is all you need.

Alf - 10/21/2007 - Mexico City taxi cabs

Mexico City taxi cabs... Oh boy. Well, for starters there's many different kinds of taxis. There are those of the pimp my ride quality which are easily recognized by the bright psychedelic lights emanating from the interior, the driver's massive 6G harness strapping him down to the seat, the 8 speaker stereo system with the low rider bass in the trunk that can be heard within 4 city blocks, and the feeling of "man this guy must be very late for something which means I will very soon die splattered against the median".

On the other side of the spectrum one can board the old-school green VW Beetle cabs, although not as fast, they too provide their own exciting sense of danger. For starters these come equipped, or shall I say unequipped, with a large vacuum that once contained a passenger-side front seat. This makes boarding the tiny vessel a cinch, except when your party consists of more than 1 person who is not a midget. Once seated one can also see that there are small appendages in the back-seat that once must have been the docking ports for seat belts. Upon inquiring why these were modified in such a manner the kindly driver will reply that due to popular demand and for the passenger's comfort all signs of seat-belts were removed. One can only picture a front side collision resulting in the passenger flying through the vacuum of the front-seat and careening through the windshield, although fortunately his bottom is nice and comfortable. After arriving at one's destination and paying the man for his services he will lift the front passenger-side mat and look for change, and once having exited the cab, the driver will pull the door shut with a little rope that he keeps tied next to his stick-shift. There are also the termed "illegal" cabs, which consists of the two previous kinds of cabs but these poor guys do not have the proper permit. How to identify them, well, it seems their tag numbers are different although this is unrecognizable to anyone not working at the motor registration authority and also, sometimes their paint job is a little rundown even though all taxis here have bad paint jobs! But, of course, every single taxi cab driver will comment to you, the gullible newcomer to the city, to be wary of those illegal cabs, they are all over the place and those rat bastards are not safe.

Moving on, we have the "executive" taxi services. These usually come at double the fare and therefore cater exclusively to citizens of high standing. How does one become an "executive" taxi driver? Well, one simply purchases a 2 to 3 year old mid-size car and then one drives around and offers people a lift. According to my paranoid relatives these guys are by far safer to ride in than the run of the mill taxi cabs... hmm, dubious.

Despite the limitations in the variety of taxis in Mexico City one will always learn something new when braving this transportation service. It seems that the taxi driver guild, "chafirete" in Mexican Spanish, consists entirely of incredibly wise and noble men who have PhD's in everything and will never doubt in giving their opinion on whatever the small chit chat entertained and forced by them will stumble upon. Thus, one will always hear about how dangerous things are in Mexico City, how the government is ruining everything, how the youth of today is not what it used to be, and how crappy the weather has been lately.

Despite all this, or perhaps due to it, I really enjoy taking cabs everywhere. They are extremely cheap, ubiquitous, and their lack of uniformity always makes it an adventure.