A Feet Kickin’ Mystery…

what happened to Monday?

Googling for sausage shoes was surprisingly tame.

Look.  I’m not going to make excuses, I missed yesterday.  It’s just that, if you truly feel that the safety and integrity of this world, nay the very cosmos, is less important than an update then you and I will need to agree to disagree.  Because that is the sole thing that would prevent me from updating on time.

But enough of that, let’s talk of something happier then the sacrifices made to preserve your freedom.  Like… festivals.

Every road stop town with a main street has a festival, so chances are you’ve seen one.  Consisting of a combination of “common human trait of celebrations and gatherings” and “thing that everyone has experience with but most still manage to fuck up” festivals are a enjoyable endeavor at best and a sociological case study at worst.  I guess what I’m saying is that they’re worth the price of admission.

Growing up in Michigan, festivals typically meant funnel cakes, “fuck it, let’s see if we can fry it” fare, rigged games of skill and fun if shoddily maintained rides.  I once had a fried Snickers bar that I wrapped in an elephant ear, before riding one a burlap sacks down a sheet metal slide.  For me, no experience sums up the meaning of festival more than that.  I didn’t throw up, but I lolled about on the ground groaning until my parents told me to get up or they would leave me.  Joyous.

These days, festivals are less a carnival than a extremely specific reason to get together.  Music festivals, beer festivals, vegan festivals, festival festivals.  In the end, all these festivals really just remove games and rides, and replace them with whatever specialty they offer.  A music festival and a rose festival are really not all that different.  People still need to eat, people still want to get tipsy at a time of day that would normally be an arrestable offense.  They just want to do these two things while either listening to music or looking at roses.  America was based on the idea of doing the same thing only slightly differently and arguing the superiority of each way in lieu of useful work.  So, really it’s no surprise that this proliferation would exist.

I visited a Sausage Festival this past weekend.  It was everything that always exists in a festival except they took the parts that weren’t beer and food and replace them with beer and food.  I guess a sub-theme was bacon, because they were wrapping the bratwursts in it and infusing beer with it.  Another indication of the ascendancy of bacon as the dominate combination food.

The Sausage Fest was enjoyable, in all aspects a good example of a prototypical festival.  Including the inability to organise things correctly.  If your selling points are beer and brats’ respectively, one can reasonably assume that people will be looking primarily for one of these two things.  However, at the SF, there was only one location to get either of them.  There were other vendors selling various other products and while I applaud the organisers desire to have a wider ranger of offerings, it seems that they should have seen to their own first.  Waits reminiscent of bread lines is not what you should be offering your attendees.

So there’s your lesson, future festival organiser.  If you believe in something enough to host a gathering for it, please make sure it is readily available at said gathering.  Seemingly a small step, yet the devil is ever in the details.

NOTE: For those of you who say that one is a carnival and the other is a festival.  First, I want to say that etymologically speaking, the two are very close.  Second, I want to say that I went to a bunch of carnivals that were literally called festivals. All that I’m saying is that they’ve been used interchangeably for years.


About schion65

Is as dangerously dashing as he is handsome.
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5 Responses to A Feet Kickin’ Mystery…

  1. Lily A says:

    I was at a barbecue festival on Sunday! 20 of Texas monthly’s Top 50 Texas BBQ joints in the world. We deliberately fasted and didn’t eat anything but we only got to 10 of the 20 before waving our white flags and unbuttoning the top button of our pants

  2. Bluscious says:

    Lolling around on the ground groaning, huh? That reminds me of the time at Thanksgiving when I had been roughhousing with my older cousins. Something was hurting real bad, and I was lying on the couch crying when my brother yelled, “Brian, quit crying and come eat dinner!” Finally Dad came in and figured out that my collarbone was broken. Strangely triumphant, I gave my brother the smuggest look I could possibly conjure.

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