The annual Grange Fair rolled around last week. It's no ordinary rural gathering of livestock, crafts, and any food that will maintain its constitution in a deep fryer. It's a settlement - literally. Families pass down their tents for generations, and every year is a reunion as neighbors watch each others' kids grow up to take on the tradition themselves. Pittsburgh transplant that I am, I don't exactly have a stake in these long-term local fuzzies.
But I sure as hell love the bungie trampoline.
Length of line: half an hour. Price of admission: $6. Time permitted: a good five minutes, which is plenty - I got loopy and had to pace myself. Best fair ride ever? My audible WHOOOO! says it all.
Back in the tail end of elementary school, my cousin and I used to watch wrestling. He was all about the Ultimate Warrior. For whatever reason, I had a crush on this guy.
So what if he was Bad, whatever that meant in the utterly serious world of 1990 kayfabe. DAT MULLET!
(In other words - I was 11. Shut up.)
I caught a match some years back when our cable was out and I had nothing else to watch. Oh, the hilarity. Betrayal commented about ad nauseam for those who managed to miss the other 409812 expressions of shock that Rhyno just came out of nowhere and gored Kurt Angle! Breaking out of pins at the last microsecond! Apparent exhaustion followed by inexplicable bursts of strength! Chants of USA for two guys from the same country! Botching the big bang signature move, followed by hard-fought victory!
I was recently directed to this over a friend's amusement at some random Japanese wrestler who could have been Cao Ren and Xiahou Yuan's long lost angry cousin. And there went that glee again. The stage mannerisms are more animated, more scrappy, more cartoonish. The moves are sold awkwardly at times, which somehow makes it even more amusing. Too bad for the language barrier. I'll just have to tolerate the pain of never knowing the deep and nuanced reason why Abbad got whacked with a crutch.
But I sure as hell love the bungie trampoline.
Length of line: half an hour. Price of admission: $6. Time permitted: a good five minutes, which is plenty - I got loopy and had to pace myself. Best fair ride ever? My audible WHOOOO! says it all.
Back in the tail end of elementary school, my cousin and I used to watch wrestling. He was all about the Ultimate Warrior. For whatever reason, I had a crush on this guy.
So what if he was Bad, whatever that meant in the utterly serious world of 1990 kayfabe. DAT MULLET!
(In other words - I was 11. Shut up.)
I caught a match some years back when our cable was out and I had nothing else to watch. Oh, the hilarity. Betrayal commented about ad nauseam for those who managed to miss the other 409812 expressions of shock that Rhyno just came out of nowhere and gored Kurt Angle! Breaking out of pins at the last microsecond! Apparent exhaustion followed by inexplicable bursts of strength! Chants of USA for two guys from the same country! Botching the big bang signature move, followed by hard-fought victory!
I was recently directed to this over a friend's amusement at some random Japanese wrestler who could have been Cao Ren and Xiahou Yuan's long lost angry cousin. And there went that glee again. The stage mannerisms are more animated, more scrappy, more cartoonish. The moves are sold awkwardly at times, which somehow makes it even more amusing. Too bad for the language barrier. I'll just have to tolerate the pain of never knowing the deep and nuanced reason why Abbad got whacked with a crutch.
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