Spring Fest: Still part of our entertainment network ...Middle East

Nothing quite beats visiting a traveling carnival, in part because there is nothing that’s quite like a visiting carnival.

Carnivals and circuses were once part of the entertainment fabric in cities across the country, bringing exotic beasts, bizarre humans and daredevil excitement to those whose social lives consisted mostly of churches, schools and maybe a barn raising or two.

To have a lion tamer, a bareback rider, a bearded lady, a strongman, someone covered in tattoos and a tightrope walker show up in your town was a once-year entertainment thrill.  The visiting show that just closed down in Ukiah last week is a direct descendant of those glorious shows of a century and more ago.

Although “glorious” may not best describe what rolls into Ukiah every summer with the mini-hippo coaster thrills, the kids’ pony rides and the chance to win your own goldfish, complete with fishbowl, in a game on the midway.

It’s part of a disappearing culture, the loss of what Bob Dylan describes as “the old, weird America” being submerged in the homogenized, semi-wholesome entertainment that pervades the land. Instead of somnambulant ponies plodding around a 20-foot circle, we have digitized Donkey Kong games, and hundreds of their successors, brought to our nation’s children.

Rather than a tightrope walker, today we see a computer-generated Tom Cruise race across a quarter mile wide chasm in Grand Canyon while chased by bloodthirsty hippopotamuses.

Ah well.

So the remnants of what may seem prehistoric entertainment straggles on with the band of hardy carnies here to entertain you and if possible wheedle some money from your pockets. Fair exchange, I’d say.

The annual Spring Fest brings out hidden Ukiahans from wherever they nest, along with whomping big noisy truck wars at the racetrack, and food purveyors of food, approximately.

A subset is the collection of trashy fashion on display from local teens and their chronologically older but no more elevated in clothing styles compared to their younger counterparts. And long may trashy wardrobes exist!

Bare legs stuffed into cowboy boots below very abbreviated cutoff blue jean shorts, along with ripped, torn t-shirts were quite popular. A lavish makeup display wearing a young lady brought smiles, as did a t-shirt and purse featuring matching big yellow smiling Happy Faces. With three eyes.

But enough of the red carpet runway. The main attractions are the booths that make a two-lane midway running east-west and filled with classic carnival attractions: you can toss darts at balloons, toss basketballs at hoops, or toss dinner while getting off any of the scary rides.

I was undecided among the Regurgi-Whirl, the Vomitron and the Ambulance Fetcher. No matter which I chose, I knew I’d first need a corn dog and a cold Coors. The rest would be easy.

I got my ticket, got my wristband, got in line, and when I looked up at the tippy top of the 200-foot tall Satan’s Needle I got woozy. I handed my ticket and band to an impoverished lad in the crowd, wished him happy trails from whatever remained his most recent meal, and felt pretty good about helping those less fortunate.

Back to the booths that promised prizes to just about everyone who played, although the small print was obscured by a wall of balloons and t-shirts. These games of semi-skill, once employing toothless carneys leering at the cream puffs strolling around, have been replaced almost entirely by young Hispanic guys making some kind of living. It’s still part of the Butler Amusement Empire, and long may it flourish.

Somewhere on the Fairgrounds acreage there must have been an entire block of artists giving away free tattoos. Everyone in attendance wore a tattoo or several and it seems impossible all the shops in Ukiah, even with a six month head start, could have met the demand on display.

A very good but anonymous rock band played to a couple hundred empty chairs, which must have been discouraging. But they were professionals and soldiered on; their version of “Fortunate Son” was brilliant.

I spent perhaps 90 minutes on the grounds and never saw a single familiar face. I knew no one. Also, I was by far the oldest person on display, so maybe it’s simply statistics that made my solo wanderings inevitable.

This year’s fair was as crowded, pleasant and cheerful as any I’ve encountered in 40-plus years of random attendance. “It’s a good crowd,” said a uniformed officer. “Nice people.  No problems.”

The facilities, as in the booths and rides themselves, also seemed cleaned up all shiny and spiff; gone were the rickety contraptions that once spun in circles or dealt heavy metal music as the soundtrack for the house of horror; the music alone being sufficiently horrid.

Before departing the fair I remembered my dear wife requesting I bring her back “something sweet” from a vendor. She’s quite the sophisticated foodie and probably hoped to dine on either a creme brulle or a nice warm chocolate pot de creme.

She definitely liked what I brought back for her, and won’t know it was a deep-fried Twinkie until she reads it here.

Make plans to meet me at the Spring Fest next year, because this kind of entertainment won’t last forever, not with the old weird America disappearing.

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