At the Fair, She Thinks It’s Hip to Be Square

It seems odd, looking back now, but I wasn’t always a fair fan.

When I lived in Northern California, there were whole years that I missed the local fair. In fact, there were whole years that I never even thought about it.

But, like someone who’s been touched by an angel, I have seen the light.

Now, the 12 days the Ventura County Fair is in town rank up there with the 12 days of Christmas for me.

I’m not sure what caused the turnaround.

Maybe it was the year I went to the Santa Clara County fair with several friends and the sight of a larger-than-large mama pig, with a dozen or so piglets hanging on, spurred us into a 10-minute can’t-catch-your-breath laughing jag.

Maybe it was discovering after moving here that elephant ears--big pieces of fried dough covered with powdered sugar--are perfect for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Maybe it’s that moment of arrival each year--when you’re hit by the odors of carne asada and fried mushrooms and fresh-made popcorn and by the sounds of animals and music and shrieking children and by the sight of Ferris wheels and the pony ride and kids filing past the animals in Uncle Leo’s barn.

But most likely it was realizing that you can be as uncool as you want at the fair--and the less cool you are, the more fun you’ll have. For someone who fancied herself kind of cool in her 20s and early 30s, that was quite a liberating realization.

So I cut my teeth on the Santa Clara County fair, but it was just a little too big.

Then I moved to Ventura, where we have--in my increasingly expert opinion--the perfect county fair.

Since I arrived in 1990--in July, in time for that year’s fair--I’ve been every year. Multiple times every year. I’ve also dragged every one of my friends and relatives who would go.

One of the high points was the year my boyfriend, now my husband, and I first began dating.

While showing off the various buildings to my new love, I pointed out the table-setting competition. To me, it was the perfect fair contest--done for the pure joy of it. Who, after all, would really go to all this trouble to eat dinner?

Larry’s response to the tables piled high with china and silver and crystal and flowers and centerpieces? He could do that.

This from a guy whose perfect meal involves watching sports while polishing off potato chips.

*

But the next year, he picked up an entry form and proceeded to start amassing the components of his entry.

Considering that he was on a fairly strict budget, he did much better than I expected.

The theme of that competition, as I recall, was “Reach for the Stars.” He used a quilt with a sun, moon and stars as a tablecloth and painted those same shapes on some basic white Pottery Barn plates.

He borrowed a couple of crystal glasses and came up with some halfway decent silverware from somewhere. He then threw in a vase with a couple of flowers, ending up with a presentation that was a lot fancier than I ever get.

Apparently it wasn’t nearly fancy enough for the judges, who gave him one of the few Participant ribbons I’ve ever seen in that event. It seems to me that also-rans usually get Honorable Mentions.

He, to his credit--and proving my theory that at the fair, it’s cool to be uncool--keeps it in his desk.

But that was years ago. In the meantime, we’ve added a couple of kids and realized that, for 12 days a year, we have our own little Disneyland less than a mile from our home.

*

So imagine my horror this year when I suddenly realized that I had scheduled our family vacation during the fair, which was moved up a week from its usual time.

The petting zoo and the 4-H animals and the cinnamon buns and the Zipper would be in Ventura--and I’d be in Mississippi visiting family.

But thanks to some rearranging, we’re here and so is the fair.

I missed the first day of this year’s extravaganza, but my daughters and I were there the second. That night, I have to say, the fireworks were as good as I’ve ever seen.

And we’ll be back big-time this week--we’ve got three daylong outings on our calendar.

After all, where else can you dine on tri-tip, Polish sausage, corn on the cob, fried artichoke hearts and funnel cakes and wind up with a double-helping of cotton candy?

Where else can you see a hypnotist convince a dozen audience members that they speak only Chinese or watch her get a big, kind of shy-looking guy to believe that he’s Popeye the Sailor Man?

Where else can you get a peanut shell with glued-on eyes, perched on a shellacked piece of wood next to a picture of a football helmet and labeled “Bronco Nut?” (My husband now owns one.)

Oh, and if you’re there next Sunday, look for us at the Pepsi Stage about 3 or so, when Daughter No. 1 will be making her dance debut with her Ventura recreation class.

We’ll be cheering and videotaping. And I’m sure we’ll all be pushing the envelope in our uncoolness.