Category Washington

“Ugh, I’m going to throw this crap away before I vomit.”

2 Comments read Masticating With Mellzah, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

It’s fair time in Washington, which means it’s time to dress down, slather ourselves in sunscreen, and broaden our palates by eating things we normally enjoy, now battered and deep fried. In honor of this occasion, Jason and I rewrote the lyrics to Rebecca Black’s “Friday”, which served to pump us up and thoroughly annoy Tristan over the course of the forty minute drive to the fair:

It’s fair day, fair day, gotta get down on fair day Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend Fair day, fair day Gettin’ down on fair day Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend Corndogs and corndogs (yeah!) Funnel cakes and funnel cakes (yeah!) Fried fried fried fried Lookin’ forward to the weekend

Our game plan was fairly straightforward: Walk around the fair once to determine the foods we were going to attempt to cram down our throats, then eating round one commenced. After eating, we’d go to a barn to check out some animals, after which came food round two, then came checking out arts and crafts and the “miracle” As Seen On TV crapfest of booths, and then the third round of eating, the danger round, in which you consume the things you feel are most likely to kill you or cause you to violently eject the contents of your stomach over a square block. Round one was the scone round. I’m not typically a scone fan, finding them dry and bland. Fair scones, stuffed with raspberry jam and butter, are another story.

Then we looked at some mini-horses and some normal size horses and some really big horses, and then some chicks for good measure. If we collected one of each of the animals I squealed over and asked if we could take home, our backyard would now be quite a menagerie.

I pledge my Head to clearer thinking, my Heart to greater loyalty, my Hands to larger service and my Health to better living, for my club, my community, my country, and my world, which does not leave a lot of room for pledging my computer to more spell-checking.

Round two was the krusty pup and funnel cake round. Jason’s funnel cake sense had been tingling all week, so when he received a burnt, overly dense funnel cake, it was a sad disappointment. He took a few bites and was ready to throw it away, Tristan took a bite and also declared it a piece of funnel crap, and I elected to pass in order to attempt to save room for the third round.

We made our way to the Hobby Hall, and couldn’t believe our eyes. Lurking inside were some of the ugliest and most horrifying pieces of artwork ever created. Ever.

“Hi, I’m Captain Nightmare!”

“Hi, I’m Bug-Eyed Sparkle Torture Jesus!”

“Hi, I’m a Lego model replica of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, but you can call me by my nickname: Tasteful.”

“Hi, I’m a Lego model replica of the crucifixion of Jesus, complete with magic marker blood, made by an 8 year old.” Seriously, what 8 year old thinks “CRUCIFIXION!!!!!!” when it’s time to play with Lego bricks?

We were all too eager to leave the Hobby Hall to get to Round Three: The Danger Round, which took place at the Totally Fried booth, where anything you’ve ever considered eating has been coated in batter and deep fried. Tristan ordered deep fried butter and deep fried kool aid. I noted that they had deep fried Rocky Mountain Oysters, and since it was potentially the most vile thing on the menu and therefore a dare, I stepped up to order and consume some bull testicles for the entertainment of my friends and blog readers. However, they had not yet received their bull ball shipment and I was turned away empty-mouthed.

Deep fried butter on the left, deep fried kool aid on the right.

From others’ accounts of deep fried butter, it’s supposed to taste like REALLY buttery dough–that is, the butter inside should have all melted and absorbed into the coating. This was not the case. Tristan picked up one, and at least a quarter stick if not more of nearly solid butter dropped out from the batter. He gamely took a bite of the other, and butter squirtled (it was too solid to have merely “squirted”) out from the sides of the dough and his mouth. It was pronounced disgusting and we moved on.

It’s hard to imagine, but deep fried kool aid was even more disgusting. We all came to the table with different ideas as to what deep fried kool aid might entail–a puff of dry sugary powder in the middle, that the dough itself was infused with the kool aid flavoring, so the reality of it came as a surprise. We each took a bite, and we each made a horrible face. Deep fried kool aid can best be described as a ball of fried dough surrounding raw pancake batter flavored with cough syrup. It coated our tongues with the taste of evil. While Jason and I tried to flush our mouths with lemonade, Tristan ran off to throw it all away before getting another krusty pup to cleanse his palate.

Cause it’s fair day, fair day, Throwing up on fair day Everybody’s looking forward to some salad.

Where the hell am I supposed to find silver bullets? K-Mart?

4 Comments read (f)Art, Attractions, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

Of course, no trip to Long Beach would have been complete without a stop at Marsh’s Free Museum. It seems like they’ve actually scaled down some of the mayhem in their store–either that, or I’ve grown used to their brand of chaos.

Still, there were some things on the wall that I’d never noticed before–supposedly mythical creatures that had been captured and taxidermied as proof, like the South Florida Swamp Ape, or the Greek LambClops or the Wyoming Werewolf.

Ever since I saw a Real! Taxidermied! Werewolf!, it made me think a little bit more about werewolves in popular culture. Teen girls, have you really been getting lathered up over this guy?

I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

Man’s dominion over nature?

2 Comments read Attractions, Horse Girl, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

Since we only had a few days to spend in Long Beach this year, we tried to cram as much as possible into those days. So instead of sleeping off the previous night’s booze, we rose early and drove to downtown long beach to go for a morning horseback ride along the ocean. We arrived a bit too late for the first ride of the day, so we had an hour to kill in the area, which felt like much longer as nothing is open that time of day. During our hour, we spotted this charming sign:

Really? At no point during its construction did anyone look at it and say “Gee, that’s an awkward pose, and it sort of looks like this dog has a big deformed ballsack”? Because it took me quite some time to figure out that it was intended to be a paw and NOT a ballsack, and it wasn’t just the early hour clouding my judgement. We also spotted some deer grazing in a nearby field, relatively unconcerned about the morning’s light foot traffic. This meant they kept eating instead of raising their heads or doing anything picture-worthy, so in a move that is bound to end either in hilarity or tragedy, I encouraged Jason to go near them with the phrase “Oh, they won’t hurt you, I just want some pictures.” Jason cautiously moved toward them, warning them “Hey deer! Predator moving in your area!”, and this is what happened:

Apparently we’re not so great at the menacing predator thing, even if we are the top of the food chain. Those deer weren’t thinking “Oh no! Apex predator!”, they were merely annoyed. In the event of some apocalypse that wipes out civilization, should we survive the initial impact, I don’t know how well we’ll fend for ourselves by attempting to annoy food to death. After the hour had passed, we went back to ride some horses. Two years is long enough to forget just how obstinate a horse can be, and as it turns out, their obstinacy hasn’t lessened in any way. This time, I was seated on an obstinate horse named Gunner, who seemed rarin’ to go, fighting to move forward as everyone else was still mounting their horses. Oh, he was rarin’ to go, all right. Rarin’ to go right back into the pen to eat some oats. It didn’t matter how much I pulled back on the reins, said “whoa”, or shot thoughtwaves of “I am going to have you turned into glue” at him with my brain, he wasn’t having it, and proceeded to trot right into the pen to chow down, with me dragged along for the ride like fat ballast. After he was forcibly dragged away by the wrangler, he then stood in line backwards with his head wedged into a corner like he was a little kid pouting. We were warned not to let the horses eat any of the dune grass as it’s not good for them, but Jason’s horse recognized that he’s a pushover and viewed the whole trip as an endless snack bar. CHOMP. CHOMP. CHOMP. “Hey, no, I don’t think you’re supposed to do–“CHOMP.

We were furthermore instructed to keep some distance between our horses, which had been easy to do two years ago when it was just the four of us, but we had a lot of butt-sniffers in this group, which meant that horses were lashing out at one another with some frequency. I managed to mostly stay outside of the fray, but every once in a while, Gunner the butt-sniffer would wedge himself up in a group of horses just for sniffs and giggles. After the ride, I was helped off my horse by a five-year-old, which didn’t do much for my sense of self-confidence. I paid this child back in kind by not tipping him and hobbling away bowlegged.