Critical Creig: The future ain't what it used to be

CREIG P. SHERBURNE

The California Mid-State Fair is an entirely different experience as a 32-year-old dad from what it was as an 8-year-old boy or 16-year-old thundering idiot.

Last weekend, I went with my wife and kid and two families of like-minded parents and of-an-age kids.

Now, what with one thing and another, my daughter generally misses the fair because of other, out-of-state obligations . The last time we went was when she was 7, I think. At that time, we didn't have these awesome friends, so I was her ride-buddy .

I vowed I would never ride another carnival ride again as long as I live after that night. Carnival rides are not for grown-ups . I knew that going in, so I had zero alcohol leading up to the rides I didn't want to exacerbate the world's spinning, you see. We had a grand old time, though, and she behaved just as any 7-year-old girl should. She screamed on the rides, she jumped up and down in anticipation when she was to be next. At one point, I thought her legs would run in one direction while the rest of her ran in another direction because she was unable to decide which ride to ride next. I let her freak out while I breathed slowly and tried to screw my head back on after whatever gut-buster we'd just gotten off.

This year was way better: three girls and two boys, all hovering around sixth grade, were set loose wearing wristbands in the carnival area while we grown-ups went in search of beer. And, inexplicably , crafts. Now, don't get me wrong. There's value in crafts. I honestly and deeply believe that, in general, if you are not creating something, you are likely destroying things, psychic vampire-style . So good: go forth and make stuff, I don't care what it is. Writing, web design, bicycles, scrapbooking , birdhouses, cooking, old cars or whatever, it almost doesn't matter what you're making as long as you're making something.

But my crew of grown-ups was just like the crew of kids: three moms, two dads. I get along with and genuinely like all of them, but I absolutely do not understand the women-folk's fascination with the crafts on display in the buildings . Great. Somebody made something out of sticks and old license plates. Another person staved off psychic vampirism. But I don't care about crocheted cat blankets any more than you care about Hoefler & Fere-Jones releasing a new font called "Idlewild" and how that's going to change the way I do page layout. See? Your eyes just glazed over and all I did was write the name of a font. Think about how I felt in a building full of cake decorating, blankets, quilts, tie-died Tshirts and who knows what else.

In all, the fair was a lot of fun, though not in the ways it used to be. We found beer, wandered around and passed judgment on the unflattering clothing choices people made, checked in on the kids, found more beer, passed more judgment, ad nauseam.

Now, when I was my kid's age, I was 10. And at that age, I remember knowing deep within my skinny little chest that I would never ever ever ever ever ever for any reason stop riding the rides. They were too much fun! Going around and around and around and around and around in circles was amazing! I would go in circles on the Gravitron and then I would go around in circles on the Octopus and then go around in circles on the Tornado and then, when I was a little older and if I had sufficient peer-pressure , go around in circles within circles within circles on the Zipper. Circles still do it for some people, and they are successful in NASCAR. I am not one of them, however, and I get my kicks at the fair by drinking beer, passing judgment and watching the kids in my care laugh and scream on these miserable rides that make me wish I were dead. Sometimes I risk dysentery by eating fair food, but only when I feel super daring or have sufficient peer-pressure .

I know I'm not being true to my 10-year-old self, but I think that part of growing up is setting aside childish things such as suicidal circle rides of doom and picking up a pint instead.

Here's to aging. I'll drink to that.