Fair Fan

I’m not from the Midwest. I’m a Coaster, and the whole Midwest functions as this kind of mystical, flat entity. I’ve grown up thinking that people either come from one coast or another, or the South. “No one comes from Iowa” “No one comes from the Dakotas”. Obviously I don’t actually subscribe to that theory, I just have met more people from New Jersey than I have Oklahoma (two people since coming to college). I may not know my middle states, but let me tell you, I know my County Fairs. I come from the Maryland side of the D.C. area, and Maryland is a big fan of the county and state fairs. But I have never experienced such an accurate account of Wallace’s state fair experience as I have at the New Caledonia County Fair in Vermont. Albeit on a smaller scale than the behemoth that is a state fair, the culture  is exactly the same. My family goes every summer when we visit my great-uncle and aunt at their house there and the offerings remain the same year after year. We go for the pure anthropological experience – although my brother and I still go for the rides – but my mom, who’s an odd one, actually enjoys the livestock shows.

I feel like I knew where Wallace was coming from. As I was reading the essay, I was chuckling to myself and mentally elbowing Wallace and saying, “Right on the money, man”. Here’s the way I saw the article. It’s easy to see Wallace as a milk-skinned East-Coast convert who delicately approaches each element with a New Yorker-groomed explanation. For me, I felt as though he acknowledged his snobbery – which felt to me like his apology for higher education – and then satirically described each section of the Fair with the right amount of progressive Liberal concern (the Zipper peekaboo) with unbiased reflections on his conversations with people (Native Companion, the chicken cart man). Let’s be real, though – velvet paintings are hideous, be it Elvis, sad clowns, or dogs playing poker.