Let’s All Go to the Fair (‘Kay…) as If I Had Faith in Humanity to Begin With

July 30, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I think that might be a skunk on her right thigh.

One does encounter the frightening side of humanity at the Ohio State Fair- or any other public festival-type gathering. It wasn’t as alarming as I have observed in years past, or perhaps I’m getting a bit jaded to the freak show. The Marion Popcorn Festival is coming up, which makes the Fair look positively tame. I’ve also found that it’s a lot easier to take pics with the Note 3 than with a traditional camera because people just think you’re texting or something when you are really taking pics. Maybe that’s mean of me, but I run even worse than I fight.

Toasty tobacco flavor!

I wonder if Red here is disabled or if she just figured it was worth $10 to ride around in a Mart Cart all day. I think she weighs less than 300#, so they probably don’t let her ride the cart in Walmart. She is setting a lovely example for her (grand?) son though. Even while she is lecturing another offspring (?) spousal unit (?) on the dangers of wearing just socks without shoes in public.

Told ya ta wear some shoes, dumbass!

The dog had Barbie dolls with better hair than poor Red. I say “the dog” because Suzie, the deranged Dachshund my parents had when I was little, appropriated certain of my sisters’ toys for her own personal use- when she was done eating their socks and underwear, that is. Suzie didn’t like very many people, but she adored me. Go figure. I never had a problem with her, but my sisters couldn’t touch her, or get their toys back once Suzie decided she liked them.

I figured, with Suzie, possession was 9/10. If Suzie wanted it who was I to stand in her way? Although I could do anything with Suzie, including getting toys back from her, I wasn’t about to do that for either of my sisters. I liked Suzie better than either of them.

Shorts and cowboy boots?

I saw a number of people at the Fair wearing cowboy boots with shorts. I don’t know why this particular fashion choice bugs me, but it does. At least she’s not wearing Daisy Dukes. And she was nice enough to cover up her back fat, unlike this unfortunate girl:

Girl, you need a rear view mirror.

Perhaps I am being a bit harsh on fashion choices- after all I dress for comfort most of the time, and especially so if I am going to be traipsing along outside in the heat. It wasn’t as hot as it normally is which may have cut down on the freak factor this year.

The talking Smokey the Bear is freaky though.

When I was a little kid I always wondered about Smokey’s preoccupation with forest fires. I knew too many kids who were only too happy to fry ants with magnifying glasses (yes, I did do that) or set stuff on fire with Zippos (Steve-o,,,) I always wondered why Smokey talked about not playing with matches, but never mentioned Bics or Zippos or magnifying glasses.

Not a flashlight substitute, either.

Then again, central Ohio is a swamp and it’s usually raining, or there’s some form of precipitation at least every other day or so, so wildfires generally don’t happen, and when they do, they generally don’t spread much. However, the perpetual dampness never stopped the slumlords from burning down non-profitable rental properties to the point that in certain locales it is expensive and well-near impossible to get home owner’s or business insurance. There’s always accelerants, you know, if you really want something to burn. Too bad the ass-pilots that use them usually have very little understanding of forensic science. They can tell you doused the place with gasoline before you torched it.

Smokey seems a little quaint and outdated for these times. Nobody wants to intentionally burn down forests, because you can’t get insurance on a random forest. Maybe Smokey should be talking about arson? “Hey, kids, only you can decide not to burn down your non-profitable rental properties, ” or, better yet: “Hey, kids, don’t drop your crack pipe and burn down your crack house!” Especially if you just spilled gasoline on the floor.

Mi underwear – Su underwear?

Somehow, some things just aren’t meant to be shared.

I haven’t thought about poor Suzie in a long time. She was always in fragile health and died at the relatively young age of 7 years. I believe her early demise was largely due to being willing to eat vast quantities of anything, including socks, underwear, marbles, Army men, and things my mother served that were sort of supposed to be food. Mom’s cooking was rather disastrous a good deal of the time, so there was a lot of food left over to go with Suzie’s Chuck Wagon.

On second thought, maybe we should have just eaten the Chuck Wagon.

mmmm…Meaty! in a meat by-product-y sort of way…

Ghosts of the Machines, and Horse Meat in the Dog Food

March 26, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

The town where I grew up was doomed. It became a falling behemoth even before I understood that the world around me was crumbling beneath my feet, and a once prosperous town had faded into ignonimy, becoming known more as a haven for welfare slackers and a hotbed of heroin activity than as an industrial powerhouse.

I grew up amidst the towering smoke stacks, the perpetually clanging, moving factories, and with the constant sounds of the trains- the rhythmic clack-clack, the dull roar of the diesel engines, and the mournful braying of the whistles. The trains were the unwitting instruments playing the muted symphony of the night, coming from anywhere, going to nowhere- everywhere and nowhere all at the same time- as if in defiance of the laws of time and space.

When I was very young the air was dirty. On the rare days where there was no wind, a thick stagnant gray haze hung in the air like a pall. There was a pervasive slimy, smoky film that coated windows and adhered to curtains and windowsills should one dare to open the windows. Should the wind blow from the southwest, (which happens often in summer) one would get a foul whiff of the various odors of rendering and not-so-fresh flesh emanating from the Ken-L-Ration dog food factory (believe it or not, a subsidiary of Quaker Oats.)

This was an imposing, windowless facility where horses were once slaughtered, transformed into a pasty, meaty muck, (hooves, ears, and shall we say, all the “not fit for human consumption” bits included) and packed into tin cans with bright, colorful labels that reassured dog owners that this horse paste was 100% Balanced Nutrition for Your Dog!

Eh, so it’s canned dog food.

At least they were straight about what was in it. Unlike the UK lasagna.

You don’t want to know what a “by-product” is. Suffice to say that a “meat by-product” in the 1950s could be anything from roadkill, to dead livestock, to lips and assholes.

Then there was the Marion Power Shovel, whose last great hurrah was building the crawler that moved the space shuttle. In its heyday the Power Shovel complex cut a five-mile long stretch along the west end of town. Now most of the buildings have been demolished. A few have been repurposed as either warehouses or trucking depots. The skeletons of the massive outdoor cranes that once moved parts of power shovels and other large machines down the assembly line still stand as silent witnesses to a time when the survival of the free world hinged upon the industrial might of America. Now the existence of either the “free world” or the “might of America” is decaying and becoming more and more a distant memory, just like those abandoned factories.

By 1980, the industrial machine that had functioned so mightily- for a hundred years- collapsed upon itself.

I can name a plethora of reasons why half the population was gone in four years, with three-quarters of the factories either having gone out of business entirely, relocating to the southern right-to-work states, or relocating to foreign countries. I can say the fall was brought on by union greed, or excessive taxation and regulation, or the changes in the world economy, or the cost of energy, but to be honest it wasn’t any one factor that led to the fall, but the perfect storm that brewed when all of the above converged.

Now my home town is little more than a crumbling, dead monument to the industrial revolution, long since passed by, and the only constant is the sound of the trains, still everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

That, and it was once the home of President Harding. Harding is much maligned among many historians. He was a tomcat, he had shady friends, and for a time he was a card carrying member of the Ku Klux Klan. But, to his credit, he did keep the budget balanced, and he was well-liked during his term of office. He was so well-liked right after he died that school kids saved up their pennies and dimes and people raised money to build him a memorial that is only slightly less opulent than the Washington, Lincoln and Jefferson monuments.

The Harding Memorial is rather expansive, and very cool to visit- if you can find it. It’s on Ohio 423, on the south side of town, on the east side of the road.

If You Only Knew What’s in Food, You’d Never Eat Again

February 9, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

Today I am glad I don’t live in the UK. Or at least that I didn’t eat frozen lasagna in the UK.

Cheddar cheese on lasagna? That’s almost as bad as eating Mr. Ed!

Maybe I shouldn’t be so critical. I love the Brits in most things, but English food is scary as hell to begin with, at least to American sensibilities. It’s not necessarily dangerous to eat horse meat, but it is culturally taboo, even in the UK where people eat really nasty sounding things like blood pudding and kidney pie and haggis. I think as far as frozen lasagna goes I’ll stick with the Stouffer’s red-box stuff. It may be mystery meat, but it’s still some tasty stuff.

They don’t claim that the meat is beef. It’s just “meat” which could be anything.

I think if we really knew what was in food we would never eat again.

Gravy happens. And this stuff looks like puke. I want to know who tasted it to verify that it “tastes like beef stew.” Used beef stew?

When my Dad was growing up on the west side of Marion, there was a dog food manufacturing plant about 2 miles from where he and my grandparents lived. In the 1950’s horse meat was a major ingredient in dog food, as well as carcasses of various livestock. Back then, pretty much any meat source that could be rendered down was used in dog food. The dog food plant closed down in the early 1980’s, (long after it had been made illegal to use horse meat in dog food) but I can still remember the stench of that joint if the wind was blowing the wrong way. It was not a pleasant smell.

One night the horses they were keeping to slaughter the next day got out and followed the railroad tracks to my grandparents’ house. Dad woke up and was screaming about horses running through the back yard. Grandpa thought Dad was nuts until he saw the horses for himself.

Sometimes I almost get the vegans’ argument against eating anything with a face. I couldn’t imagine eating an animal like a horse or a dog if I put a face on it, but then I remember that cats are obligatory carnivores, and I remember that most humans who espouse vegan eating really aren’t as healthy as they want to suggest, mentally or physically. I just don’t think that smelling like an abattoir, (in spite of not eating meat?) having grey, scaly skin, braid-able hair on the armpits and legs, and straw-like scarecrow hair sticking up from one’s head are indicators of health. Nor do I think wiping with reusable cloths or burying my car is a good idea to “save the planet” either. I like an occasional Porterhouse steak. I like my leather shoes, I like to remove superfluous body hair, and I’d rather be dead than have dreadlocks.

Never trust the unbathed.

I understand meat-eating is a cultural thing. Personally I find the thought of eating dogs highly offensive, but they do it in Asia. I have no problem with eating rabbits, squirrels or deer, while some people I know think that’s the grossest thing ever. I don’t care for lamb or mutton, but the dogs love it. Supposedly that’s what their food is based on, but I really don’t want to know what’s in dog food. It’s bad enough to consider what’s in food meant for humans.

I found a taste tester.

I could save a lot of money this way. Just shut up and eat it. You just don’t want to know.

God’s ATM? Some Armchair Philosophy and Theology, and Odd Cuisine

September 26, 2011Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I don’t think God would mind if the driver of this PT Cruiser borrowed $1.40 from the kitty to replace the right rear taillight bulb. Yeah, not only do I notice vanity plates and the burned out taillight, I also notice the big scrape on the left side of the rear bumper cover. I’ve been in automotive way too long.

Anyone who could afford to be God’s ATM could probably afford a little more high style ride than a PT Cruiser. I would imagine if God were to drive a car He would pick something really good like a Mercedes or a BMW, not an underpowered and pathetically forgettable Chrysler offering. On a philosophical and theological level, the thought of someone being God’s ATM- even as a sort of joke- and especially while driving a PT Cruiser- is a bit unnerving. First of all, I really don’t think God needs money. He created the universe, so it would stand to reason if He needed a few Ben Franklins ($100’s) and Yuppie Food Stamps ($20’s) for some reason that He could handle that without any help from a guy who really needs to check his bulbs and who also needs to stop backing up into poles.

Seriously, if God is God, then what in the flying thunder can anyone do for Him? It smacks of arrogance and hubris for anyone to think he or she is indisposable to God. The paradox in this is that humanity was created to serve God but apart from God we can’t even do that. I am reminded of little kids who fashion crafts from things their parents have bought and present the crafts back to the parents as “gifts.” Technically, you’re giving me my own stuff back, only now it’s scribbled and slobbered on. That’s about how good of a job we humans do for God. We take his stuff, make it crappy, and then- if we’re feeling generous- we give it a teeny tiny bit of it back to Him.

We put our kids’ lame artwork on the fridge not because it’s good (generally it’s anything BUT fine art) but because we love our kids, and they tried. I’d like to think that God smiles on our lame efforts too, but I really don’t want to fall under the illusion that I’m all that great or important. I know I’m not.

I’m certainly not even close to being God’s ATM.

Why, oh, why do people whose ancestors come from the British Isles eat some of the most disgusting things? Apparently canned sheep tongues are popular in Australia- complete with the cute little sheepie pictured on the can. I’m surprised they don’t put the cute little sheepie picture on the lamb and rice dog food. Americans generally aren’t into mutton, so maybe that’s why they picture dogs on the dog food bags. Dogs may be pictured on the bags for the benefit of the illiterate, but I could see how a rube might think that dog food is actually made from dog meat, rather than, “This is what your dog is supposed to eat.” Never underestimate the power and depth of stupidity and/or ignorance.

No, Virginia, there is NO dog meat in the dog food bag, regardless of what you see in the picture.

I know some people in the US eat beef tongue (nasty enough) but think about it. I’m sure sheep lick each other’s butts just like dogs do, but even if they didn’t, I don’t want to eat something’s tongue.

The Brits get the prize for the weirdest food in the Western world by far though. Americans love potato chips, right- but in civilized flavors, such as sour cream and onion, barbeque, cheddar cheese, hot and spicy, etc.

Brits love potato chips (although they call them “crisps”) too, but the flavors are a bit more unique:

Mmmm, Cajun Squirrel and Chili Chocolate.

Remind me if I ever travel to the UK to bring my own stash of food.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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dog food

Let’s All Go to the Fair (‘Kay…) as If I Had Faith in Humanity to Begin With

Ghosts of the Machines, and Horse Meat in the Dog Food

If You Only Knew What’s in Food, You’d Never Eat Again

God’s ATM? Some Armchair Philosophy and Theology, and Odd Cuisine