I wanted to go the carnival. Mother asked me why I wanted to go to a carnival. I said I did because what’s more fun than a carnival? Mother said pretty much everything was. I’ve never been to a carnival but the other children said you gotta go because it’s a carnival. They said it like a carnival was a burning bush or something.
Father relented and said we could go to the carnival. The carnival was on a Sunday. You’d think that would get us out of going to church that Sunday. You’d think wrong. Mom mashed down my hair with her own spit and elbow grease, picked the lint off my tweed coat, and made me put on by big brother’s shoes. We suffered through the sermon, same as Christ. Then, and only then, could we go to the carnival.
They had pony rides. Everything in this world is a cheat, I think.
Well, things certainly have changed since 1953. Motorcycle gangs are tougher than they were in that movie now, but then again, every dentist and accountant rides a Harley on pleasant Sunday afternoons, too.
A world where a guy all in leather conjures up an image of the third guy from the left in the Village People instead of Brando isn’t all bad, is it? We’ve had an entire generation weaned on Roller Coaster Tycoon grow up and get to work at the amusement park. At least you don’t have to worry about this biker gang riding into town. Takes too long to lay the track.
The helmets and so forth are just a gag, of course; everyone rides it any old way.