Amusement Parks

Thanks to spare tickets given to me by some gracious friends, I got to blow the cobwebs off my adrenal glands recently by revisiting the joys and promised amusement found in an amusement park. While the roller-coasters indeed did their part, I encountered less amusement and more bemusement. Truly, the sights and smells that are most astounding at theme parks aren't the coaster corkscrews or cotton candy but rather the common carnival customer. It is the clientele that will make your head spin and want to vomit.

In my hometown of Frankfort, Kentucky, the amusement park equivalent is the annual Expo (or aptly nicknamed "Rednexpo"). Here, folks come crawling out of the woodwork, emerging like zombies, to introduce themselves to regular, old-fashioned society, while making sure there's enough time to sink their four teeth into a caramel-covered elephant ear or any battered meat on a stick and a belt buckle made with leather, sequins, and the utmost pride in the Confederate flag. Also omnipresent during this four-day festival is some serious ghetto fabulousness, which is curiously on display mostly by people who have never actually set foot within a ten-mile radius of a true ghetto. Pepper in a handful of normal people and you've got yourself quite the misrepresentation of a beautiful cultural melting pot.

Typically, I'd feel a little remorseful for that sort of unfair, unflattering characterization; however, there's nothing unfair about it. Quite true, honestly. Ask any "Frankforter" next time you run into one at the grocery. The Expo's demography is a laughingstock to an otherwise lovely capital city. In other words, it's worth at least one wasted evening of your life.

This inelegant proportion of attendance of freaks -- yeah, I said it, freaks -- appears to be the law of nature for all amusement park-like attractions/events. School festivals, county fairs, state expositions, and any other event whose rides require only an afternoon to assemble... they're all the same and thus seem to attract the same bizarre crowd. That's not to say you're bizarre if you like attending these; rather you know firsthand exactly who and what I'm talking about.

You've heard the theory that television adds 10 pounds, right? Pretty sure that same phenomenon applies to amusement parks. Either that or your clothes shrink two sizes. You might think I'm talking about obese park attendees only, but that's too limiting. While, agreed, there's an unreasonable amount of cellulite on parade all day, there are just as many fat people who feel they can and should wear skimpy clothes as there are boney people who feel they can and should wear nothing at all.

Whereas many people buy attire specifically for occasions like weddings, graduations, and vacations, I'm fairly certain some folks purchase an outfit specifically for their trip to the theme park, because I can’t think of any other lawful public sector where shredded, tattered "tops" with 85% flabby boob protrusion is acceptable. At a quick glance, any similarity between joyous park attractions and joyless, stark unattractiveness may initially be overlooked, but close scrutiny of the physics in both (for example, the defiance of gravity in both the roller-coaster loop and that chunky girl's skin-tight, faded denim shorts) will reveal the inseparable connection.

You just can't escape science.