There is little else in the world as interesting to me as a fair. I love everything about them – the lights, the noise, the games, the poorly health-inspected food – but mostly, the people. I can watch fair people for hours.

My favorite place is the funhouse around dusk when overstimulated kids on their third hour of a sugar high go running full force into plexiglass walls they choose not to see. There’s something for everyone at the fair.

I also love fair games. Being swindled in a game of chance is oddly reassuring when it’s thinly veiled as a game of skill. I’ll happily spend $10 trying to win a prize I wouldn’t buy for $1 if it means outsmarting a carnie. It makes me feel like Chris Hansen on slightly safer terms.

Then there’s the music tent, which has the magical ability to make grandmothers young and Bon Jovi t-shirts cool again. Nobody rages as hard as a twice-divorced stepmom when ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ comes on; you’ve gotta respect a force as powerful as that.

Most fairs are simply grown-up versions of high school parties held in the middle of the woods, but this time with permits. The smaller, the better.

Small-town fairs are the Dad jokes of live events: most people appreciate them when they belong to someone else but are entirely mortified when outsiders get a glimpse.

I was always dismissive of my hometown’s Volunteer Firefighter Carnival until they canceled it. At that point, the carnival instantly elevated to nostalgia status as one of the best parts of my childhood.

One-hundred percent of the plastic pirate swords I’ve ever owned were bought at that fair – such a shame that it had it to end. I haven’t seen a DARE Officer on a dunk tank since.

The town I live in now considers a good fair to be two side-by-side karate demonstrations next to a booth selling an easy-clean gutter system. Nevertheless, it gets the town out on a Saturday and is kind of fun. The local memorabilia store even had the Mouth of the South Jimmy Hart appear last year, but I missed him by an hour.

Rural fairs are my favorite. There’s honesty behind their fun. Unabashed and genuine enjoyment of community in unique and unexpected ways.

I desperately want to attend Mule Days in Columbia, Tennessee, where Jenny grew up. We sadly missed it again this year.

Her entire town and family have countless stories involving Mule Days. I’m very familiar with it because the local cable access channel plays highlights all year round, but I’ve never attended live.

They have a Mule Day Beauty Pageant, a Liar’s Contest, and a city-long parade. All I have to show for it is a Mule Day coffee mug my mother-in-law gave me one year for Christmas.

Now that I live close to the country, I’m trying to get more involved with rural fairs. I was devastated to miss last year’s North Branford Potato and Corn Festival. As co-best man for my brother’s wedding, I had to go to brewery hopping in Brooklyn instead. Talk about lame.

PoCo 2018 is already on my calendar; it’s a three-day celebration of potatoes, corn, and community with a tractor pull, amusement rides and petting zoo. The highlights are the competitions from the prestigious cornhole tournament all the way down to sack races, potato peeling contests and a corn husking competition.

We should all strive to approach life with the joy of a competitive pie-eating contest entrant. I just don’t have it in me; I won’t even eat in a moving car out of fear of making a mess.

I wish my family were more involved in fair competitions. Jenny wouldn’t let me sign her up for the women’s-only skillet tossing contest at either the Haddam Neck Fair or the Goshen Fair, despite being able to compete in back-to-back days. She used to be a scholarship softball player so I’m sure she has what it takes to toss a skillet with the best of them. I think she could run the circuit.

I’m just days away from having my tenth niece or nephew and I’m saving the spot as favorite for the first among them to win a genuine fair-issued blue ribbon.

Fairs play such an important role in society. They foster community, encourage fellowship, and, as annual traditions, mark the passage of time. When else does a childless adult get the nostalgic sensation of riding a yellow school bus?

We have very few public expressions of joy anymore. Fireworks, concerts on the green, and parades all seem to attract the same strange collection of the elderly and young segregated into their separate corners. Only the fairs generate enough commonality to mix us all together.

It’s a beautiful thing when it all comes together just right. So don’t be afraid – step right up and try your luck. You just might win a prize.

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