It's a wonder why I hardly ever go to carnivals since they are comprised of things that I revere: air that smells like fried dough, cheap beer served in wax paper cups, flashing lights and outrageous signs designed to catch the eye and entice the mind, clings and bangs and buzzes and bells and the happy exclamations they elicit. It's like a pleasant version of a casino. Hyperbole come to life. Couple this with cool autumn nights and the Halloween season, and please, God, make this my Groundhog Day. It makes me think of a time when the only excitement Americans got at home was when they bought a new appliance, and thus, they ventured outside when they needed entertainment. Nowadays, outside is basically a repetition of the same franchises and, for the most part, culture has been ported online, so when you do make it out to a carnival or fair, the unintended consequences of "a better tomorrow" is on full display: the short-tempered, the spoiled, the foul-mouthed. Perhaps I don't go to them because I prefer the version that exists in my mind; the version where these rides exist and the world still has etiquette.