I thought we had stumbled into a convention of Prius owners. Wait a minute, this is the Oregon State Fair -- home of the corn dog, elephant ears, and deep-fried Twinkies. What is with the natural fibers, crystals, and Birkenstocks?
Then I remember. We are heading to the amphitheater to see Garrison Keillor -- the very essence of establishment liberalism with just enough midwestwen nostalgia to create the illusion of cultural worlds fused.
Tonight I am here with the parents of Beth (Minto Dog). Her parents are two of the most faithful readers of this blog -- and they were kind enough to insist on paying my way. And I thank them thoroughly for sponsoring the grist for this day's blog bread.
Garrison is an interesting character -- a phenomenon in his own right to a certain class of Americans. His eccentricity is legend -- his red tennis shoes being but one example.
Coming on stage, he invited the audience to stand and join him in singing The Star-Spangled Banner. Now, mind you, this is Oregon. We have no professional sports teams -- with the exception of the Trailblazers. And we thrive in a postmodern world. Asking us to stand, sing, and seem patriotic all at the same time is a bit of a challenge. The nervous fumblings for long-forgotten lyrics and fear of having neighbors see this public exhibition earned all of us a barely passing grade.
And take a guess at how we unchurched Oregonians did with the gospel singalong during the intermission. The woman standing next to me joined me in getting a bit carried away -- outing our Pentecostal roots. But sing we did.
There is some magic in all live entertainment. Especially when the live entertainment is surrounded by fair life. When the sun set, the Ferris wheel and its lights looked as if Buddha's wheel was about to roll into the amphitheater.
Eyes roamed from the stage. Watching the audience. Watching the fair action. Watching the show. People catching one another's gazes. Nodding. Connecting. Swimming in the life that flowed from the stage.
The show was the catharsis. But the true enjoyment was connecting with the audience -- especially with Beth and her parents.
What could have been a night reduced to a social stereotype, turned out to be a full (and long) evening of simply being alive with strangers and neighbors.
And we cannot ask much more than that of any evening.
Then I remember. We are heading to the amphitheater to see Garrison Keillor -- the very essence of establishment liberalism with just enough midwestwen nostalgia to create the illusion of cultural worlds fused.
Tonight I am here with the parents of Beth (Minto Dog). Her parents are two of the most faithful readers of this blog -- and they were kind enough to insist on paying my way. And I thank them thoroughly for sponsoring the grist for this day's blog bread.
Garrison is an interesting character -- a phenomenon in his own right to a certain class of Americans. His eccentricity is legend -- his red tennis shoes being but one example.
Coming on stage, he invited the audience to stand and join him in singing The Star-Spangled Banner. Now, mind you, this is Oregon. We have no professional sports teams -- with the exception of the Trailblazers. And we thrive in a postmodern world. Asking us to stand, sing, and seem patriotic all at the same time is a bit of a challenge. The nervous fumblings for long-forgotten lyrics and fear of having neighbors see this public exhibition earned all of us a barely passing grade.
And take a guess at how we unchurched Oregonians did with the gospel singalong during the intermission. The woman standing next to me joined me in getting a bit carried away -- outing our Pentecostal roots. But sing we did.
There is some magic in all live entertainment. Especially when the live entertainment is surrounded by fair life. When the sun set, the Ferris wheel and its lights looked as if Buddha's wheel was about to roll into the amphitheater.
Eyes roamed from the stage. Watching the audience. Watching the fair action. Watching the show. People catching one another's gazes. Nodding. Connecting. Swimming in the life that flowed from the stage.
The show was the catharsis. But the true enjoyment was connecting with the audience -- especially with Beth and her parents.
What could have been a night reduced to a social stereotype, turned out to be a full (and long) evening of simply being alive with strangers and neighbors.
And we cannot ask much more than that of any evening.
