From butter cows to just plain butter, time for Iowa State Fair! (subtitled Blog on a Stick)

Iowa state fair goers are always up for new tasty treats served on a stick. This year the fair introduces the mother of all calorie-laden, hot-grease-drenched, edible items yet to be impaled.

It is (drumroll here) Deep Fried BUTTER . . .  on a stick! You read it correctly. Not sure of the food group but honey battered butter gets a second soaking of grease when it hits the hot oil of the deep fryer resulting in . . . viola! Deep fried butter on a stick!

On the 100th anniversary of the fair’s infamous Butter Cow sculpture on display in the Agriculture Building, the newest on-a-stick invention seems a fitting tribute.

It is the fodder of television comedians across the country. Of course, it gives our rival states even more ammunition for stupid jokes.

It definitely brings new meaning to the T-shirt slogan, "I went to the Iowa State Fair and all I got was . . . diabetes!

It had to be something colossal to outdo last year's chocolate covered bacon . . . on a stick. Deep fried butter on a stick joins newbies peanut butter and jelly on a stick and chocolate covered fried ice cream on a stick. For those who are keeping score, patrons can purchase over 80 on-a-stick foods at the Iowa State Fair.

Count on swarms of politicians

No matter what has happened throughout a given year, in addition to the anticipated foods on a stick, fair goers can count on one other constant. Politicians. They are everywhere. Presidential candidates flip burgers, sing karaoke, scoop some poop, eat stuff on a stick- do whatever they can do to convince voters they're just common folk like anyone else. 

For those crazy enough to actually still WANT to listen to politicians, come on out to the fair.  Caution. Opposing views can end up in screaming matches with threats of shoving foods on a stick in places respectable foods would never go!

As far as politicians go, several United States Presidents have graced the fairgrounds. Current President Trump was at the fair with a helicopter giving kids free rides. President Barrack Obama enjoyed a beer at the fair. With his secret service men, the beer tent was overflowing. Back in the day Herbert Hoover and Dwight Eisenhower attended in 1954. Future President, Ronald Reagan, beat Hoover and Eisenhower to the fair. Broadcasting for WHO radio as the sports director, President Ronald Reagan worked the fair during the 1930s.

The Band Perry performs on an awards show.

Entertainment

For those who don’t want to pop the big bucks for grandstand headliners, check out headline acts on one of the free stages! Superstars, The Band Perry, played free stages at the fair. Featuring 3 siblings, The Band Perry was named 2011’s best new artists by ACM (Academy of Country Music). After playing free stages they returned,to play the grandstand.

The same venue hosted the Oakridge Boys, and Vanilla Ice.  Anderson Erickson Dairy, Budweiser,  are other free stages. From country to rock to hip-hop, the free stages offer a variety of music.  Popular accapella group Pentatonix graduated from free stages to the grandstand.

Over the years the fair has featured the top acts in the country.  A few include: Elvis Presley, Garth Brooks, Johnny Cash, Sonny and Cher, Wayne Newton, and Janet Jackson. Alabama has the record for the numbers


For those longing to dole out more dollars, Grandstand acts include: The Incredible Machine Tour featuring Sugarland with Sara Bareilles, Ronnie Dunn with Steel Magnolia, Train and Maroon 5, Doobie Brothers with Kansas, Deff Leopard with special guests Heart and Evan Watson, Reba with Jerrod Niemann, Janet Jackson, Casting Crowns with Sanctus Real and Jason Aldean with guests Thompson Square and Chris Young.

If you prefer mobile entertainment there is always Bandaloni the One Man Band! He performs several times each day.

Records related to fair entertainment show the biggest crowds attending the Sonny and Cher concert in 1972, Johnny Cash in 1970 and the Beach Boys in 1975 with attendance ranging from 25,300-26,200 fans.

Other interesting Iowa State Fair tidbits?

• Attendance in 2002 topped a million for the first time with 1,008,174 visitors while 2008 holds the record at 1,109,150.

• The hottest day recorded at the fair was August 16, 1983 when the temp climbed 108 degrees Farenheit.

• The first fair in Iowa in 1854 had a budget of $323.

• The fairgrounds cover over 445 acres of land.

Notoriously hot temperatures are expected for those 10 days in August. When I force myself to partake, I like to cheat and ride around on a cozy granny scooter and scare a few visitors. First stop? the air-conditioned Varied Industries Building to pick up free stuff and register for more free stuff. Second? Find favorite food on a stick (AKA a corndog) followed by a beer tent visit.  

Repeat step two as needed. Cruise over to a wine tasting tent. Check out a free free stages. And, avoid deep-fried butter.

Fried macaroni and cheese prior to adding the stick.

 

Adventures of a drama queen wannabe

Sometimes you gotta admit defeat. That time hasn’t come for this old lady! I will not give up my car keys without a fight . . . or a binding court document.

Summer proved to be a series of perilous adventures as I set out to prove my competency to travel independently. ('Mom, maybe you shouldn’t drive so far by yourself, or Mom, maybe it’s not safe to be on your own in a big city or You are getting pretty old to go there by yourself'). Thanks for the support guys.

After all, I am a good driver. In my driveway. As long as I don’t have to back up very far.

Plus, I have a cane and I know how to use it . . . as a weapon (well, I've heard about it).

Somehow my presence often turns simple tasks into high drama and/or minor ‘accidents’.

Like the case of walking from the car to my house, aka as example # 1: Free Falling

• Opened front door, musta forgot to step up, fell forward face down on hardwood floor, managed to crawl to base of stairway, tried to pull self up many times, (all while giggling uncontrollably), attempting—without success, not to urinate. Remember daughter trying to help asking, 'Mom, are you okay?'
• The more I laughed the more puzzled/frustrated/concerned/impatient she became. Then the scolding. 'Mom, you need to pay more attention. Someday you’re going to get hurt and no one will be around to help you and you won't think it's so funny!' Really? Well, guess what people? I didn’t ask for help. I can find clean unders all by myself.
• *No one was actually hurt during this event unless you count family’s embarrassment at the site of wet spots on floor. But hey, clothing and rugs can be laundered.

I can’t help it if I find soiling oneself to be funny. It’s right up there with watching people fall on the ice . . . or my son with ankle in cast slipping and falling at grocery store when crutch hit wet spot. Too funny. I still giggle just thinking of it . . .

Crutch flies into fresh vegetables, worker dashes over to help, son curses under his breath managing a, 'No problem, I’m okay, thanks for your help' to the employee as he stands up, takes back crutch and hops right by me as he shoots me a dirty look.

How rude. He coulda waited for me to compose myself. That kind of belly laugh with tears streaming down face takes a minute of recovery time.

Or the biking incident known as example #2: No Brakes & Breaking Bones

• I recall that lazy Sunday afternoon in August . . . Hauling out our new bikes, practicing in the alley before heading to the street, turning the corner and down a hill, gaining speed, gaining more speed, going way too fast, trying to apply brakes on pedal, hearing husband shout, 'the brakes are on handlebars, PJ use the brakes, use the brakes' . . . For some reason I didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t. I just remember heading for the cement curb and hoping for the best as I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see what was gonna happen. That was before the dreaded trip to emergency room when I sounded kinda like a newly wiened puppy whimpering and howling all the way there.
• 

  After the event of flying over the handlebars, splatting on the sidewalk, bumping my head, looking up to see husband reaching down while laughing . . . my usual calm sensitive self unraveled just a bit.
• Maybe it was my thoughtful daughter-in-law’s comment upon hearing the news, 'OMG I wish we had it on tape. You flew over handlebars? We coulda won $10,000!' Or other supportive remarks like, 'Now I know what to get you for Christmas—training wheels! or What were YOU doing trying to ride a bike? or Way to make a fool of yourself in front of new neighbors!' or seeing my daughter shake her head while commenting, 'I’d tell you to stick to your stationary exercise bike but you’ll probably figure out a way to tip that over.' Thanks for the props everyone.
• Or just maybe my pitiful tears were related to a broken collarbone! I can’t always deliver spectacular stunts without a few injuries/broken bones.
• After a week in a sling (dr: 'These things usually heal on their own, take these pills and you’ll be fine'), teasing from fam ('C’mon suck it up, Geez I didn’t know you were such a baby, or There’s no crying in bicycle riding') I gimped back to the clinic. Hmmm. Still broken apart.
• Next I went under the knife, with insertion of platinum screw in shoulder, then sent from recovery to room for overnight hospital stay. I sorta recall the nurse saying, . . .'expect some pain, lots of poking and prodding, hard to get bone back together again.' First, I giggled thinking of Humpty Dumpty. Then I remember staring at the long hand, waiting for it to get to the 12 so I could press my trusty morphine pump. Next came sleeping and itching, and itching some more. Yet, all of it paled compared to the REAL drama about to unfold that fateful night.
• I opened my eyes in time to get flashed by new roommate’s tattoed butt as the nurse helped her stumble into bathroom. Next, I overheard loud phone conversation with boyfriend ('I’m so strung out, you need to get tested, they put a tube in there, my vagina . . . dripping'). Lovely. Besides discovering roomie/homeless/stripper/delinquent teenager possessed nasty STD AND my pain meds she discovered on my tray, the blaring sounds of Saturday morning cartoons jolted me awake at 5AM. That was it. Time for confrontation!
• ME: 'Could you please turn down the TV? I just had surgery and I am trying to sleep'.
• ROOMIE: Nothing. Then TV got louder.
• ME: thinking to self  'I should pull back curtain and kick her ass', I repeated: 'Hi there, excuse me. Don’t you think the TV is a little loud'?
• ROOMIE: (my stinging words caused action as she flung back curtain) 'Hey stupid old hag. If I thought it was too loud I woulda turned it down! Duh'. Curtain closed again.
• Okay then . . . well, the big hand on the clock went past the 12. Squeeze.
• 

  I probably scared her away cuz when I woke up the bed was empty. The nurse entered room.
• ME: 'So, is it safe to use the same toilet seat considering roomie has STD'?
• NURSE: 'I can’t share confidential information about another patient’s diagnosis'.
• ME: 'Um. Well, did you know she asked me if I would give her my script for pain pills'?
• NURSE: Sits on edge of bed like we’re old buds, leans over. 'Doesn’t surprise me. She’s been in here before. No insurance. No money. Problems with drugs and alcohol. Works across the river as a stripper, probably a hooker. Long, long list of partners'.
• Great. So much for confidential info vs. the urge to gossip.

Anyway, sure I’ve experienced a few setbacks. Most people are not perfect. All of us slow down a bit as we age. Okay, maybe not as slow as hitting the ball all the way to the left field fence and still getting thrown out at first slow but then I was never known for my speed on the bases.

Sure, a few embarrassing moments happened to me. Maybe every teacher doesn’t leave the restroom with her skirt tucked in to the back of her panty hose revealing a bulgy backside to the world (twice at two different schools) but it does happen.

Maybe every single mom doesn’t empty contents of large purse at checkout in search of checkbook to discover a dirty fork stabbed into a half-eaten moldy dill pickle.

Maybe every mother doesn’t have the ninja thinking skills to implement a quick kick to the object when her two-year-old’s hard ball of warm poop drops to the cold tiled floor in the center aisle of the packed clinic. But, it pretty much worked. Rolled under a chair.

I planned to rescue the lonely poo to flush it after we saw the doctor only to find it missing. Hey, that was back in the day of droopy cloth diapers way before the fancy disposables.

Everybody poops. Ask Forest Gump. It happens.

As usual, I ramble. Back to the summer of two aught aught and eleven. But now it is three in the morning. Must close eyes and tell those tales another time.