A Night With Extreme Vandals

I just returned to NJ from Connecticut. My brain has been askew all weekend. Not bad, but askew. For example, more than once on the way there I passed cars on the right as if it were habit. When Paula who was with me asked if I wanted some Craisins, I said yes and held my hand out, its cup facing sideways. Oh well. This isn't why I began to write. I'm writing from home rather than from my very cold office at work. There have been crazy flies here at the house. I don't know what's up with that but I feel like I'm at an outdoor summer picnic, except that I'm inside and I have knowledge that it's chilly and October outside.

Last night I was really ready for sleep. I was lying on the futon at Rick and Kat's house, warming up in my fleece pj pants, cocooned in a down comforter. Then Mark and Rick returned hootin' and hollerin' about making a fire in the back yard and cooking food. I said I was tired; Paula, in the next room, said she was tired. Then each of us separately was promptly body-slammed until we agreed to get up and sit by the fire at 3:30 am. I dressed myself in four long-sleeved layers up top, two pairs of socks (my new King Kong socks that Mark bought for me!), a stocking cap and gloves, and ate a fire-cooked Boca burger, which was damn good. Those Krafts (that's Rick and Kat) keep some fine bread in their home. So food was done and Nick the electrician who had fallen asleep in a wicker chair by the fire went inside to sleep.

Around 5 am Mark and Rick decide we should visit the carnival across the street. Yes, the carnival is closed at this hour. We step over the yellow caution tape and into the carnival space. The first amuscment is the fun house. As we walk inside, Rick says excitedly, "This is a 3-ticket ride!" A hamster wheel brings us in, then some rubber spaghetti connected to the ceiling and floor challenges our walk-through. We didnt' get past that. There was a voice from above that said, "Yo!" or "No!" Evidently a carnie was trying to sleep in the fun house. We moved on, startled. Rick was very excited about the "strawberry patch": four gigantic strawberries, each hollow inside, with a wheel in the center for spinning. We went through the little white gate and climbed into one. Meanwhile, comical fantasies of midget carnies with knives were cycling through my brain. The boys began to spin us. Oh. Slight quease at first, then some noxious fumes poofed out of Mark's butt as Rick spun us faster--in one direction, and then another. We were trapped in that little space spinning and spinning and poisoned by the air. As soon as the strawberry slowed I leapt like a monkey out of there. The door to the strawberry was locked making the exit quite small and challenging. Ugh. The quease set into all of us. Paula and I sat on a curb while Mark and Rick went into the Gravitron. On our way out they picked up a two-sided metal bench and brought back to the house. On it was the carnival logo and "Have a nice day!"

This, however, wasn't the highlight of the evening. There was a "jam" as they call it going on at a warehouse where Extremists have built ramps and finally a very impressive bowl to ride bmx and skate in. Beer and late, someone decided to try a rope swing from the ceiling. I had gone to the bathroom outside by my car. When I returned Rick was clinging to a ceiling beam, I guess after having tied the rope up there. Then Rick, though he'd said he was too drunk to swing on the rope, stood up on high, took hold of the rope and swung--smack into the outer rim of the bowl. I guess the idea was to hoist above and land on top. However, drunk happened. The scene had the look of a clip from Faces of Death (I was calling it something other before; I correct myself), only, thankfully, Rick did not die. He is now in a good deal of pain. He swung so hard and fast and directly at that wooden beam, it looked like he planned it, like he had spotted it and thought, Right there, I'm gonna hit right there. We've all told the story six hundred times since and it's still just as funny as when it happened. A knot in the rope gave him a blackening eye.

That is what happened in Connecticut. Twice now since moving to Jersey and meeting Mark have I slinked into a closed amusement area late at night and frolicked in the dark rides.