Originally Posted September 15, 2010
By Smaktakula
Just ‘Cause You Didn’t Finish High School An’ Ain’t Got But Four Teeth In Your Mouth An’ One Uh Them Not Worth Uh Damn Nohow Don’t Mean You Can’t Live Uh Fulfilling Life Amongst The Traveling Folk.
There are those unique individuals who dread the notion of riding a desk until retirement, who long to work not in a stuffy cubicle, but under God’s own sky, and who chafe against the constricting mores of traditional society. For those willing to do whatever it takes to find it, there is still a place for the truly free man among the traveling folk of the carnival.
Every day, a growing number of Americans are eschewing a staid and plastic life of comfort and safety, instead casting their lot among the fringy legions of that uniquely American bottom-feeder, the carny. A carny is free to pursue his own dreams, be they the simple aspiration to drink turpentine until the onset of blindness, or more dramatic expressions of individuality, such as marrying a she-goat. The carnival doesn’t judge.
Effete College Boys Read William Faulkner And Charles Bukowski, But Carnies Live The Life.
Not just any sketchy drifter with a rap sheet and a love for Night Train can be a Merlin of the Midway–it takes a special commitment. Much like a monk who joins an order, the carny life is a world unto itself.
Everyone On The Midway Has His Own Story; The Carnival Is Haunted By Tales. Curiously, They All Begin And End With Methamphetamine.
Great post. I love these photos.
Thank you for the kind words, Ardin. We love the photos as well. We would like to take credit for them, but then we would be violating copyright law.
Where do we sign up, do they have a career day? Do I need a resume and cover sheet?
Career day is when the carnival comes a’stealin’ into your town in the middle of the night. No resume, and as far as a cover sheet, an old Klan outfit will do.
Reminds me of that X-Files episode you like.
Would you be impressed to know that a member of my family was once a carny? Or would it just confirm your suspicions? But it’s a true fact. I won’t reveal who in order to protect the innocent…
I am VERY impressed, and would love to hear more. I lived at the County Fair for a week raising a pig, but that’s not quite the same thing.
Well, it’s someone pretty close to me, so I won’t be able to tell that story. No need to bring my family into my online world (other than my son’s stellar vocabulary). But just knowing I’ve heard about the carny life at a personal level is bragging rights alone.
Say no more. Although I’ve got a great title for your next book: “I married a circus geek.”
I’m surprised that’s not a reality show.
Kevin & Brittney (or whatever it was called) was cancelled years ago.
Just hearing the word “carny” reminds me of Austin Powers LOL
Small hands & smell like cabbage.
Smak, you talk some funny smack. The guy in the first picture – kinda scary….”Curiously, They All Begin And End With Methamphetamine” – Lord have mercy – that was funny…and sad…and probably very close to the truth. (I love when our state fair comes to town, btw).
It’s a guilty pleasure for me as well. I’ve only been to a state fair once, but actually lived at the county fair for a week as a kid when I was showing my pig. I sold the pig, and bought (among other things) my first Boogie Board with the money. The experience had a jarring effect on me, however. For completely non-theological reasons, to this day, I refuse to eat pork products of any kind.
Forgive me, Bacon Bits! Sorry girl, I didn’t think it through.
(If you’re being serious.) I could understand that. I wouldn’t want to sell my pet for meat!
Yeah, it’s sort of a first-world food bias–people who grow up on a farm deal with that on a yearly basis. Still, I’m being serious–an aversion to pigflesh was the price of my betrayal.
Gibsonton, Fl….home to the Grady Stiles, aka, “Lobster Boy” and many other carny folk.
Although your “cool” bonafides are myriad, you have just added two more to the staggering pile.
1) You’re from Gibsonton, Florida, home to all manner of wintering circus folk, and no doubt other queer elements.
2) That you made me aware of Gibsonton, Florida, home to all manner…
Seriously, that’s awesome. I’m fascinated by places and associations, and if I’m not careful, one little piece of data like that will propel me, as yours did, into a blank-eyed Wikipedia & Google Maps-fueled data binge. “Ooh, there’s a Hillsborough County, Florida? What’s there?” I joke, but it’s a problem I’ve lived with all my life and have learned to adapt to. This one apparently got past my defenses. I don’t know how long I would have been in the info-hole if I hadn’t been shocked out of it with the question, “Who the hell names a place Town ‘n’ Country?”
1) Okay, first of all–it’s a car!
2) Town ‘n’ Country? Really?
3) Do they see the ampersand as a hated Yankee imposition? Because, seriously–if they do, I’ll start liking it a lot more.
Edit: Because I am a moron, I somehow got it through my head that Gibsonton was your home town, in addition to the Lobster Boy’s, despite you doing nothing more than using the word “home” in your reply. I am something of an illiterate, you see. You however, are still cool.
Thank God for the edit!!! Before I finished reading your comment I was thinking, “No! No! No! I’m not from there. Oh God!” The only time in my life I wanted to tell someone I’m from Orlando.
Glad I could teach you something new geographically speaking. I used to live in Hillsborough County. It’s not awesome. Tampa is a dirty, dirty, place. Most places north of Orlando from the central part of the state to the Gulf of Mexico is straight up Hooterville. People don’t often consider Florida “the south” but there are some towns that are overrun with tractor trailer-raiding, Git’R Done-hat-wearing, zombie meth-heads.
You. dumbass bastards don’t know shit about the carnival people so shut the fuck up!!’!
How could we say no to such an articulate and heartfelt plea?