"Still humping the American dream."

I haven't put anything here and I don't think anyone is reading this anymore, if they were before. But I'm still posting here. And I think I might just be turning this into my own blog. Hey yo.

A few days ago, millions of Americans tuned in to watch an Illinois senator make a HISTORICAL speech (I just wanted to say historical again, because it wasn't made clear enough last week). He talked about his personal pursuit of the American dream. And the promises he made to ensure that this dream would be more of an attainable reality for Americans after the 8 years of a Bush league that has made it seem impossible.

The American dream means different things to different people. To some, it is having a baby, or buying a house, as I demonstrated before. Or some combo of both. To others, it's just being able to put a hearty dinner on the table for the family each night. It might mean being able to have a good education and a decent shot of skill-related employment, regardless of ethnicity, class position, or anything else. It might mean living well beyond one's means and instead having as much as possible. Slap on some generic Oprah definition and there you have it.

My weekend has been all about a strange local tradition of the American dream. It's now in my stomach. Corn dogs. Corn holes. Kettle korn. Funnel cakes. Whatever is able to be deep fried was, and it went into my belly. This, my friends - this... is the American dream. (And the Taiwanese nightmare.)

In Kansas City, you have three main Labor Day weekend festivals to unofficially mark the end of summer. For $15, you can jaunt to Bonner Springs for the Renaissance Festival (which actually lasts over a month, so skip!) and watch the jugglers and fabulous turkey leg eaters of Canterbury. For $10, dance a jig over to the green fountains at Crown Center for the Irish Fest. Since I'm Irish, I have gone to this before. What I got out of it was a pretty good performance by The Elders, lots of beer that I didn't drink, and green popcorn balls that would've pulled out my root canals if I had anys. Or, for FREE... You can drape Ol' Glory or a Confederate flag around your body and safely slide to Independence to attend the Santa-Cali-Gon Days festival. Which one of these is the most American? I think you can figure this out.

Last year, I dragged my Santa-Cali-virgin friends from corners of the nation as mystic and beautiful as Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Iowa to this great festival. And guess what? They all willingly and excitedly joined me for round two with a couple new additions. Now you think my friends are weird. Well, yeah, you're right. But they're entitled to their own opinions, no matter how flawed they were for listening to me in the first place. Because this is America, damnit. Follow the Asian.

Oh, but yeah. American dream. You see, Santa-Cali-Gon embodies everything I love and hate about this country. Maybe that's too bold of a statement. But I'll explain.

1. Consumerism. If you aren't currently living on an extreme religious compound, you can probably guess that the United States is a consumeristic culture.

a. (Subcategories mean I'm serious) Food. The richest fifth of the world consumes 45% of the world's meat and fish; the poorest fifth consumes 5%. A third of that fifth gathers at Santa-Cali-Gon each year. 25% of the world's meat (and meat byproducts) is consumed on this weekend alone in corn dog consumption. The other 20% is comprised of turkey legs being gnawed off by neighboring Ren Fest attendees as well as other fine meats on a stick.

None of that was true except for the initial 45/5% statement. You believe anything you read? Welcome to the Shelly Spin Zone. Luckily, our media and political coverage isn't like this whatsoever.

I don't know where this unique culture of American festivals and deep fried everythings comes from. There's so much of it. And I can't get enough of it. Actually, I can. It stops after a corn dog, a Pepsi, a handful of kettle korn, and a couple bites of someone else's funnel cake.

b. Possessions. You've grown up hearing that if you have a tough work ethic, you can go far in life and get whatever you want. At Santa-Cali-Gon, this means you can get faux antique crafts enjoyed by women over 60 (my mom included, and probably yours). You can get cowboy hats that are next to blow-up American flag-patterned machine guns. I'm sure you can get trucker hats with a "Git R Dun" emblem on the front. And bumper stickers, belt buckles, window coverings, whatever you want with cute little Rebel flags. Yeah. More Americana. But it's your own slice of the strange and not very tasty pie.

2. A small-town mentality. This fest has been going on for over 30 years. It's held in the Independence Square, a quaint area with the courthouse, the old jail, the ice cream and soda fountain that was Harry Truman's first job. You will more than likely run into oldtimers that will tell you about "The time I used to come up here and toss quarters off the roof of..." Snoozies. And if you're like me, there's always the inevitability that you'll run into someone you once knew from grade school or high school. And since high school will never be the chapter in my memoirs called "The Best of Times," that's not a part I look forward to. If you went to high school with me and are reading this, then you should probably be offended.

3. Cultural diversity dayz. I hear the American dream is all about equal opportunity. The idea that anyone who works hard enough can make it in this highly upwardly mobile society. And if anyone can epitomize that, it was the two white, shirtless, tattooed, areola-pierced men we ran into constantly throughout our travels of the day. Some women should not be allowed to wear midriffs. Some men should not be able to go shirtless. However, at Santa-Cali-Gon, it doesn't matter who you are. You can be shirtless and have barefoot children running amuck. This is America. And as shirtless man 2's back read, "Freedom isn't free" -- an airbrushed tattoo bursting with an American flag and a menacing bald eagle. Then he made some comment about killing Mexicans. Rugged individualism, I guess. Still a part of the dream.

4. Carnival rides! Who doesn't want to ride creepy looking twirling bears in overalls? Enter a building adorned in poorly drawn airbrush art with El Diablo's face near the door? Hop on a ferris wheel designed by an angry tweaker who gets paid in minimum wage and leftover caramel apples? Cheap, fast-paced thrills and absolutely no frills.

You think anyone over the age of 11 wakes up in the morning and says, "I want to work at a fair for the rest of my life!"? That ever-fading definition of the American dream would just tell us that they either aren't working hard enough, or it actually is what they want. I'm sure if they worked hard enough, they could be in Ivy league schools, right?

5. Mullet counting. After about 6 p.m., Independence's finest lets their hair down and gets the party started from the back. As the illustrious John Cougar Mellencamp would say, "Ain't that America?"

I kinda don't even like John Mellencamp. But I didn't want to quote Emily Dickinson again, so this is the next logical step.

"Well there's a young man in a t-shirt
Listening to a rockin' rollin' station
He's got a greasy hair, greasy smile
He says: 'Lord, this must be my destination'
Cuz they told me, when I was younger
Boy, you're gonna be president
But just like everything else, those old crazy dreams
Just kinda came and went."

I can't see people used to cocktail parties and caviar really into the idea of visiting this fest. I can't see myself really into the idea of visiting an upscale caviar party either. But I would, because I think I could be into caviar. And I'd be rich.

September 2008 news: The "untouchables," the lowest in the Hindu caste ladder, were the last to be rescued in an India flood. Hmm. United States. August 2005 U.S. news: Remember that hurricane and all the backlash from people who didn't have all the money?

So yep. Santa-Cali-Gon is the embodiment of the American dream in all its glory. Or a gross distortion at best. But on a micro scale, isn't that kind of what it's been turned into anyway?

Vote for me. No, don't. But do vote.