Not enough free time for all the fun and food at the fair

I spent much of last Friday asking visitors what they first did

when they got to the Orange County Fair on opening day.

Which got me thinking . . . I have a few things I want to do.

As one of the Pilot’s main reporters for the annual fair, I’m

there almost everyday to interview people for daily stories, things I

need to do. I stroll a lot but always in search of something and in

fear of being late for something.

I’d love to try being there for no real reason at all.

So I think I’ll spend a day, or a few hours at least, doing fun

but un-important things -- things that don’t even qualify as real

reasons to go to a fair -- this year.

Most urgent on my list is to eat a Deep Fried Snickers Bar, as

frightening as that sounds. It’s a new food item at the fair and

heavenly sounding because I’m a chocoholic.

Next, I’ll look for a vendor who can give me a non-permanent

tattoo of Winnie the Pooh on my ankle. I love Pooh but don’t love

pain. I’d never get a real tattoo and probably would never go

searching for a henna tattooer.

With the fair in my backyard, though, and with body artists and

face painters around many of the fair’s corners, my mission is to get

a brown outline of a classic Pooh. Maybe one where he’s looking down

and seeming thoughtful.

Then I want to eat a caramel apple, which is complicated for

someone with braces. I ate a lot of them last year because I didn’t

have my braces yet. This time, and I’ll probably do this alone to

spare whoever I’m with the embarrassment of watching me, I plan to

cut a caramel apple with a fork and knife and eat it in little

wedges.

After that, I want to find a bag. I buy bags the way some women

buy shoes -- in unreasonable numbers and never because I need one.

I’m looking for a big droopy straw one, maybe with round bamboo

handles. I’d like it to be plain and the kind I would hold in my

hand, like a tote.

I also want to eat a plate of battered potatoes. I’m not sure what

makes them battered and have been too scared to find out. But they

look greasy and crispy and shiny, which in my book means they look

good. They’re topped with this white sauce that I’m guessing gives

the potatoes a creaminess. An extra shot of sinfulness.

Finally, I want to walk around the fair at night with a friend.

Just walk.