The Best Fest!

Can we just talk about Wurstfest for a minute up in here? This is the single best fest I can think of: many different foods on a stick (including sausage of all kinds AND pork chops), lots of fried things, beer a'plenty and the best sauerkraut I've ever tasted. All of that AND oompah bands AND carnies AND silly hats! What more do you want? I mean, really? (Oh, and a big shout-out to Laura, for festing immediately after flying home from Panama, and to Eric & Amy for being righteous enough to tote along their 6-month-old. But as for Cote, that dude is dead to me. Dead!) Wurstfest happens in New Braunfels, one of many little Texas towns with strong German heritage. These are my peeps, and boy, do they represent. We're talking serious leiderhosen, on men who really should know better but are too drunk to care. Apparently, the first Wurstfest featured the official City Sausage Band. I wish I had one of those. Somehow, chicken hats got into the act, which led to hats of ever-more-ridiculous stylings. So, let's recap: you've got middle-aged people wandering around in goofy clothes and insane hats, more than a little drunk and eating sausage on a stick to oompah band music. And everyone is in a mellow, beer-and-kraut-induced mood of brotherly love, so there really aren't any fights or troubles despite the crowds. How could this be any better, you ask? I'll tell you: Tilt-a-whirl. The single greatest carnival ride ever. I love me some tilt-a-whirling. It immediately transforms me into a giddy 5-year-old (I mean, more than I normally am) and I end up screaming with joy. Love. It. Last year, I made Kinman ride with me, as M is sadly afflicted with a punk-ass tummy and had to bench himself. But this year, we achieved Olympic levels of both tilting and whirling, as Mr. Chippy joined the fray. I believe it was his ever-so-slight tipsiness that added that extra something and put us over the top. (The East German judge lodged a protest, but was roundly shouted down). We RULED that tilt-a-whirl, and don't let any cheese-eating 8-year-olds try to tell you any different.