Summers in the Great White North are pretty short, so we tend to cram as much into them as we can. Oh, not the kind of stuff you hoity-toity city folks have, with your tea parties, debutant balls, charity galas, and cotillions. No, up here in real America, summers are filled with good clean fun, like Field Days and ethnic festivals where folks can get out there and expose as much of their doughy, pasty-white winter skin as is legally allowed to the sun, while drinking overpriced beer in plastic cups (which tends to lead to nasty hangovers exacerbated by second-degree sun poisoning and odd tan lines).

Two weeks ago, it was Memorial Day, with folks paradin’ about in pert near every town in the county (including Navarino, home of the world’s shortest parade; one guy drives his tractor across Route 20, and then everybody gets drunk). Last weekend we had out town’s field days (aka, the “Olde Home Days,” whose origins go back at least to the 1800s), which made it a real pain in the ass to drive through the village, what with all the damn people parading, milling back and forth between chicken barbeques, crap craft booths, riding on the rides, and, of course participating in the Duck Race (which, much to my sister’s disappointment, does not use real ducks). Oh, and plenty of fireworks to terrorize the dogs.

And this weekend, well, this is one of the bigguns in the area (perhaps second only to the Great NY State Fair week), as we have the Polish Festival, the Greek Festival, and the Balloon Festival all taking place in just three short days (or four; I think the Greeks get it going a day ahead of time).

At the Polish festival, you can eat sausage and pierogis, dance polkas, drink beer, and check out the Polish chicks (just take a moment to review the old polish ladies, ‘cuz that’s what they grow up to look like).

At the Greek festival, you can eat Gyros, dance the Syrtaki, drink ouzo (if you drink enough and squint, you can actually make sense of that goofy Greek alphabet), and check out the Greek chicks (same caveat as the Polish babes – and, yes, for the Greek dudes, too; they may start out looking like Adonis, but sooner or later they turn into fat bald guys wearing old man t-shirts with suspenders and leather sandals with white socks – like that famous Greek guy, Anthony Quinn, who was actually an Irish Mexican – go figure. Actually, sooner or later, I think that’s what all you ladies have to look forward to from us old guys – if we live long enough – but you love us anyway, don’t you?). :nod:

At the Balloon Festival, you can listen to has-been rock bands (this year’s headliners, .38 Special, plus the inexplicably popular in CNY has-been that never was, Benny Mardones), drink beer, and go for a balloon ride (or just watch them all take off and fly around, which is pretty cool, especially when you’ve been drinking beer out in the sun all day – and, yes, I know this from experience).

Much as Memorial Day marks the beginning of summer and Labor Day marks the end of summer, this weekend marks the end of the beginning of summer.

And right now, it’s the beginning of the end of the work week. Let’s get this over with already, for tonight, we party.

Na zdrowie!