Old Homes

1. Old Home Days. "Old Homes," with its affectionately ungrammatical nickname, is a carnival on a small park in the town I grew up in. It is magnificently tiny, unchanging, and provokes extreme reactions of either devotion or revulsion to all who attend. It was the centerpiece of the summer when I was in high school, when all of the people who seemed to matter magically reappeared for four days in the middle of summer.
   
2. Grassy Knoll. As adults, the main attraction is the beer tent. Technically there is a tent, but is really just a big grassy area surrounded by cops. You can buy six packs of cheap beer and if your sixer gets too warm, they let you exchange it for a new one. Just don't try and leave with it. "Drink it or dump it," as the cop said to a friend's husband when we were leaving. It is hot, crowded, and really freaking loud. It is really strange to stand around for hours in a place with as little ambience as Gitmo, screaming at a variety of friends you rarely get to see, not wanting to look up because you never know who might be there.
3. The afterparty. The beer tent closes at the ridiculously early hour of 11, so naturally it is necessary to go elsewhere after, but where? If you are with my friends, you end up somewhere just as crowded and loud (but oddly less hot though indoors) where seats are scarce and it is hard to get a beer. Men are short. Women are poorly dressed and very carefully made up.
   
4. Cherry on top. If you are me and my friends who don't read, you park somewhere you don't belong and get a ticket.