There Must Be a Reason It's Only Held Once a Year...

As we travelled about, Dad managed to sneak in a pork chop sandwich and he gave me a pickle slice, which was shocking to start with, but a pretty good treat overall. But, Grampa Brian was waiting for us over in the Ethnic Village and we needed to go see some music over there. So, we mozied back through the grounds. Unfortunately, nobody took pictures of my venture to go see the horses - which were the funniest thing I've ever seen. We also didn't get shots of the Discovery Toys area where my buddy Liam's mommy works - he's a little younger than me, and he lives two doors down, but we're gonna have some fun in the next few years I'm sure.



So back we were, back to the Polish area of the Ethnic Village (near the beer for Dad).


I love reggae music. And, that's what was playin' there on the stage. The band was very authentic. They had dreadlocks and sang with Jamaican accents. They even had a Caucasian bass player - Dad said it's a must for any reggae band in Central Illinois. Didn't matter to me, I rocked out rasta style - ya' mon!


If you like smelly foreign food made in Central Illinois, this is evidently the place. Gramma Vicki liked the Indian stuff. Dad said it all tastes the same, "bad." I noticed, however, he had no problem eating what others wouldn't.


Grampa Brian and Great Aunt Jenny were waiting for us there on a bench, listening to the great tunes. Grampa Brian has a funny beard and looks like Stonewall Jackson. So, I asked if I could have a better view from his lap and he obliged. I don't think I've mentioned that I proudly donned my "Corn Dog" shirt at the fair. It's a shirt Mom got me during our trip to Kansas City earlier this year.