Clintonville Rocks!

Yesterday was a big milestone in the quiet little hamlet I call home, Clintonville, Pennsylvania (official town motto: 'We have a store'). That's right, yesterday was the first annual, I assume, Clintonville Community Day. This is the one day in the year where the simple, blue collar folk of this humble burgh get to cut loose and really show the world what we're made of. We're talking about some serious partaying - the more conventionally spelled partying does not come close to doing this shindig justice. I mean, this thing had a classic car cruise AND face painting for the kids AND a karaoke country performance AND a parade with real fire trucks AND a booth from the local Republican party. I think you are beginning to get the picture. This happening didn't stop till the break-a-break of dawn...Well, at least not till the break-a-break of 9:30 pm.

Now, I was blissfully unaware of this momentous occasion until it practically began. You see, the focal points of Community Day were the fire hall - directly next door to my house - and the local little league field - directly behind my house. So, a little after noon, much to my surprise, people started showing up all around my house. Since people usually don't hang around here - Clintonville's not exactly being the city that never sleeps (amendment to official town motto: 'The store closes at 6') - I was left utterly confused. After querying my mother, everything was explained. This led to the following exchange:

Me: 'Does this mean I have to wear pants?'
Mom: 'Only if you want to go outside.'
Me: 'Dang!'

With nothing better to do, I decided I might as well check out what all the hubbub was about. I walked around the little league field, where classic cars, freshly polished, where parked along the first base line. Then, I noticed something really important. Off just to the first base side of the batting cage, the local oldies radio station was broadcasting live. This is when I knew - just knew - that this party was for real. This was Big Time with a capital 'B' and 'T'. Oldies stations don't just do remote broadcast from any old location. They only show up for the biggest, brightest, and most important events. Clearly, this Clintonville Community Day was nothing to be trifled with.

I explored further. Up by the firehall the party was swinging in full effect. There was a booth where kids could win crappy prizes by pitching dimes into cups. The Lions club was selling canes - don't ask. There was an Army recruiting tent. There was a strong man sledge hammer swinging booth, only instead of the long display with a bell the objective was to crush a Coke can - don't ask. There was a John Deer tractor. There was a booth where kids could get their face painted. There was also a booth where kids could paint their own design onto T-shirts. A kid ran by me and my parents carrying a shirt with crudely drawn breasts with the words 'Big uns' written above them. This led to the following exchange:

My dad: 'Big uns? What's that mean?'
Me: 'Dad, there where boobs on that shirt.'
Dad: 'What?'
Me: 'Boobs.'
Dad: 'Boobs?'
Me: 'Dad, that kid drew boobs on that shirt. Didn't you notice?'
Dad: 'Oh, my, No. Oh, my!'

Then there was a parade with a route stretching almost a full mile. There were fire trucks, and kids from the local little league. The local churches had a float and there was a float with really lame annoying clowns - not that there are other kinds of clowns. I saw the mayor of Clintonville for the first time (mayoral motto: 'I decide when the store closes'). I didn't even know we had a mayor and much to my surprise the guy looked like he was 12. Seriously, he could of been younger than me. Clearly, I'm wasting my life. There is no reason I can't be the mayor of some tiny, fly speck town. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going for it. If anyone knows of a small town with an empty mayoral seat, tell me. I'm relocating and running for office. I just really want to get to ride in a parade in a convertible. Is that too much to ask?

After the parade, there was free hot dogs at the firehall. And, lest anyone think that Clintonville is completely small minded, they offered a vegetarian alternative. Seriously, I'm not making this up. I was absolutely shocked. It seemed like such a nice gesture. I'm sure no one took the veggie dogs, but it was still a nice gesture.

Then, after dinner was the highlight of the entire day for me: the entertainment. The headliner - I use the term lightly - was a country singer with all the trappings. He had a fancy multicolored lighting rig. He had a fog machine working overtime. He had a denim vest over a 'Big Dog' T-shirt. He had a long, flowing, majestic mullet. The only thing he did not have was a backing band. So, we were treated to country karaoke. Not that this guy was hampered by the lack of band. He strutted around the stage with his head set microphone, playing to the crowd while he sung his selection of Toby Keith covers. At one point, he changed the lyric to a song to mention Clintonville - this was greeted by one guy in the crowd doing the two-hands-in-the-air-pointing-at-the-stage-to-say-hell-yeah move. I almost fell out of my chair laughing. Everyone else seemed to take the whole thing seriously. Meanwhile, I found the thing hilarious. I could've watched it for hours - although in reality I only watched it for about 10 minutes.

After this hour of unbridled awesome, they had a fireworks display. I don't have anything to say about the fireworks. They were actually quite impressive for a small town community day celebration. I was expecting a couple of local kids with bottle rockets, but they brought out all the stops - including the ones that blow up and then all the individual colored parts blow up again in another direction and then the whole thing frizzles. It actually was a good way to end the day.

So, all told it was a fine day. I saw boobs painted on a T-Shirt. I got a free Lions Club travel mug. I saw some awesome karaoke. I went to bed happy with the visions of the second annual Clintonville Community Day dancing in my head.

Shalom