This post veers from my usual crafty, creative endeavors, but the annual Atlantic Antic festival in Brooklyn is fast approaching and I’d like to share a story I wrote and posted somewhere else last year about it. It goes a little something like this:

Atlantic Antic is the name of a street festival that Ian and I attended today. It’s about ten minutes from our house and I’ve wanted to go for the past two years I’ve lived in Brooklyn. It was named the Best Street Festival in New York! Unlike other festivals and fairs, it has a cool name. I mean, come on, “antic” is there twice! Most street festival committees sit in meeting after meeting and only come up with “Fifth Avenue Fair” or “Columbus Avenue Craft Fair.” Ok, actually, I don’t know if that happens, but aren’t you just tacking on the word “fair” at the end of your street? You can do better than that! But back to the fair at hand: Atlantic Antic. Dictionary.com defines “antic” as a playful trick or prank, and that’s exactly what this alliterative and appellative fair accomplished today, with me as its victim.

After quite the successful housewarming last night (food gone, 31 people in attendance, a guy dressed as a pirate that my ex-roommate picked up by accident, and who was also attending a party hosted by “Alicia”, and so came to ours by mistake), we woke up today a little sleepy and headachy, but semi-determined (is that paradoxical?) to go to Atlantic Antic. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say “we,” as Ian hates street fairs because of the whole people thing, i.e., there’s a lot of them. He usually shuts down and talks as little as possible, just trying to get through it all. I, for some reason, love street festivals, even though I, too, don’t like people all that much, especially when there are a lot of them, it’s hot, and they usually smell (the fair, not the people. well, maybe the people too).

Ian and I met up with my sister briefly, after spotting an immaculate pulled pork vendor. Herein lies my first mistake: never walk away from pulled pork. NEVER. But I wasn’t hungry then, having eaten the densest pancakes ever at the vegan restaurant (no eggs + wheat flour=densest pancakes ever). My sister showed me the clowns playing poker needlepoint for sale; I’ll leave it a mystery why she would feel the need to a) call me from the festival to tell me about it and b) escort me there to see it. Ian and I went on our way, me waiting to get hungry for some dripping shredded pig, him trying to maintain sanity.

We turned around at the end, went into some of the Middle Eastern pastry and grocery stores, I signed the Brooklyn Greenway Initiative, and I felt the first slight pang of hunger. We passed by something called “Fun Zone”, sponsored by Sovereign Bank. Now, conjure up some ideas as to what “Fun Zone” looked like. Bouncy moonwalk thing? Giant Slide? The Whip? Games? Horses? Go-go dancers? If you guessed any of those, you are dead wrong. If you guessed “giant scary parking lot with 7 trashcans behind a fence,” you guessed right!!! Unless deserted asphalt suddenly became really cool or those trashcans were full of hallucinatory drugs and Chuck E Cheese games, something was amiss.

But did I have time to investigate “Fun Zone”? No! I had pulled pork to obtain! Alas, we had arrived. I got in line behind one guy, who was also getting pulled pork, and my mouth began to water. It was almost my turn! The pulled pork server didn’t look up right away, and suddenly, the worst thing imaginable happened. A girl, more like a female vulture, swooped in and asked for pulled pork. She swooped, I tell you! The other pulled pork server started to scoop it out. She asked for no bun (who ARE you?!?) and before I could even say that I was there first, the last of the pull pork was gone. GONE. I asked if there was more? There was not. There would be no pulled pork. No full tummy.

We kept on walking and I said that I wanted to go home and cry. Little did Ian know that I actually did have tears in my eyes, but I never blinked them out. I was defeated by the no-bun-pulled-pork-vulture. Best Street Festival in New York? How about Worst? Atlantic Antic, you are just that.