The Potomac — Quiction

Corridas and Rattlesnakes

I've talked a good game about wanting to go to the various Rattlesnake Roundups in Oklahoma, but when push comes to shove, I recoil and start thinking it's really cruel, even if there is an overpopulation of rattlesnakes, and even if they need the snakes for their venom (to synthesize anti-venom).

I'm actually a fan of quirky festivals, and have attended a few in Oklahoma including the Rush Springs Watermelon Festival and various other local ones, including Noble's Rose Rock Festival.

But the Rattlesnake Roundups are something else. I have seen them on television, but have never actually attended. I don't like the smell of dying snakes.

Last year, I attended a bullfight in the little Jalisco town, San Miguel Los Altos, for their patron saint day the 29th of September. This was far from the kind of tourist town where you'd see a lot of influence from U.S. tourists and stakeholders, and so it was not Disneyfied in the least. The six bulls that took part were dispatched with varying levels of skill and artistry.

In one case, the artistry was so misdirected it turned in to butchery. I was rooting for the bull. Perhaps it would have a chance to maim or gore its picadors and matadors: it's not that you can fight the inevitable, but at least you can show a bit of fight and spirit as you face your destiny. That's all in theory, of course. You don't really know how you'll respond, and the U.S. presidential candidate who commented on the passivity of the victims of (yet another) mass shooting in a school, and said that he would never just stand there but would resist, probably deserved the vociferous social media shellacking he received from the relatives of the victims.

After the bullfight and dancing to five or six street dances to brass bands and mariachis, the friend who became my best friend introduced me around town as his wife. I did not know how to take it. I decided to be as passive about it as possible, but I found myself feeling both annoyed and mildly giddy. I've analyzed that reaction many times, and I'm still not sure I understand all the contributing factors to my response. Partly, I felt I was being mocked as a blonde American and the only American tourist I saw that entire evening. The other was the vertiginous journey into a surreal, hallucinatory alternate reality or dimension, even if it was just for private motives of his own, or a kind of inside shared joke (which I did not understand). I always circle back to the fact that there must be some tremendous cultural gulf, even if I do speak, read, write, and understand Spanish. It's time to reread Octavio Paz's The Labyrinth of Solitude, I suspect.

After he invited me to the San Miguel Los Altos corrida, I invited him to an Oklahoma Rattlesnake Roundup.

I have yet to make good on that invitation.

Oklahoma Oktoberfest

I have only a vague idea of how or why Oktoberfest originated, and the first thing that comes to mind is a large log building with split log tables where men in lederhosen drink from gallon-sized frothy mugs served by blonde women in low–cut embroidered blouses and full skirts somewhere in the mysterious reaches of the Black Forest.

I'm assuming Oktoberfest originated as a harvest festival and was motivated by the desire to celebrate that, thanks to work, teamwork, plenty of rain, no rootrot or infestations of plant-eating pests, there would be no mass starvation this year, during this years' during the long, dark, cold winter.

That's not really a reason to celebrate Oktoberfest in Tulsa, Oklahoma, which abounds with Wal–Marts, Whole Foods, and a number of local supermarket and convenience store chains (Reasors, QuikTrip, Kum–N–Go come to mind), all of which are very effective purveyors of provisions to paying customers and also the local food pantries.

But, the advent of temperate weather and balmy evenings just before we go into the dark nights of the soul provoked by Central Standard Time most certainly qualifies, at least in my mind.

I first became aware of Tulsa's Oktoberfest when what seemed to be hyper–animated Country & Polka penetrated my 14th floor condominium. It was not something that motivated me to embrace the event. In fact, I contemplated writing a letter complaining about the noise pollution at 11 pm on a weekday night. I spend enough time championing the futile and the self-serving, so decided against it. Instead, I stood on my balcony and looked across the Arkansas River to the west side, just south of the 11th Street bridge. I watched the neon-bright Ferris Wheel and other rides on the Midway and wondered how many children were losing their bratwurst, funnel cakes, and Slurpees in a dark corner that someone (like myself) would inadvertently tread upon.

Last year, the day after the final day of the Oktoberfest was warm and cloudless, and a perfect day for taking a walk along the RiverParks bike and pedestrian pathway, which took me to the grassy spaces used for setting up the booths, stands, tents and rides. I could not really tell what had gone on in the tents; they were already deserted and awaiting decommissioning by efficient crews zipping around in forklifts small pickup trucks.

There was definitely evidence of convivial imbibing; empty beer cans and an empty plastic bottle of something emblazoned with a dancing demon and a label that stated "Fireball: Cinnamon Whiskey" which I assumed was cheap enough to appeal to the crowd that would actually appreciate the cheapest, sweetest, strongest alcohol available. I suspect that the good old university stand-by, Everclear, must have fallen out of favor. Too much trouble to mix with something, I guess.

The beer cans and empty Fireball bottles reinforced the impression that I had that the main purpose of Oktoberfest was gluttony: drink as much beer as possible and gorge oneself on greasy snacks. It seemed all the world like the State Fair, minus crafts and animals.

But, the weather was glorious, the air clear, and the sense of coming together to spend time with one's friends and family, and to build experiences and memories, suddenly seemed more clear. People want to spend time together, and they enjoy focused, destination–driven activities. At least that's what I'm able to glean from the proliferation of tailgate parties, State Fair events, and festivals, the quirkier the better.

Oktoberfest is probably one of the more faithful cultural appropriations we have from our patchwork overlay of immigrant cultures. What is intriguing, even charming is how creating a spectacle that has as its first purpose to engage people, has more functions. It allows people to hyper-perceive themselves and view themselves from a third-person perspective. The can play deity to their own life and say that the experience they are creating is memorable and gives meaning to their lives and their relationships. This is possible because the "festival spectacles" create a flexible framework that opens itself to new additions to the ever-increasing constellation of "traditions" (something that has been done at least once can qualify as a "tradition," I believe.)

I'm all for unifying festivals and the evolution of socially constructed traditions.