Tuesday 27 September 2016

Presidential Debate #1: She Had One Job

….and she fucking nailed it.

This pretty much sums it up.
First, some background:  Despite Lester Holt saying that over 100 million people were expected to watch the debate, presidential debates are conducted for a small audience.  The vast majority of voters have already decided for whom they are voting.  The candidates don't need to preach to their respective choirs.  The election hinges on voters who are undecided, and the entire general election campaign is about winning them over (as well as motivating potential voters to show up on Election Day).

Since voters who could as easily vote for the Republican as the Democratic candidate are, by definition, in the middle of the political spectrum (and also, in this particular election, so clearly brain dead that someone should check for a pulse), the nominees are usually falling all over themselves to seem as moderate as possible.  They also endeavour to appear 'presidential'.  Undecided voters are more likely to be swayed by style than substance; they're going to go with their gut feeling of who appears warmer, more trustworthy, more relatable.  In short, the nominee they'd most like to have a beer with.

Is that a smart way to choose a president?  No, but it's the reality the nominees face.  In this debate, Hillary Clinton had to bury her image as cold, strident, angry, mendacious, calculating, and in the race only to sate her own lust for power.  She's been accused of sounding as hoarse and angry as Bernie Sanders, but less honest.  Her job tonight was to appear warm and good-humoured, to never rise to any bait and descend into virago.

When Trump wasn't attempting to pass off glaringly inappropriate personal anecdotes as evidence of his fitness for the job of president, he was trying to goad Clinton into shrewishness.  It didn't work.  She had her wonkish policy arsenal at her disposal, but she realised that details and pedantry were not welcome here, and the substance of angry rebuttals would be undermined by the tone.  Much like a beauty contestant, all she had to do was smile and remain cool and composed for the judges.  Again, this is not how it should be.  But if this election were less surreal, Trump wouldn't be a nominee and she'd be debating a real opponent who would have competing policy proposals to discuss.

Trump made it easy for her.  His cuts and thrusts were tired and she was well-prepared to parry them.  He came across as a lazy bully.  He'd toned down the boorish ad hominem attacks since the primaries, but he hadn't replaced them with any concrete responses to policy issues, so he reverted to his comfort zone when the moderator called him on his blustering refusal to engage with the actual questions.

Clinton was the clear winner in this debate.  I don't think we can expect anything new in the next ones; both candidates did their absolute best.  Clinton, to her credit, has demonstrated a small learning curve with her improvements in style.  Trump has shown that he has no concept of scale or forum.  His supporters are notorious for embracing his rudeness and mistaking his bluster for competence, and he has no conception that what works at his rallies, where the entire audience has a collective IQ below room temperature, does not work with the rest of the world.  His attitude is "They like me, they nominated me, so I am obviously doing something right".  The purpose of the debates is lost on him.  Given how absurdly close the race is, this election has become a referendum on stupidity.  If he wins -- if his performance last night, in which I seem to recall him mentioning Rosie O'Donnell and answering a question on how he'd promote racial healing by boasting that he'd made Obama show his birth certificate, does indeed convince a majority of voters to choose him as the next president -- then I give up on humanity.

I Tweeted throughout and the Tweet that received by far the most likes and RTs was: "Does Trump think that facial expression connotes careful listening? Because it just looks like the coke is burning his nostrils."  Stephen Colbert thought "he sounded like the coked-up best man in the bathroom at a wedding."  In contrast, "Hillary was so prepared my new nickname for her is Preparation H."  Not to be outdone, John Oliver compared scandals.  I'm pleased he shares my view that adding raisins to cookies (actually, adding raisins to anything) should be a capital offence.  Seth Meyers noted that Trump claimed to have won a poll that wasn't conducted.  That's hardly surprising, and it's all we can expect from Trump -- more of the same bullshit and blather.  The only open question, which will be answered on Nov. 9, is whether Americans are ignorant and stupid enough to elect this braggadocious blowhard leader of the free world.

Sunday 25 September 2016

Sorry, Stephen, You've Been Fed a Steaming Pile of Horse Shit

Hi, I'm Frederik and I have Great hair.
If you watch Colbert, you may have noticed that one of his recent guests was a laconic matinee idol with a regal bearing and long flowing locks.  No, he wasn't shilling his latest Hollywood blockbuster, he was just standing there looking uncomfortable on the set and spooked by the applause.  If you haven’t yet watched it, see for yourself: 

You gotta admit, I am very handsome, but you
don't have to call me the most handsomest.
Note Colbert saying that Frederik the Great was voted the World's Most Handsome Horse.  Not that Stephen really cares, but there was no such vote.  The pathetic truth is that Frederik's owner called him that, posted it on his YouTube videos, and got lots of hits.  No disrespect to Frederik, since this isn't his fault, but he is about average for a Friesian stallion.  His owner claims his hair is especially thick and long.  It's lovely but, again, it's average for the breed.  The only thing about him that's above average is the aggressive PR machine run by his owner, and that's deplorable (a popular word these days).

Alas, poor Frederik, his appearance has brought down the wrath of the Friesian world on him.  Naturally, every owner thinks her stallion is the most handsome.  I have to concede that Silas isn't in the running yet, although if there is ever a vote for world's cutest colt, let me know.  Of course, Friesians don't tend to suffer self-esteem problems, and he is convinced he is the most handsome and irresistible to the fillies.  Like most teenage boys, his self-perception of his studliness and appeal to the ladies is not quite matched by reality.  But just wait until he outgrows the adolescent gangliness.  His tail already reaches the ground; I have to trim it so he doesn’t step on it.
Ima gonna be the studliest stud of all studs, just you wait.
Frederik's owner got one thing right when she mentioned the Crusades.  Friesians are the descendants of the destriers ridden by knights in the medieval era.  When they were no longer needed as war horses, their sturdiness and temperament enabled them to find use in agriculture.  Later, their singular looks and flashy gaits had them in demand as carriage horses.  After the industrial revolution, the breed nearly died out in the early twentieth century.  Native to the Friesland area of the Netherlands, the breed was saved locally (barely – more on that below) but not that well-known abroad.  In the 19th century, a few Dutch settlers brought Friesians to the U.S., and it is hypothesised that they may have contributed to the development of the Morgan breed in Vermont.  Friesians did not return to the U.S. until the 1970s when they were again imported by a Dutch immigrant.  The breed had a low profile until Ladyhawke came out in 1985.  Many Friesian aficionados can trace the moment they fell in love with the breed to seeing the Friesian stallion Othello (onscreen name Goliath) in that film.
Poor Rutger Hauer, everyone is looking at the horse.
Most horses are beautiful but the Friesian is like some artist's over-the-top fantasy of what an idealised horse could be.  They only come in black (hence the nickname "black crack"), with no white markings allowed.  Their coat is unusually shiny – you can almost see your reflection in it.  Their manes and tails are thick and grow longer than other breeds – on a stallion, they can reach the ground.  But that's not all: They are also naturally wavy, just like on the unicorns you drew in primary school.  I shit you not.  They have feathers on their fetlocks like draft breeds, which fly when they show off their unique high-stepping trot.  This trot is not taught; it is bred into them.  The trot, along with their upright neck carriage, has made them popular for driving.  They are not easy to ride – the huge trot and the regal neck are striking but they are challenging to deal with from the saddle.  When you meet a Friesian (I was lucky: the first one I met was Thor), once you get over the "Holy shit, this actually exists" shock and pick your jaw up off the floor, you will be struck by how friendly, affectionate, and people-oriented they are.  They are adorably like giant Labrador retrievers.  (The lack of a sense of personal space can be a problem when they weigh 1500 lbs though.)
This is Thor.  He was a friend of mine.
His owner calls this photo, "Someone opened a peppermint wrapper".
I'm told there is a cowboy in this
photo, but I don't see him.
Someone making a new friend.
I mentioned that the breed was saved from dying out in the early 20th century in its native Netherlands.  Three foundation stallions were chosen, and all Friesians today trace their lineage back to one of those three lines.  There weren't enough purebred Friesian mares so they allowed a few other baroque mares in during the early days of establishing the breed.  The Dutch created a registry, the Koninklijke Vereniging "Het Friesch Paarden-Stamboek" (KFPS), to keep track of the breed.  Every September, that year's crop of foals, along with mares, 3+ year old colts, and even geldings, are judged at keurings.  The best are given star ("ster" in Dutch) designation.  The top colts are sent on to stallion testing in January, to be approved for breeding.  Less than 10 out of every 100 colts are invited to stallion testing, and less than 1 out of every 100 is approved.  The bar for approval is set very high, encompassing conformation, movement, temperament, performance under saddle in dressage, jumping, and driving, as well as x-rays, and tests for genetic diseases and sperm motility.  Approved stallions are given an official name, and a number in sequence.  Their initial approval is provisional; their offspring need to be keured before they can get final approval.  It's not uncommon for stallions to be disapproved on offspring.  As I said, it's a grueling process.  Only Friesians sired by approved stallions can go to keurings or be entered into the registry.
Anton 343 (Oege x Tjimme)
That's right, baby, once you go black, you never go back.
(Anton again)
Of course, that doesn't much deter people from breeding unapproved stallions.  Not everyone who covets a Friesian cares about the registry and the judging; they just want their big, black, hairy fantasy horse.  This flouting of the rules has both pros and cons.  On the negative side, the breed is very small (although, thanks to Ladyhawke, there are now an amazing 70,000 Friesians worldwide, up from less than 10,000 before the film) and extremely inbred.  This inbreeding has led Friesians to be carriers of many genetic disorders, and approved stallions are tested for them; others may not be – it depends upon the scrupulousness of the owner.  Also, when approved Friesian stallions and registered Friesian mares are matched, the inbreeding coefficient is considered.  Most horses have a lifespan of at least 30; Friesians rarely live past 25, and often die young from genetic weaknesses in their digestive systems that lead to colic, ruptured oesophagus, and other maladies.  Most Friesian owners live in terror of these ailments.  I guarantee you no human mother worries about her child more than I worry about Silas; the fear of colic, or a freak pasture accident, is constant.  Thor's owner, Joe, said that horses are born and then spend the rest of their lives trying to kill themselves in the most expensive way possible.  Joe is a wise man.  Frederik the Great is not approved for breeding but, thanks to his owner's marketing, his dance card is always full.
Like father (Silas's sire, Tjimme 275)...
...like son.
(He doesn't have mange; he was shedding his foal coat.)
Tjimme again.  His owner was a paediatric neurosurgeon.
Got milk?  Silas at a few hours old.
C'mon, how can you not love this photo?
But there can be a positive side to breeding to a non-approved stallion.  The approval process is insanely expensive and out of reach for most Friesian owners, meaning that plenty of colts never get their chance.  And the process is undeniably political.  The Dutch judges travel to the U.S. each fall and make the rounds of each regional inspection, run by the Friesian Horse Association of North America (FHANA), the American branch of the registry.  There are always allegations of a lack of impartiality – that judges have favoured owners, favoured stallions, etc.  Much of that is true, even if some of it is sour grapes.  But the bigger problem is, once again, money.  Friesians are now used mainly as dressage horses.  Not that many people drive anymore, and the heavy breed lacks the build and stamina for most other disciplines, such as jumping.  Most breeders make their money selling to people who want to be competitive in dressage with their Friesian – that is, competitive against the warmbloods and thoroughbreds in that world.  Show judges used to sneer at Friesians in the dressage ring, as if someone had ridden in on a draft horse, but that has changed in recent years, with Friesians competing successfully at the international level in the sport.  But take a look at those Friesians and compare them to Othello, the stallion in Ladyhawke I mentioned above, or Silas's sire, Tjimme 275.  To make the breed more suitable for riding, they have been bred to be much taller, much lighter in bone, much more like black warmbloods than curvy baroque types.  And the hair has been bred out – too much of it to braid for the dressage ring.  You even see riders shaving their feathers to create more of a clean line in the limbs (and to avoid the scathing "draft horse" disparagement from the judges).
Django of Cacharel is a Friesian doing dressage
Down Under & doing it well.
4-in-hand pulling Harrod's carriage.
Modern Friesian at keuring.  Seriously, WTF?!?  I will
never accept this as a Friesian.
The breed is evolving to meet demand, and the judges are now only approving modern-style Friesians.  The older baroque style is dying out.   But what about those of us who fell in love with those baroque curves, the heavy build, and the copious hair?  We're SOL as the last approved baroque stallions have died off.  (How did I get Silas then?  Frozen semen – his sire died over a decade before he was born.)  People are always telling me to geld Silas because I don't have the financial means to keep a stallion.  (Everything is so much harder when they have balls, regardless of species.)  But he is, literally, one of the last intact baroque colts in the world.  When he eventually goes to be keured, the judges won't give him the time of day.  His movement, his conformation, and his temperament could not be better (and I'm not biased or anything :-) but he's a hairy hunk of old style baroque-ness.  So, the plan is, if (and only if) he turns out well, I will have all the tests done and, if he passes, offer him at stud to those Friesian lovers who want a baroque-style Friesian.  If he doesn't, bye-bye balls.  (Just kidding, Silas!)

But I promise I won't market him as the handsomest horse in the world, even if I think he is.
Fantasy horse?  Yeah, we got that shit DOWN.

Sunday 18 September 2016

Fried Dough or Funnel Cake? A Highly Selective Guide to The Big E

 State fairs may seem quaintly anachronistic in the era of Monsanto and factory farming.  Will people really tear themselves away from playing Minecraft and binge-watching Netflix to see a butter sculpture or poultry judging?  Will they violate their no-carb diets for corn dogs and cotton candy?  Are there any kids still in 4-H or making jam and sewing quilts?  The answer, at least as of 2016, is a resounding yes.  Eastern States Exposition, known as The Big E, attracts close to 80,000 people per day for its annual 17-day run.

The Big E is a state fair on steroids.  100 years ago – there are special features for its centennial celebration this year – someone had the bright idea that the six New England states should hold, in addition to their individual state fairs, a humungous joint fair.  A fairgrounds was purpose-built for this endeavour, and the event has been held every year since, except during the two World Wars.  It can be overwhelming if you haven't been going since you were a kid.  I lived here for years and even attended Equine Affaire every November at the same location without ever finding out about The Big E.  One year a college where I adjuncted was selling discounted tickets to faculty, staff and students, so I enquired about it, and went on a whim.  I've gone back every year since.  Before I got an office job, I went on a weekday to avoid the weekend crowds.  This year, owing to unemployment, I was able to do that again, and I have created this little guide for the uninitiated.

It costs $10 to park in the main lot, plus the value of your time waiting to get in and out.  As you crawl along the road to the gate, there will be people trying to lure you into lots that belong to local businesses.  They also charge $10.  If traffic is moving excruciatingly slowly, and you want to get back on the road more easily later, there is no harm in parking at one of these and walking to the gate.  But bear in mind if you are planning to buy a lot of crap that you will have a long schlep back to your car.  Also, choose a lot across the road, on your left as you are inching toward the gate.  Trust me, you will not be able to make a left turn out of a lot from the right side when you need to get back to I-91 later.  Just before you get to the main gate, on the left, there is a lot that usually charges $5.  Park here if you can.  Tell them I sent you.  Actually, don't bother – they won't know who I am and wouldn't care anyway.  This small lot fills up early, so don't waste time getting your arse in gear in the morning.

Mallery Complex
The first building on your left is where the livestock judging takes place.  It is filled with cows, sheep, goats, and eager 4-Hers grooming and fussing over them.  Ignore the Wine & Cheese Barn out front, with its queue of people waiting for samples.  None of the wines or cheeses for sale there is unique to the fair – they're standard brands available at your local supermarket or off-license.  No need to waste time in that line.  In front of the Mallery is the Xmas tree judging, the obligatory butter sculpture, a display of historic tractors, if that sort of thing turns you on, and, uh, pig racing, if that sort of thing turns you on.  Otherwise, go right in and be amused by the oreo cows and the hooded sheep.  Go into the Fiber Nook and pet the yarn.  Petting the actual farm animals is forbidden, but it's ok to pet the fleeces and roving and skeins of alpaca and wool yarn that are for sale.  There is also, I am sorry to report, a refrigerator that opens to reveal animatronic dairy products that sing.  It is always surrounded by rapt children and bored parents.  I hate it with a ferocity that may seem alarming until you actually see and hear it yourself.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Oreo cows.  They're really called Belted Galloways, but, let's face it,
no-one is ever going to call them anything but oreo cows.
Looks like this year's butter sculpture is shaping up to be a Hogwarts carriage pulled by a thestral.
I'm always rooting for a balsam to win.

It's Rapunzel at her wheel.
These sheep are not members of the Klan.  The hoods are to keep them clean for judging.
Aftermath of cotton candy booth explosion?  Nope, just sheep shearing.
Check out the balls on this ram.
Oh, look: A balsam won.
Young Building and Better Living Center
Next up on your left and across on your right are two buildings full of vendors hawking absolute crap.  It's like every shill from late night infomercials has been assembled in one place.  Unless you have some bizarre need to waste money on the world's best garlic peeler & nose-hair trimmer, must-be-seen-to-be-believed tarnish remover, incredible non-stick waffle iron, or assorted other garbage, keep walking and don't waste any time here.

Stroh Building (Farm-A-Rama)
If you have kids, prepare to spend half your time here.  If you don't, go in anyway.  This is the educational building with displays about farm animals and food production.  The Hallamore Clydesdales are in here (the Budweiser Clydesdales are in their own building at the far end on the right, go see them, too).  There are chickens and ducks, a nursing pig (she looks tired but if you had to raise 12 piglets with crowds staring at you all day, you would be, too), various dog breed demos, and a Peep Show.  Alas, this is not what you think it is.  It is a giant incubator full of hatching eggs.  You can watch the chicks peck their way out and then collapse in exhaustion.  There are baby goats—yes, you can indulge your urge to pet them.  There is also, to my everlasting horror, another animatronic singing food product display, this time veggies.  I loathe it as much as the dairy products one.  I think if I were six, it would give me nightmares. 

For some reason, the loos in this building have shorter lines so keep that in mind.
Tired mama.
It's a sexist, heteronormative nuclear family.
New England Center
The winning crafts are displayed here – knitting, crochet, lace, quilts, photography, etc.  Take time to admire them and marvel at the skill they took to make.
Winning beaded lace shawls.
Snowflakes: A sampler after my own heart.
The photo doesn't do justice to the detail in this sampler.
Grand champion beaded lace shawl.
I like the bump out for the skirt.
The horse show takes place here.  When you want to get off your feet for awhile, sit in the stands and watch impossibly cute pairs of girls in braids on Thelwell ponies go haughtily over the jumps.  Be jealous that your parents weren't rich enough to buy you a pony when you were that age.  Be bitter that you weren't ever in Pony Club and had to take two buses to get to the nearest stable and work and beg for lessons.  Allow your bitterness to consume you and ruin the lovely day.  No, don't do that.  Don't do that at all.  Enjoy the horse show.

Craft Common
Slightly less crappy crafts for sale in this fenced off yard and small building, but still mostly overpriced junk.  There is one vendor from whom I buy leaf earrings every year.

Storrowton Village
Think of Colonial Williamsburg or Historic Deerfield in miniature, and you have an idea of what this collection of historic buildings, brought from various towns and reassembled as one small village, is like.  A haven from the crowds, this is the place to spend much of your time.  Go into each building.  Talk to the costumed docents.  Watch the blacksmith demo.  Sit in the one-room schoolhouse and read the blackboard.  Sit on the shady lawn with some kettle corn (overpriced, but good) and contemplate whether you really want to buy something fragile in the gift shop and carry it around for the rest of the day (answer: no).
Outside the one-room schoolhouse
Hampden County Building
Tucked away in here, easily missed if crowds are blocking the view of the sandwich board outside that is the only advertising, is a miniature circus display.  It is dusty and old-fashioned.  The walls are covered in old circus posters.  It is a relative haven of peace and quiet and worth a visit.

New England Grange Building
The grange is a political, social, and community organisation for farmers that was founded just after the Civil War.  It still promotes policies that benefit farmers and rural communities but I am not certain there is anyone under 90 involved at this point.  The basement of the building is given over to an outpost of Yankee Candle, so just ignore that.   The main floor sells some acrylic crafts and over-sweetened jams that are the sort of things you'd have to politely thank your great aunt for and then never use.  The upstairs has a room dedicated to each of the six New England states' granges.  There is sometimes a docent who will be eager to chat with you about the artefacts in the room.  I recommend it as an interesting slice of history and another escape from the crowds.  You will be the only one there.

Midway, Music, and More
There is a ginormous midway full of carnival rides, games, and more junk food than you can shake a strip of candy buttons at, but I have never crossed under the archway and entered this area of the fair.  Never once.  I don't see the appeal of wasting $10 to throw a ball to not win a cheap stuffed animal, nor of watching people puking up their chilli dog and beers on the Tilt-A-Whirl.  And that death trap that looks like a circular swing set except the swings are raised high on a pole and fly around it horizontally with centrifugal force?  I don't want to be in range when the chairs fall off.
The midway is thataway.
When I was about five, a carnival came to town and I begged my mother to let me ride the carousel because horses.  As the ride ended, another little girl touched a pole as she got off and was electrocuted.  She lived, but it was quite a shock.  It could have been me.  I have never trusted the safety of carnival rides since and won't go near them.

There are atrocious music acts, and various forms of low-brow entertainment in the evenings.  I have never stayed after dark to attend them so I can't offer any advice in that area.

I would also avoid the animal rides – the cruelty of elephants and camels being kept in captivity for this purpose is appalling.  They look disheartened and bored, their spirits broken and hope gone.  Even the ponies are mistreated, stuck going in a circle all day giving rides to screaming and flailing children.

The people watching is kind of like an outdoor version of the People of Wal-Mart.  It's pretty frightening, even if you aren't already a misanthrope.  And the fact that half the teens appear to be pregnant is depressing when you want desperately to have children.  T-shirts spotted include: "We the People are wicked pissed" (not sure which kind of pissed or why); "You're at the top of my To-Do list" (charming); "Official Hooters Hiring Supervisor -> Apply Here" (keep it classy, dude).  One tall guy walked by me staring at my tits and exclaimed, "It's a beautiful day."  It's a mystery how he could assess the weather when he was looking down. (No, he wasn't the Hooters guy.)
It's a beautiful day.
Food & the Avenue of States
Admit it, this is what you are really here for: The excuse to eat the most egregious junk food with relative impunity.  And you will find the most egregious junk food on the planet here.  The Big E's signature burger is a bacon cheeseburger served on a glazed donut for a bun.  The Pork Palace serves a BBQ Sundae that looks even more disgusting than it sounds.  There are exotic animal burgers from kangaroo to alligator, and pretty much anything you can picture deep-fried, and some things you can't, e.g. deep-fried martini.  From the front gate onwards, the paths are lined with food vendors selling typical fair food.  Ignore all of them and keep walking straight to the Avenue of States at the very back.
I did say deep-fried everything.
The poor nutrition is rivalled only by the poor grammar.
The Avenue of States is a row of six state houses that represent each of the New England states.  Each is filled with vendors selling food and products associated with that state.

Rhode Island showcases seafood, selling chowder, clam cakes and assorted other fishy dishes.  For dessert, there is chocolate-covered bacon and $20 candy apples.  I can't fathom anyone eating the former or spending money on the latter.  It's the smallest building, with the fewest vendors.  Has anyone ever actually been to Rhode Island?  I'm told it exists, but I don't think I know anyone who has actually been there and can prove it.

I've never heard a satisfactory explanation for why this is necessary.
Yes, that does say $18.95, plus tax.
Maine is blueberries and lobster, although not in the same dish, thank goodness.  Also, oddly, potatoes.  The queue of people waiting to fork over $6.50 for a baked potato is astonishing.  Potatoes are so cheap and simple to make at home, I don't understand why people are willing to waste money or calories on one at the fair.

New Hampshire can't seem to find its own niche.  It piggybacks on the New England seafood thing, with a lobster mac'n'cheese that, despite its obscene price of $16, is absurdly popular.  It also gets in on the maple thing, with maple cotton candy and assorted other maple treats.  There used to be a vendor called The Soap Guy who sold really nice handmade soaps and bath bombs.  One year, he wasn't there but his usual booth spot was empty, meaning he had cancelled too close to the event for them to find a replacement.  Turns out he had died of a congenital heart ailment just before the Big E.  Scary.
Get your $16 lobster mac'n'cheese here. Or don't, if you have any sense.
Because they can't let Vermont have all the maple fun.
The creativity may be at its best, but the grammar isn't. 
New Hampshire: We have bears here, too.
Massachusetts goes for a cranberry theme, and the humanely-raised turkey pot pies are my go-to lunch option every year.  Some of the best food is in here.
Where else but a fair are you gonna eat with a spork?
Connecticut's food specialty is, uh, Pez,  And Legos.  There's also a tobacco display, a vineyard promotion, and a huge booth for Mohegan Sun.  Apparently, people in Connecticut drink and smoke and pop Pez whilst they play with their Legos and gamble.  Keep it classy, Connecticut.
Connecticut gets political.
Connecticut: Come for the giant Lego sculpture, eat elsewhere.
Vermont, of course, has the best building and the best vendors.   There's a chocolate shop from Bennington with autumn-leaf-themed chocolates, a Ben & Jerry's (which you can skip, since you can get that anywhere), wood-fired pizza, maple everything (really), ice cider, cookies, and crafts and clothing that are actually good quality – buy something from the organic and environmentally-responsible Vermont Clothing Company, and Danforth Pewter.  When I told Danforth Pewter that the autumn maple leaf keychain I had bought last year had chipped, they replaced it.  They stand behind everything they make, and it's all lovely and leafy.

They make lots of nice crap from wood in Vermont.
Elbow your way through the crowds to Danforth Pewter
Flannel goes well with Vermont
More chocolate covered bacon.  Why?! 
Bacon s'mores!  This is getting out of hand. 
Skip it - you can get this anytime.
More flannel, because you can never have too much in a Vermont winter.
Or a Vermont summer.

(Ok, so I was a little harsh on Connecticut.  They do have an old-fashioned soda vendor, with root beer, birch beer, and sarsaparilla, as well as Good Old Boys lemonade (get the limeade and ask for less sugar), and ice cream (try scoops of the Pumpkin Pie and Graham Central Station with hot fudge).)
Whoops.  I forgot to take a photo of the ice cream.  How did that happen?