You are the One, Neo John. You see, you may have spent the last few years looking for me, but I have spent my entire life looking for you.

So, we went out to the Golden Days street fair. Golden Days is the local summer celebration of all things Fairbanks, primarily its gold rush history. No better way to do than with a street fair and with a rubber duck race. We were going to go to the parade as well, but our little blonde alarm clock, The Boy, failed to get up at his usual time. There's always next year.

We saw the gentlemen pictured above at the street fair (click on the picture to see a closer view, I mean, if you really want to). Paging Dr. Freud! The first thought I had when I saw these gentleman was: "Okay, am I going to turn into Agent Smith?"

I noticed I wasn't trembling or anything, so I assumed that instead of being super-secret alternate reality agents, these were just three 19 year-olds dressing strangely and acting goofy. One of them kept making a sound like an eagle screeching. They weren't being profane or anything, so, I'd put this down as good, poorly washed (it can't be good, clean fun if they're not clean), "I can't get a date" fun.

The Mrs., The Boy and I walked around the street fair. We pushed The New Boy in the stroller, because heaven knows you wouldn't want to carry him, since he now weighs 70 American pounds (that's like 6 kilograms) at only ten weeks of age. He eats more than a teenager right now, and it's all we can do to keep him from eating our cat. Where is Fluffy, anyway?

The street fair consisted of lots of booths selling art, bratwurst, and t-shirts. They surrounded the central statue in Golden Heart Plaza as shown below. There were two booths selling toys, but if The Boy (4.75328 years old) doesn't even recognize the things they were selling as toys, you know there's a problem.

A band played in the background, but they weren't loud. They were fun to listen to, but would have been excellent if they had backended the country sets with some Iron Maiden. We went around the fair twice, and then headed home. More wood to cut.

The most annoying thing about the fair was that a man who looked a lot like Laurence Fishburne kept following me around offering me some jellybeans and saying,

"This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes."

Whatever that means. If it means I'll have to dress all in black, I think I'll have to pass. I had black parachute pants in the 1980's. We really don't want to go there, do we?