My father just got home from Miami and has handed me two copies of the weekly indie paper. Now I can read them while sitting in my suburban room, listening to suburban radio stations and wonder why the hell I'm still a suburban girl.

Sounds like a bitchin' night.

But I don't want to talk about my life or lack thereof. I want to talk about deep-fried foods. Specifically, deep-fried foods on a stick.

I went to the state fair this past weekend. Even though the fashion uh-uhs were surprisingly lacking this year, the food was abundant. You could practically hear all the arteries falling to their knees and praying for sweet mercy.

Being a vegetarian, there's not that much variety of deep-fried food on a stick for me to indulge in. There was the cheese on a stick and that was pretty much it. Then there are the deep-fried vegetables that I get horrible cravings for throughout the year, but they're not on a stick. And we're talking about the absence of meatless food on sticks, which the fair lacked.

Until this year.

This year, I ate a deep-fried Snickers bar. And it was on a stick. A deep-fried candy bar on a stick. A new low or a new high? You decide.

Jesus Christ on a bike...it was good. My teeth hurt. My brain whirred. My best friend looked on in disgust.

Whoever decided to deep-fry candy bars and put them on sticks (!) is my new lover.

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