I had a camera, a tripod, and a lanyard with a laminated ID, so I got waved right through the gates.

“Have a great time,” said the police officer with a smile on his face.

Walked into the Fairgrounds and just felt . . . happy. My little heart was filled with blood, to quote Ren and Stimpy. Never mind that the prospect of ten, count them TEN videos loomed ahead, and I wondered how many would be E-Z grabs of an event, and how many would be painstakingly assembled, and how many would include my hair looking ridiculous (one, so far) or how I could possibly get all that out of this again, or top that one thing I did (which no one remembers except that it was funny) or whether I’d be shooting in the morn and running back to edit in the afternoon, how many times I’d plop on the bus with the tripod and think “man, it’s hot,” and not even think that this was the last strong expanse of summer, or how many times I would see the old signs with the Gopher mascot in his striped coat and think of the first childhood trip here (one, so far) or even think “how did this sentence begin?”

Oh. Happy. Partly because I knew that if I banged one out today, I would have one done and wouldn’t have to go on Wednesday. So I’m ahead of the game.

I’m so ahead of the game I have next week’s Bleats laid out with the updates finished, and the week after that laid out with the below-the-folds mostly done, because I won’t have time. It’s going to be nothing but Fair from here to the end of Labor Day, and your Gracious Host is going to make you endure everything I have to.

A sneak preview. This is a close-up of some crop art. It’s pointillism, except in seeds. Guess the subject.

I’d like to say “I love going early! It’s like you’re part of a secret society,” but nah. It’s not the Fair yet. It needs food and crowds. It’s the only time of the Fair you look both ways before crossing the street. I tried to talk to some carnies setting up, and they referred me to Guest Services, because they had been instructed not to talk to the press. I just wanted to know where they’d been before they came here.

“We’re all from here,” said one. Really! The southern accent, then, that’s the suburbs down by the airport.

As I left - had to get home to let daughter in, since she was returning from Puppy Training Camp (Scout returned wearing a bandana, which was on backwards, making him look like a little kid wearing a Superman cape) I turned around and saw the clouds pile up behind the spire, the pointless spire, the beautiful Emerald-City WPA tower of the Horticulture building:

There’s no new Social Media Thing this year, unlike last - we did Vines for the website - so it’ll just be Instagrams and of course this, here. Just prepare for less of some stuff for a while.

That's still a lot, considering.

Whoa!

When last we saw the Batman, he was falling off a burning electrical wire with a woman in his arms. However could save himself and his girlfriend who wasn't really his girlfriend because they hadn't kissed because the core audience didn't go for that mushy stuff.

Robin threw him a rope, and Batman - who had his hands full of dame, remember - somehow grabbed it and swung to safety. Ta-DA!

Back at the Japanese Evil Guy’s HQ, the uncle who was kidnapped after he was released from jail refuses to join The New Order, because he is fundamentally decent, and mostly because he’s the love interest’s uncle and will require rescuing. So it’s down to the LABORATORY with him. All the evil plotters in serials have a lab. It’s the first thing the inspectors check before they give you your license.

It’s underwhelming. That’s the best the bad guys can afford?

Oh, I take it back: there’s a zombie-control device implanter that makes up for the lack of sparkly electrical lab-things . . .

Now this is some classic villainy, right here.

We need a plot, though; zombification’s not enough. So the Japanese Evil Guy starts thinking about blowing up a supply train, thereby crippling the American war effort and bringing sure swift victory to the glorious New Order. As he mulls over the means to do this, a hench bursts in with a newspaper! It has a personal ad! Found, one strangely shaped gun - come to this address at 10 PM to claim.

Yes, friends, Batman put an ad in Lost and Found to draw the evildoers. But they are too smart for his clumsy ways: they will show up at nine, steal the gun, and kill the Batman!

But Batman is smart: he sent Robin to stand outside at Eight, and he’s inside with Alfred, expecting the bad guys to show up an hour early. One of them goes on the roof, where Robin must exercise great stealth and restraint, less the criminals bracing Alfred get suspicious:

These guys have got to work on their entrances. Well, a fistfight breaks out, and all would be lost except for the resourcefulness of Alfred:

The bad guys run off, because they have to get to the train tracks and blow up the supply train to make WW2 come to a screeching, shuddering halt of shame and failure. Batman follows, and there’s another fist flight while a model train barrels through HO-gauge scenery, rushing towards the fight. Batman, of course, is knocked unconscious. Note: no zombies with marks have been involved in any way. And so:

Oh no! She has to give up the receipt! What if she has to return the radium because it’s the wrong size?

Motels, as is our wont in the summer.Tumblr around noonish or so - see you then!