A particularly soul crushing day at work.
It's been five o'clock somewhere since 10 AM.
So I plan on parking myself on the couch with a margarita, a book, and hours of mindless television.
Woe to thee who interrupts me.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Ren Faire
Since I last posted my car has been in and out of the garage twice, ants invaded and were repulsed from our home, horrible creepy wormy things infested our shrubbery and were summarily dispatched by my husband's Rain (Reign?) of Death, and I was made a princess by a dragon. I'm assuming you believe the parts about the ants and bagworms and car problems, so here is a picture of the dragon.
I don't know why the woman is doing calisthenics in the background, but she brings me fairly close to my point.
Renaissance Faires (in America at least) don't have anything to do with the Renaissance, do they? As we drove ye olde Liberty eastward Saturday morning, Travis and I tried to pinpoint dates for the Renaissance, hoping to help orient ourselves into the time we would be stepping into.
We probably shouldn't have bothered. If the Middle Ages had a Walmart, that's what we stepped into. The first reenactor we met greeted us with a hale "Huzzah" that fit him only slightly better than the woman's kilt and black fannypack he wore around his waist. Then there were the harem girls. And there were many. Predominantly one size- too large to be wearing coins, veils, and little else. Historical accuracy took a backseat to what was 1) comfortable, 2) cheap, and 3) "close enough to medieval times." Who cares if there weren't ninjas in Dark Age Europe- the costumes look cool- let's wear them!
Neither comfortable nor cheap, but "close enough," the dragon was the best part of the festival (for me anyway). A little man wearing a green velour hooded costume in 90 degree heat, his main reason for being there was selling ice cream. He might actually have sold some, too, between dancing ("I'm doing the dragon dance- that's 'cause every dance I do is the dragon dance. It's nice when it works out that way.") and frolicking with the other Fairegoers.
As we were leaving I overheard the dragon begin to tell another merchant what he did in "real life." I walked away before we could hear more of the story. Ants, bagworms, car troubles- that's the stuff of real life. Sometimes it's nice to stay in the fantasy, even if it has only a tenuous grasp on the truth. And even if it's only for a couple of hours.
I don't know why the woman is doing calisthenics in the background, but she brings me fairly close to my point.
Renaissance Faires (in America at least) don't have anything to do with the Renaissance, do they? As we drove ye olde Liberty eastward Saturday morning, Travis and I tried to pinpoint dates for the Renaissance, hoping to help orient ourselves into the time we would be stepping into.
We probably shouldn't have bothered. If the Middle Ages had a Walmart, that's what we stepped into. The first reenactor we met greeted us with a hale "Huzzah" that fit him only slightly better than the woman's kilt and black fannypack he wore around his waist. Then there were the harem girls. And there were many. Predominantly one size- too large to be wearing coins, veils, and little else. Historical accuracy took a backseat to what was 1) comfortable, 2) cheap, and 3) "close enough to medieval times." Who cares if there weren't ninjas in Dark Age Europe- the costumes look cool- let's wear them!
Neither comfortable nor cheap, but "close enough," the dragon was the best part of the festival (for me anyway). A little man wearing a green velour hooded costume in 90 degree heat, his main reason for being there was selling ice cream. He might actually have sold some, too, between dancing ("I'm doing the dragon dance- that's 'cause every dance I do is the dragon dance. It's nice when it works out that way.") and frolicking with the other Fairegoers.
As we were leaving I overheard the dragon begin to tell another merchant what he did in "real life." I walked away before we could hear more of the story. Ants, bagworms, car troubles- that's the stuff of real life. Sometimes it's nice to stay in the fantasy, even if it has only a tenuous grasp on the truth. And even if it's only for a couple of hours.
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