Thursday, November 17, 2011

Deep in the darkest corners of nerdity, I found myself committing the ultimate act of geekery last weekend: going, willingly, to a Renaissance fair. On paper, this was a brazen violation of my greatest personal commandment which, roughly translated, states “thou shalt not attend a Renaissance fair.” But attend I did, driven by the fact that this was one of the larger events in town and the belief that I’ve got to try everything at least once.

Many of my expectations were met in full. There was a sword swallower, fire jugglers, a joust that pitted D-list actor against D-list actor in mortal combat, and a modest shitload of costumed fairgoers. There were a lot of normally attired people, too, who seemed to truly enjoy the proceedings, which threw me for a loop. I saw pirates. (Wrong fair?) A man dressed as a minotaur, being led around on a chain. (Wrong parade?) There was a fellow in a stockade who was being pelted in the face with freshly cut tomatoes from contestants focused enough to ignore his insults. (Wrong career?)

The event was essentially a medieval mall lined with period weapons, fortunetellers, food, clothes, and other doodads, all for sale. What was surprising was how blatant and raw the commerce was. Even Six Flags, which is ostensibly the same conceit, manages to lacquer a thin coat of whimsy over its marketplace. But here? There were chicken fingers being peddled.

One of the first tents Bee and I strolled by was a storefront packed with “genuine” Renaissance glassworks.

“Look at that!” I remarked.  “Authentic Renaissance glass from China.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, laughing.

We survived the gauntlet with minimal damage, stopping only for a bag of roasted pecans, some green tea, and a bottle of Gatorade, just like the kind they brewed during the Middle Ages.