At the end of March I visited my first Renaissance Faire, the Sherwood Forest Faire in McDade, TX. Not counting things like He-Man as a child, I’d been a swords & sorcery fan ever since my father gave me a copy of Piers Anthony’s Crewel Lye: A Caustic Yarn when I was 12 or 13. I’ve also been an off-and-on D&D player, and I’ve gone to a few Gen Cons back around the turn of the century and seen plenty of folks dressed up in costume, so a Ren Faire was always on the old to-do list, eventually. Work and other things just always seemed to get in the way and it was never a high priority to me. Lately the stars are aligning to give me more free time and disposable income, so getting in these bucket-list items is far more feasible. My sister and her husband had been to this particular faire before and it took no arm-twisting on their part to convince me to join them, and even to assemble a costume to wear.
Fortunately, we got very lucky with the weather. Party sunny, with highs in the low 70s, and lots of tree cover to provide shade if needed makes it easy to wear some of the costumes, and we saw plenty of costumes that must have taken weeks to create. I have friends who are cosplayers and know to some extent how hard they work on their particular craft.
We missed the jousting events that day, but we did manage to observe a couple of knights engaged in armed combat. I used to know someone involved with the Historical European Martial Arts Alliance, but she wasn’t there to critique the event. Still, it was enjoyable to watch two people clonking each other with dulled swords.
We also sat for a falconry demonstration with several kinds of birds of prey. This was highly entertaining, as there were several perches at the edge of the semicircular arrangement of benches the audience sat upon to watch, so while the handler extolled the virtues of each avian death machine, the birds would fly from the stage out to one of the perches, passing either just over our heads or lower through the aisles, then turn on the perch and swoop back up to the stage for a morsel of cat kibble (probably not made from real cats.) The owl was certainly the most fearsome looking, although I wouldn’t like my chances against any of the birds we saw – hawks, falcons, the lone owl, and a white-necked raven named Ichabod.
Along with the events and the costume watching, there were assorted minstrels singing or playing instruments, as well as shops and taverns, the latter of which were source of excellent libations from which one could partake. Personally, I most enjoyed the blackberry mead, but there was also a honey mead that wasn’t bad at all. It was while waiting in line for another round of liquid joy that I began to suffer an attack of plumage envy. I had thought my hat would at least be among the most magnificent there, but such aspirations were quickly dashed as I cast my gaze around. I counted no less than six people nearby with large plumes in their hats swaying in the light wind, as if nodding to each other in amusement at my dismal display. I mentioned this sad fact to my brother-in-law and thereupon swore a private oath to rectify this appalling condition forthwith.
We were able to find a shop with several types of hats for sale and at the counter a cylinder holding a considerable array of most satisfactory plumes for sale. I purchased the largest white one on hand and a slightly smaller one in turquoise, thanked the proprietor fervently and set myself to depart with my bounty. However, I was stopped by another merchant in the store, who advised me she could affix the plumes immediately if I so wished. I most fervently so wished! She took the hat and plumes and disappeared deeper into the tent while I waited eagerly for her return. In a mere subjective half-eternity she returned and let me know that I had been wearing my hat backward the entire time. I had ordered the hat to have the right-hand brim pinned upward, but instead it had arrived with the left brin up. By wearing it with the brim up on the right side, the seam of the hat was now turned to the front and visible like a scarlet letter to all. She presented me with two options to correct this fashion faux-pas: either poke two holes in the correct side of the hat to pin the correct right side brim up, or take my smaller blue feathers and affix them to the hat such that they covered the seam. The latter course struck me as the superior option, so then and there that is what she did. I was beyond words with happiness at the transformation she effected. My hat was now a Hat worthy of the name!
Almost immediately after leaving the tent my brother-in-law was accosted by three other fellows wearing the same green tunic as he. They approached him with cheery hoots and back-slaps as if meeting a long-lost comrade. After overcoming a moment of bewilderment, he returned the favor and a hearty laugh was shared before they moved on. My sister lamented at the lack of a picture of that encounter, so we endeavored to catch up to that merry trio. By the time we did, they had found yet another fellow with the same woodsy-green tunic and were repeating their hearty ritual. My sister pushed her husband into the circle and took many pictures of this fivesome as they hooted and laughed while a crowd of onlookers laughed and cheered.
As the group broke again and went their separate ways, my sister found a most out-of-place figure and dashed after him for a picture. Her husband and I, laughing, followed apace while she obtained her trophy photograph.
We spent most of the day there and all of us considered it well worth the time, and I’ve little doubt we will be back in Sherwood again soon.
So you like crossing swords?
I’ll take swords for 400, Alex.
Anti-globalist swords?
The penis mightier!
First thought: There’s a distinct lack of grumble aboutcha. Will investigate further. *wary stare*
Oh, mercy. I like some of his sci-fi stuff but that series… I just could not even.
For me it was a pretty perfect introduction to the swords-and-sorcery genre. Didn’t take itself seriously at all.
I like the “serious” stuff more.
Prolly the same reason I don’t do renfairs. 🥴
Piers always seemed to have good ideas then beat them to death. the Xanth novels should have ended after Castle Roogna, 48 books, fucking hell. ‘On A Pale Horse’ was good but he just had to make it a six part series and the other entries didn’t hold up. Like wise ‘Bio of a Space Tyrant” just dragged on too long. Three books, that’s the magic number. First of all ‘Trilogy’ is a nice solid word, and secondly almost every series that goes longer get dumber exponential with each subsequential entry.
Yeah. I was a big fan of the “Apprentice Adept” series until it went from 3 books to 7. Same with “Incarnations of Immortality” – I tapped out two or three books in.
I thought the first nine Xanth books were mostly fine. I didn’t know there were that many now; I stopped long ago. Bio of a Space Tyrant was also good. The Incarnations series was off and on, should have stopped at six. Evil and Time were the best ones in that series to me. The Blue Adept series was okay for the most part.
The King’s Blades books by Dave Duncan are probably my favorite, and there are a total of eleven if you count the unpublished one.
But his single finest work IMHO is an early standalone, Macroscope (1969). Check it.
Piers Anthony’s Crewel Lye: A Caustic Yarn when I was 12 or 13
I think I was also about that age when I read that book.
Brim pinned up on the right is the gay way, right?
Back in the 90s, earring on the *right* ear was gay, correct? I’ve been seeing ballplayers wearing only one recently, and it’s stuck out.
Also fun: Pete Crow Armstrong LOVES his dip. Always plays with a big load of whatever of the 5-types of nicotine pouches we sold at the station somewhere in his mouth. Some other Cubs, as well, likely because of PCA. Also fun: Networks never say anything, assuredly cuz they ‘can’t. Teehee! Oh! Express actually stocked a bit of Big League Chew around my last week. Fuck yeah, I love that shit.
Yes, it stopped being “gay” around then. Because as usual straights took it over.
Texas?
I’d hoped you went to Nottingham.
My company has an office in Nottingham.
In the before times, when I would have considered leaving the country, I wanted to visit. Maybe catch a Forest match.
Nice duds, dude.
Thanks, I enjoyed the getup, but I was dismayed at how quickly my boots got coated in dust.
I was dismayed at how quickly my boots got coated in dust.
Try living in these kinds of clothes for a week.
And…off to escrow and title. House sold!
Mozel Tov
Excellent!
Obligatory?
🥳
We are elated to say the least. Are we in the money? A bit and it is already spent in savings/investments and other avenues
Stop raggin’ on your plume, man.
Once I was properly bedecked I was fine.
Looks like they do a really good job organizing, and it looks incredibly fun, as long as I’m going sans dress-up. (I have a weird issue with costumes. I really don’t do them well. I purposefully *don’t* do them to avoid this.
Speaking of, this looks like a really good outlet for UCS. (Other than the people and all.) Seriously, seems a good group to ‘befriend’ to work on metal-working, and armor+ is certainly up his alley. I’m sure this has been mentioned before.
Dressing up like Waldo in public seems to miss the point. His power comes from highly deceptive anonymity. A massive flock of ’em would be a fun way to disguise someone in a crowd, though. Hrm. Plural noun?
“Robber escapes into streets! Red and white sweater! A wardrobe of Waldos overwhelms discerning eyes! Suspect is *plume-less!* Repeat! PLUME-LESS!”
Was he dressing as Waldo or one of the sailors in a UCS story?
UCS’ sailors are far more period appropriate.
Yeah, dress-up is definitely not my thing.
I’ve read most of the comments on this site most days since it started in 2017. So I’ve gotten familiar with the various verbal tics and pet phrases of the commenters. The following is meant in good fun.
Spot the Not: UCS
For best results, read in the voice of Darth Vader or Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
1. Crosses are for Christians, Muslims get impaled, Commies get dropped.
2. That judge should have been drawn and quartered for miscarriage of justice.
3. He should be marched to village square and burned at the stake to the sound of drums and fifes.
4. “Donald Tusk” is no name for a Polish politician. He’s clearly ineligable and should be shot.
5. He has brought shame to the school and should be expelled. All the staff and faculty who abetted the fraud should be executed.
6. Everyone who owns or operates an ice cream truck and anyone who plays or sings “do your ears hang low” should be flayed alive and their skins made into banners warning against making noise.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lXas5Ix65U
6, while the anger and over the top desire for violence is spot on, UCS would never admit to knowing “Do your ears hang low”
@Derp: Whoops. Mis-thread: You still have access to FB? I sent ya a msg a long while back. Kinda want to throw an idea atcha.
Go for it.
Sent a tester.
2
Oh…the not. Uh…6, hype has this one down pat
Why does the local ice cream truck play La Cucaracha?
Ours growning up played Kenny G.
It could have been Zamfir.
3 is the Not. I made that one up. For shame, guys.
He said 6 within the past few days.
Falconry IS awesome.
I promise I’ll read this later, but the Bruins just scored the most bonkers goal
https://x.com/BR_OpenIce/status/2046759424618807609
Is it just me or is anyone else having trouble viewing video clips posted to X?
Another annoyance to make you join. They won’t play for me.
And call back to a DEG comment, my Win7 computer is rejected from some websites like Lowe’s and Home Depot
I was reading about one of the Artemis astronauts. This stuck out to me:
***
Glover says he listens to “Whitey on the Moon”, a 1970 poem by Gil Scott-Heron, twice a week on his commute to work.
***
***
Accompanied by conga drums, Scott-Heron’s narrative tells of medical debt, high taxes and poverty experienced at the time of the Apollo Moon landings. The poem critiques the resources spent on the space program while Black Americans were experiencing social and economic disparities at home.
***
If he likes that poem so much, it’s odd that he chose to be an astronaut.
I’m guessing he made that up out of thin air.
Why? That sounds like a stretched piece to pigeon hole a narrative he was unwilling to play with…
Sounds like the writer’s ‘inject bullshit Message’ impulse is powerful enough to escape orbit.
For Mojo
***
Donald Rowland, a Suffolk author of nearly 200 books – written under more than 30 pseudonyms – has made a living out of his romantic fiction. Donald churns out more novels than anybody else in the county. He specialises in old-fashioned romance, his heroes and heroines are morally beyond reproach, there is no sex in his novels. The reason for his prolific output is simple – Donald is paid just fifty pounds per book.
***
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nlbfZGFKuI
Also, fun post grumble. Enjoyed it greatly!