I attended the Renaissance Pleasure Faire in Los Angeles yesterday. Once every 10-years or so we forget how hot, dusty, and annoying the faire is and make the trip again. For me it’s the crowds that make the event intolerable. Even with the faire being outdoors, milling around with an oppressively large mix of oddly dressed people is not what I call fun. At least they sell beer and turkey legs.
I normally walk around while smoking a good cigar. Not so this year. Smoking was limited to designated smoking areas only. So I was exiled to geek hell for a few hours with only beer and good food to take my mind off the crowds. It’s a good thing I brought my camera, otherwise I might have gone postal.
I had just read Greta Christina’s A feminist Defense of Boobquake the morning of my visit, so I was acutely aware of my pending cleavage dilemma. Would the profusion of cleavage shown by not-so-feminist Renaissance garbed women cause a violent earthquake? I figured it was worth the risk. The Santa Fe Dam location for this year’s faire actually sits atop the Sierra Madre fault and near the San Andreas fault. The real question; shoot cleavage or not to shoot cleavage. I opted to shoot just in case I needed proof of cleavage in the event the Sierra Madre fault slipped.
This morning I reviewed USGS data for May 1, 2010 and found no significant earthquakes in the region. Since we get a couple of dozen earthquakes a day here, I defined significant as something that would make the news. May 1, was quiet. No earthquakes to speak of despite a profusion of cleavage. In some cases profusion does not do the situation justice. With so much cleavage on display, you would think God would just smite the whole region with an epic 8.0 quake. But no, the only odd thing to happen (besides my sore neck) was the data functions on my Blackberry mysteriously stopping the moment I entered the fair. The Verizon gods were angry.
As for weirdness… well it’s the Renaissance faire, normal everyday folk put on chainmail or dress as Mongo the Mexican pirate and parade around like it’s normal. Except this guy. I think he was a real pirate, or the equivalent in today’s time. When I asked to take his picture he struck a pose and said his name was Mongo. I believed him. I think the guns were real. I know the foot long buck knife hanging off his ass was real.
I saw several people dressed as Mary and Joseph. I was temped to tell them the Renaissance period stretched from the 14th to 16th centuries, so their costumes were inappropriate, but I opted for a beer instead. There was also a profusion of clergy wearing wooden crosses. Most were simply drunken party goers, but a few were serious. This guy was not serious, plus his wife was nice. I managed to avoid the overt bible tract bearing Christians. It was easy, they were distracted.
My favorite picture of the day is Awkward teens being awkward. Why? because it takes guts to walk around in weird outfits while holding a pickle.
A priest raped a child. The headline sounds gruesome, right? Perhaps the press prefers a headline that is less graphic? Or perhaps they want to construct and image that does not bring to mind the base violation of a child? I don’t know the answer, but I want to know.
