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Above the Renaissance Faire grounds, the sun hid behind the dreary cloudscape of Irwindale, CA. I could hear cackling and crackling of horse hooves, paupers, armor, mugs and swords in the distance. My new Jordans tip-toed across the dirt paved rocky parking lot. Into the peril, I travelled with my friend, Tina Ashvanian, who had issued a challenge to me. The challenge was that I would be forced to accompany her to Renaissance Faire. In return, Tina would accompany me on an epic Sneaker Quest to find a pair of Nike Air Mag sneakers from Back to the Future. The battle was set: her love for The Tudors vs. my passion for heat kicks.
Tina flashed a conspicuous smile and said, “This is the greatest day of my life! Are you ready?” I didn’t respond, I just gulped. Before I could collect myself, I heard in the distance, “Bones Sire, may I interest you in some fresh bones? Come hither,” said the dedicated LARPing (Live Action Role Play) bone saleswoman. |
And away from her I walked, fast, away from her and accidentally deeper and deeper into the festival. Steps into the festival, I asked myself: "What have I been dragged into?!"
"I watched as the hands of time traveled from Drake’s Summer ‘16 to William Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream of 1516."
I smelled the mixed mephitis of grandma’s house, tinker toys, alcohol, and, mud. I noticed a unanimous unathleticism amongst the majority of the townsfolk. Disoriented by the scent and scenery, I blindly followed the very ecstatic Tina descending deeper into Renaissance England. She said to me: “I wish I could live like this forever." I quipped, “I think we will be here forever."
"I think we've died and gone to hell," I said. Tina replied, "More like heaven."
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After mentally hitting rock bottom, we were beached at the shore of a sea of tents. I was skeptical about whether the tents were props or the real deal. As we came closer, paupers sprung out of the campgrounds. They called themselves Clan McCullon. This Clan McCullon, had been in "London" for seven weeks (in real time). They decided, voluntarily, to stay in the Renaissance for seven weeks of deliberate self-deprecating role play (and not the good kind). I was shocked but low key disgusted. I couldn’t do it anymore, I had had enough, it was time to go back to the future. My head swiveled for the nearest exit.
Contrary to my predilection, Tina had conceived a nefarious scheme: To make me watch a Renaissance play, and drag me to the costume store to get dressed up in Renaissance attire. I was able to shake the cross dressing however she kindly dragged me to the play. The issue was no longer about the “festivities”; my heterosexual manhood was being challenged. With a well-observed running count of four black people in attendance, I was ready to dip as quick as a runaway slave. On the way to the play, an oasis in this desert: the food court. Then, and only then did I make my first familiar connection. I rushed to it and decided to eat my anguish away. |
Tina, Tudor fanatic
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As I bit into the familiar taste of cheese covered french fries, I smiled internally and for all to see. Salvation was a hell of a feeling. I found something worthwhile about the place. My new found optimism gave me room to experience this new environment. The experience was definitely something to behold, something to remember. Recognizing the historical accuracy and the LARPers attention to detail, I ended up staying for for three hours in appreciation for the Faire. Needless to say, you can't always judge a Faire by its cover.
"I started to feel better and was able to fair the Ren Faire for the rest of the day. The fries helped me to see the light. Maybe the Ren Faire wasn’t so bad after all."
Read Rob's Revenge: PART TWO: Sneaker Quest vs. Ren Faire.
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