Y is from Australia, you see, so the words "Renaissance Festival" were met with an indifferent shrug when they initially fell from my lips. "We don't have those," she said. Similarly, the words it gets really cold here didn't quite resonate either, until she stepped out of baggage claim and into the frozen fire one brisk February evening. Some things simply must be experienced to be believed.
We set off for the MN Renaissance Festival a few weekends ago, armed with the conviction that A) we would not eat a single cheese curd and B) I would not be tempted to hurl soggy rotten tomatoes at the Vegetable Justice lad, even if he were to scream at me in horror, tomato seeds dripping from his chin, stammering: "Please! Not you! I bet you played softball!" Did they really have softball in the Medieval days? Even if they did not, they most certainly had softball dykes. There are some things even a frilly frock can't hide. Case in point, Ms. Foster as a Civil War-era lass.
We didn't set out to photograph these yahoos patrons. I happened to have a camera in my bag and felt the experience worthy of a People Of WalMart blog opportunity. I know blogging gold when I see it. Almost all of the photos were taken with the permission of the drunk fair-goer in the photo, save for maybe one. I'll let you guess which one that might be. I'd also like to point out that the photographed die-hards do not work at the festival. They left their houses looking like this. Better yet, they purchased these outfits somewhere, not for Halloween, but to stroll around a dusty medieval town, turkey drummy in one hand, goblet of wine in the other. I wonder if Martha Stewart has a remedy for spilled wine on chainmail? Have at it, vermin. The Flickr Set lives!
