Back from Mobile! Well, by 'back' I mean I'm in a Red Roof Inn in Maryland waiting for my sweetie. I was dropped off last night. If you want to be considered an oddball? Be in a motel without a car.
(Mind you, having a sword next to the tv might have something to do with it).
So, yeah, this weekend was the Mobile Faire with jousting, a petting zoo, a raptor show, and the plotline of Phoenix Swords privateers (my group, in other words) trying to take over the kingdom, Phoenix Swords guards stopping them, and Phoenix Swords stage shows, historical demos and fire performances happening on either end of *those* performances. Oh, and the bounty hunt game, cuz we like to stay busy.
I've been to the Pensacola Faire twice, which is only an hour or so east of Mobile, so I'd been exposed to the Deep South before but there were still some distinct cultural differences I'd either forgotten about or not picked up on before. For one thing, cigarettes? Everywhere. I’m not used to seeing patrons walking around in garb smoking. I’m really not used to restaurants having smoking sections. The accent rocked my world--I got a little tingle when I heard my first patron say "Ah'm fixing to get a corn dog." And oh, oh, gotta mention this—the crowds on Saturday seemed oddly small, despite the good location and great weather, and none of the locals were surprised by this. Everyone in southern AL, it turned out, was at home watching the ‘bama vs. Auburn football game on TV.
The more tired I got, the more I found the accent kicking in, btw. It was sad. I overdosed on caffeine last night and was awake and talking until 2:15, and I could hear my ‘there’ turning into ‘thur’. When I say "Damn" it's now three syllables long. I need to watch some BBC and balance things out.
As for us, we kicked our usual amount of butt. On Saturday morning Holly told me, “There’s a ten minute gap between Don Quixote and our historical show where I have to change my costume. You and Misty work out something to hold the crowd. Do some Shakespeare or something!” And thus the World’s Worst Shakespearean Troupe was born. It was a hoot. The kids seemed to really get into 'helping us out' when our plotlines went wrong. "And then Juliet was attacked by a 20-foot-high ape! Aroo!!" "NOOOO! They kiss!"), and I personally thought that the battle between the hobbits and the cave troll in act three of 'Midsummer Night's Dream' was so good that Shakespeare probably meant to add it in himself, but just didn't have the time.
The raptor show took place very close to our tent, and oh wow...it was like the Aerie of Misfit Birds. You had the barn owl who'd been raised by humans and not socialized with other owls at all, who still made baby owl noises and had only begun learning to hoot in the last year. You had Zuzu the golden eagle, who'd been used as a display bird in the front window of a pet store by a crappy owner who'd catch her with a fishing net each morning and evening and keep her in a parrot cage. As a result she was deathly afraid of things that looked like long poles. (Did I mention there was a joust?) And you had the vulture, Igor, the smartest bird, who was much more interested in trotting back and forth on the ground with the patrons than in listening to his trainer. Which was adorable...vultures have an ungainly, bent-forward run like a cross between a roadrunner and an elderly priest...and if the audience hadn't just been told that when vultures get nervous they vomit acidic stomach bile, they would've thoroughly enjoyed it. They were so dysfunctional, they made me miss my dog.
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