Longest-weekend-known-to-man blog

I hate talking about politics so instead, I'll take a moment to pick on an easy target, Michele Bachmann. I caught her attempt at a speech last night at the RNC and found myself tensing up during the whole thing. No one was really watching or listening...or clapping. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. It was like the slow song during the rock concert when everyone goes to take a leak. The camera men didn't pan out into the audience much because too many people were milling around. I do hand it to her though for ending up on the correct side of the river. Thank goodness her driver was on top of it.

Now that that's out of the way, let's get to the 3rd weekend review. It began with the longest cast call known to man and was quickly followed by the gigantic collapse of Linda's skeletal/muscular system when one side of her rib cage decided to take a left turn at Albuquerque and the other side didn't follow all while staying connected to her spinal cord which made her face contort and her breath stop while I stood and watched. I was waiting for the alien baby to pop out of her stomach. While I'm making the poor decision to make light of the situation, it provided a glowing example of why we're all there.

There never seemed to be the question of whether the show would go on, only the question of how we would change our original plans to fit the situation so the show would go on. That's right, we left Linda behind to shake involuntarily as her body went through shock like she was the skinny nerd who falls off of the white water raft at summer camp. No, I jest.

There were two chiropractors, two massage therapists and one shaman/snake dancer on regular rotation through the Tea House not to mention a hand full of worried cohorts like me. If I were in her position, I wouldn't have wanted to go home either. When you feel the worst, you want to be around people that make you feel the best.

Say what you will about Fitz, he did work for at least three hours, okay two hours, out of the weekend by stepping in at the wine show. Many people were willing to come in and help; Matt, Greta, Brian, Penn, Erin, Judy, D'Lis, and Hawkins. Poor Hawkins, he volunteered to stand at the back of the table containing the drunken wedding party of the bride who was left at the altar, or the bride who may have made the whole thing up to get drunk, we're still not sure. It was rough but everyone came out alive.

Some nicer moments were found at breakfast discussing Shakespeare and Machiavelli, at the Saturday night bbq where I got a chance to talk to people the way I always want to on the street but can't (stupid performance expectations), and the dozens of patron exchanges all of which surprised me in how they proceeded and ended and all of which left me happy.

Quite often, the faire is seen as a place of not-too-high-brow entertainment and perhaps lacking a certain level of intelligence, but it's similar to public education; the intelligence is there, you just have to search harder to find it. If you haven't been roped in yet by the Stones (not Mick and Keith but Jim and his wife) then brush up on your Shakespearean quotes because you're not allowed to leave the roped circle until you recite one. As an innocent bystander, don't pass judgement on whether the particular patron will be able to complete the task or not based on looks or accent, you'll end up being dead wrong. I love the patrons out there. They will surprise you every time.

I also learned a slew of new knock knock jokes.

So to recap: 3rd weekend start - frightening and discombobulated; end - enlightening, exhausted, and very appreciative.