Spotted on the Roadside: It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers!

September 4, 2015 2 Comments read Pacific, Spotted on the Roadside, Travel, USA, Washington, West

In accordance with the agreement signed by all bloggers, I am contractually obligated to celebrate the return of the pumpkin spice latte, long may it reign over inferior similarly pumpkin spiced products, such as the pumpkin spice air freshener, pumpkin spice laundry detergent, pumpkin spice lady garden freshener, and pumpkin spice heartworm pills for dogs. This particular mural was painted for Starbucks’ PSL Days commercial on the side of the DeCamp and Stratford Furniture building and is a reminder during those other horrible nine months of the year that Our Latte has not forsaken us.

Spotted on Cherry St in Burlington, WA

In Days of Old When Knights Were Bold: The Washington Midsummer Renaissance Faire

September 2, 2015 Comments Off read Attractions, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

If Camlann Medieval Village is an accurate portrait of a quiet 14th century medieval village, the Washington Midsummer Renaissance Faire is the 14th century Disneyland. It spans three weekends in August, with three distinct themes, different performances depending on the weekend and a schedule that’s so jam-packed that you could not see everything in a day unless you were really goal-oriented, which is why some people choose to camp out on the grounds for the weekend. I chose to make a go of one jam-packed day during the third weekend, Her Majesty’s Royal Masquerade, where visitors were encouraged to don their most fantastic masks and join the merriment.

My first stop at the Faire was Cirque du Sewer, the only show with an acrobat, trained acro-rats, and an acro-cat (also: an assistant in a hat, and instead of a mat, a poop towel). The show was charming and delightful, though I did once have to suppress my gag reflex when she placed one of the rats on her head and brushed its tail behind her ear like it was her bangs. I don’t know why that revulsed me so utterly, I’m just squeamish. It probably didn’t help that the rats all had names like “Ebola”, “Typhoid” and “Literally Coated In Diseases That Are Flaking Off Onto My Forehead Right Now”. (Maybe I made up one of these names. Maybe.)

After the exciting grand finale of Cirque du Sewer, which involved slack rope walking and more theme-appropriate piccolo playing, I made my way to the Jousting and Tournament arena, where the Seattle Knights (previously seen at the Hurl Faire and the Portland Pirate Festival) staged battles and performed feats of skill on horseback. I’ve really got to hand it to those guys–I was feeling a little warm just standing around in my t-shirt and jeans, and they were battling in armor for hours. No wonder one of their members passed out during a fight! I saw her later in the day and she was, thankfully, fine…I don’t want to see anyone get hurt for the sake of my entertainment.

Finally, in the distance, I spotted the notorious pickle wench, purveyor of ice cold pickles, and wearer of a really ridiculously awesome pickle mask. It was pretty refreshing…for a pickle. Sure, the salt content had me running for McGilly Sasparilly’s “Ambrosia of the Gods” cream soda, but in its first few cold pickle-y bites, I could see why my tablemate at Camlann waxed so rhapsodically about them. Plus, I will pretty much never turn down a proffered pickle. I’d probably even take one from the paws of Ebola the rat, if he felt like sharing.

After that, I wandered around, catching the tail end of a performance by Broon, and setting up shop really early for Jeffrey the Jongular. Just before the show, he looked out at the audience and said he needed to go out and wrangle up more audience members. I jokingly asked him why we weren’t good enough for him, and he asked me how big my tip was going to be.

First, Jeffrey, it is not polite to ask a woman about the size of her tips, and second, it made things really awkward when the only cash I had left turned out to be a fistful of quarters from the bottom of my purse. I think the tip issue is the thing that most didn’t sit right with me over the course of the day: with the sole exception of the knights, every performance I attended ended with a lengthy spiel asking for tips, some more aggressive than others, some indicating that our tips were the only thing keeping them off the street. I don’t know what the deal is with Faire, if they’re not paying their performers or what, but it seems weird to me to pay an entry fee into a place that’s offering you a day’s entertainment, only to then feel like the biggest piece of shit on Earth if you only have a few bucks to toss into their hat after partaking in said entertainment, like you’re ripping them off. I don’t typically walk around with a bunch of cash in my wallet–I happened to visit an ATM a few days prior to the Faire and had roughly $40 on me. I spent two bucks on a pickle, three bucks on a soda, and the rest of what I had on me in tips, and when that was gone, I felt like I shouldn’t go see any more shows because I was tapped out. I did go see one more show, Robin’s Risque Revels, in the adult-only theater, enjoyed all of the lowbrow jokes and songs thoroughly, and afterward I felt so guilty that I didn’t have any cash on me that I practically slunk out of the theater and suggested that we go home for the day. I’m not saying don’t go–I enjoyed the Faire, and I’ll probably go back, just that if and when I do, I will be prepared with more cash on hand so I can enjoy performances AND a giant turkey leg.

Talk About a Puff Piece: The Corgi Picnic

August 31, 2015 3 Comments read Attractions, Pacific, USA, Washington, West

I feel about dogs the way many women feel about babies. If I see you on the street walking your dog, there is a 99.99% chance I am going to ask you if I can pet him, and a 100% chance that I will coo “Hi, puppy!” at him. I want you to tell me about your dog. Tell me his name. Tell me how old he is. Don’t bother scolding him for leaping up into my arms, that is exactly what I want, an opportunity to snuggle your dog. Are things getting weird? Have I descended into gibberish-talking foolishness and you’re starting to worry? Did you have places to go and (other) people to see? Sorry, I might be missing those social cues because I am too busy petting your dog and telling him that he’s such a good boy, yessums he is. I follow more dogs on instagram than I do people. My most commonly used emoji is the smiley face with heart eyes and this is because I love all of these dogs. I will only unfollow your dog if you use him to shill products that are bad for dogs, because the cuteness of dogs should only be used for good, not evil. Once, I was in a garden store looking at dog products and thinking about how much I like Samoyeds when the fluffiest Samoyed I’ve ever seen walked by and I got to pet him. I don’t know if I manifested him from wishing hard enough the way The Secret would have me believe, but I’m also not ruling it out, because one afternoon I spent a lot of time thinking about how much I like candy and a realtor dropped off a bag of candy on the doorstep of my rental house. Of course I will eat candy from strangers, look at me. Either way, what I am saying is that the afternoon I wished I had a Samoyed to pet and one magically appeared ranks as the best coincidence of my life.

Sometimes I feel a little guilty about how enthusiastic I get about other people’s dogs when it’s not like I don’t have a dog of my own. But then I remember that love is not a finite resource, and my little bean has it good, with mountains of toys, a bed in every room, super premium food, and more space on my own bed than I get for myself. Hence why I felt zero guilt snapping up tickets for the annual corgi picnic the second they became available, as I was not going to miss an opportunity to meet and play with up to 100 new corgi friends. After all, there is a reason that “corgi” ends with an “eee” sound, because that is the sound I make whenever I see one.

This is Nala and Theo, corgi best friends.

The pizza provided by the event hosts proved to be excellent corgi bait.

This is Butters, mostly mild-mannered but occasionally turns into Professor Chaos at home.

It was awesome. A dog tornado would roll through the yard, a few would break away for pets and tummy rubs, and then they’d get absorbed back into the group. Everywhere I looked, there was a corgi smile (or two! or ten!). What was surprising was how affable they generally were with one another, even in such large numbers–only a few dogs had to serve hard time in the dog jail pen.

The gracious event hosts are corgi breeders and enthusiasts, and they had a “reserved” pen of their most recent litter so they could become socialized under supervision. I got to hop into the cage and was swarmed by puppies, and it was basically a dream come true. My only regret was that there were no puppy party favors. Napoleon’s regret was not being invited–that, and not getting any pizza, either. Worst. masters. ever.