Festival musings

Feeling a little sick myself, now, but it's the usual sinus tightness and minor sore throat; no biggie.

I'm not really in a position to criticize kcrf in general since I am in a position to profit by its success, but I'm not beyond a little maudlin remembrances myself.  The Jester Rejects stopped working faire far sooner than I did and for many of the same reasons I quit.  There used to be a musician out at faire, first name Lee can't remember the last name; I have a very brown picture in my head for him: brown hat, brown pants, brown vest, muslin shirt, mustache, flute.  He used to say that there are three reasons to do any activity: for the money, for fun, or the love of it.  If you can't lay your hands on those anymore, it's time to stop.

Well, we certainly can't support our families doing this; the fun's been scripted and scheduled out of it; and how many relationships have we ended because love was just too much of an effort?

I can't say what I'd be doing if circumstances were different.  After all, I have two children under the age of five, and two months worth of weekends every year is more time than I want to spend away from them.  ( Why..? )

I miss the festival experience still, though.  Some of my best and worst memories are there, and in many ways I still define myself in its terms.  I miss the cold mornings, dragging ass home at the end of a day, pre- and post-morning-meeting, I miss the crowds, and most of all I miss my fellow performers.  I still get my fix by working from time to time for D.Reardon at the Astral Sea cart, and in that way I can capture the fun and the love and, indeed, make enough to pay for the weekend and come out even by Sunday night.

That said, it saddens me as, year after year, the scenario gets stranger, the veterans become more cynical, and the quality of the rest of the performance drops.  I can walk to width and length of the faire and never be spoken to by someone in a costume whom I don't know.  Is it any wonder that small start-up Who-ish faires keep drifting by, their small voices crying out "WE'RE HERE WE'RE HERE WE'RE HERE!"

And we pick that dandelion and carry that speck.

 

Festival musings

Feeling a little sick myself, now, but it's the usual sinus tightness and minor sore throat; no biggie.

I'm not really in a position to criticize kcrf in general since I am in a position to profit by its success, but I'm not beyond a little maudlin remembrances myself.  The Jester Rejects stopped working faire far sooner than I did and for many of the same reasons I quit.  There used to be a musician out at faire, first name Lee can't remember the last name; I have a very brown picture in my head for him: brown hat, brown pants, brown vest, muslin shirt, mustache, flute.  He used to say that there are three reasons to do any activity: for the money, for fun, or the love of it.  If you can't lay your hands on those anymore, it's time to stop.

Well, we certainly can't support our families doing this; the fun's been scripted and scheduled out of it; and how many relationships have we ended because love was just too much of an effort?

I can't say what I'd be doing if circumstances were different.  After all, I have two children under the age of five, and two months worth of weekends every year is more time than I want to spend away from them.  ( Why..? )

I miss the festival experience still, though.  Some of my best and worst memories are there, and in many ways I still define myself in its terms.  I miss the cold mornings, dragging ass home at the end of a day, pre- and post-morning-meeting, I miss the crowds, and most of all I miss my fellow performers.  I still get my fix by working from time to time for D.Reardon at the Astral Sea cart, and in that way I can capture the fun and the love and, indeed, make enough to pay for the weekend and come out even by Sunday night.

That said, it saddens me as, year after year, the scenario gets stranger, the veterans become more cynical, and the quality of the rest of the performance drops.  I can walk to width and length of the faire and never be spoken to by someone in a costume whom I don't know.  Is it any wonder that small start-up Who-ish faires keep drifting by, their small voices crying out "WE'RE HERE WE'RE HERE WE'RE HERE!"

And we pick that dandelion and carry that speck.

 

My most vivid memory of festival

Just a story that defines the positive side of the festival experience for me.

( snipped for those who'd rather avoid this sort of thing )

My most vivid memory of festival

Just a story that defines the positive side of the festival experience for me.

( snipped for those who'd rather avoid this sort of thing )