Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Good weather (a little too warm and we were in a spot exposed to way too much sun, but basically it was Festival Weather), good event, good gig (despite athsma attack (well, severe but fortunately short-lived breathing problem anyhow) while I was playing bass recorder at one point). And I am slightly sunburnt and extremely tired. And despite having been given a properly potent antihistamine, my throat is wrecked, my sinuses are unhappy, and various parts itch (and there was that aforementioned athsma More important things to write will wait. More important things to read will wait. More important things to do will wait. Sleep is most urgent.

"There are, however, some adjectives that don't lend themselves well to sex. Crispy, for instance. I'm not sure how sex could be crispy. Crisp, perhaps, with a sort of martial quality and a snappy beat. But not crispy. Crunchy is different. Not pleasant-sounding, and perhaps transmissible (depending on what kind of crunchiness you're thinking about), but imaginable. Not crispy, though." -- misia 2004-01-14

(And this will be even funnier to various of my friends who already know my story that involves the word "crunchy". The short version: if you use peanut butter, use the smooth kind. -- Glenn)

At one point yesterday I was talking to a few attendees of the festival, and one pointed to the pewter drinking vessel hanging from my belt and asked, "Is that a real goblet?"

I know better: I should expect questions like this. Didn't someone write a filk song involving all the "is that a real ..." questions they've gotten as a historical re-enactor (starting with "is that a real fire?")? But no, I was caught unprepared, a bit stunned actually, and didn't have an apropriately witty answer handy. I was too busy thinking, "Did he really just ask that? What could he have meant?" (I did go into my stock "goblet patter" on autopilot[1].)

So even though we didn't get asked, "Are you in a play?" while putting gas in vvalkyri's car on the way up, I think being asked whether the pewter goblet I so often drink out of is "real" counts to make yesterday an Official Re-enactor Day. (We did get asked "Why are you dressed that way?" in Tamber's, a cool restaurant in Charles Village (mix of 1950s diner food and Indian) that a few of us stopped at on the way home. But not with the magic "Are you in a play?" phrasing.)

Me, I'm still trying to figure out what would make a chunk of pewter shaped like a goblet not be a real goblet. I should stop trying before I give myself a headache.

(Maybe Fred will share his extra-cute "Are you in a play?" story.)

[1]"This," holding up the goblet, "is the most important piece of equipment a minstrel can carry. Ya see, bein' a minstrel, ya never know when someone's gonna' pour you a drink. And if you don't have one o' these," pointing to the goblet then pausing to look at the ground, "It gets all over yer shoes."