I really wish I'd thought of that name myself, but it's Mr. UB's baby. He sent me a text message on Saturday morning that said "Since you're teaching all day, I'm off to Ren Faire with the nerd herd." And last night he let me know that members of his Guild have posted links to the "House" promo with me in it on their message board (where I am known as Kazguhl's Future Wife.") Sorry, ladies -- he's taken!
I don't usually get to participate in their weekly activities (which are just like reindeer games, only with less reindeer and more dragons) because they happen on the night I teach at S. But I made an exception a few weeks ago for a very special occassion: the birthday of our Best Man.
Where did we go? Where else!:
Yes, that's right -- Medieval Times. I know you're jealous.
The whole night was organized as a surprise by the birthday boy's girlfriend. They're a lovely, demure couple.
No, there's nothing "metaphorical" about that photo at all -- how dare you?!
It's a good thing that these people arrived last, because he might've guessed what was in store for him if all of us had been milling around his living room like this:
No, that's not anyone's car. We wisely arranged to be transported in style (aka an Airporter shuttle bus.) Why?
That's why. They serve you beverages that are larger than your head. On purpose. (Side note: said beverages were the main reason I agreed to this excursion. I doubt I'd've survived it otherwise.)
I tried repeatedly to photograph this plastic sword thingy so that you could tell it lights up. Stoopid auto-flash camera.
This is our friend D. Mr. UB has known him since college, and he once cast me in a play as a ballet-dancing giant squid. (Yes, really.) He also writes children's books.
What does one do at Medieval Times, while waiting for the jousting to start?
Why, have the birthday boy knighted, of course!
In my habit of regularly finding minutiae in my surroundings to obsess about, I decided that I have to have these for my bathroom at home.
Oh, right ... did somebody say jousting?
Here comes one!
Fortunately for the attention span of anyone still reading this, the battery in my camera died. Suffice to say that those jousters do not eff around. Sadly, the novelty of eating a meal sans utensils (authentically of-the-era, don'tcha know?) was somewhat soured by the other novelty of eating a meal amidst the odor of horse poop.