semi-coherent Pennsic report
Aug. 12th, 2008 10:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7So here, to go along with the photos, is the coherent account of my time at Pennsic.
Coherent?
Well, ok, whatever. I'm trying, at least.
The photo set, which you can view here if you haven't, is in reverse-chronological order. I am going in chronological order. If these things bother you, start at the end of the set and go the other way.
I was camping with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
redstapler's household, the Inn of the Three Swans. The backstory there is that there was a real Inn by that name in England in like 1450, so they seized upon that as their setting, and what's going on is that they're the crew of a pirate ship that comes ashore for an annual two-week meeting with their compatriots at this inn. Pete and Nezhah are the financiers of the organization; Nez's brother Wassouf has always been the captain but stepped down this year to allow his longtime First Mate Torsten to take over. Klaus has been the Shipbuilder/Carpenter but stepped aside for Richard (in RL, an engineer/inventor) this year in order to focus his attentions on instead being the Brewmaster. And Andrew stepped up to being the Master Gunner this year.
The household was short some of its regular staff-redstapler opted to go to FRFF and Terminus instead this year, Wassouf couldn't get the vacation time, Nez and Pete camped up with other friends in the Aethelmarc Royal encampment. But four new people came to fill in a bit: me, and a friend of Torsten's named Matthew, and a longtime friend of the camp named John (a Pennsic veteran who spent so much time with the Swans it just seemed easier to move in), and Sue, Richard's wife. Nikki, Sue and Richard's daughter, is also Torsten's girlfriend, and rounded out the household.
In short, it was a family-style kind of household, meaning we ate all our meals together and spent many of our evenings together. Some households are much much bigger, some households are much less friendly. I liked the setting where I was, and it made for a great experience-- big enough that I could leave the camp without worrying it would be totally unattended, but small enough that I wasn't just another body who wouldn't be missed.
The household celebrated its fifth year this Pennsic. The first year, it was pretty bare-bones. The second year, they got their current location. The third year they got running water. The fourth year they got HOT running water. And this fifth year, they got a sink that drained into the ditch without mudpuddles, a shower built on a bridge over the ditch that likewise eliminated mudpuddles, and a tarp setup over the common area that eliminated the little rivers down the middle of the common area that had plagued them during last year's monsoons.
I could have some of that chronology a bit wrong, but that's roughly how it went. In addition, this year, the Coopers had brought in a couple of truckloads of sand to extend the flat campable area on the near side of the drainage ditch, meaning that no matter how hard it rained, the floor of the common area remained sandy not muddy.
So it was a comfortable setup, with hot shower, sink, cushy kitchen setup, new big dining room table so nobody had to balance food in their laps, and a bar, and a coffee table, in the common area. It was comfy and homey and nicely centrally-located in the Swamp/Bog area, meaning that we were in a good spot to get traffic from the various parties and such-- and thus, were never bored, and most of our friends were able to easily find us.
Our neighbors turned out to be absolutely marvellous. The closest neighbors were a new household called the Wicked Monkey Tribe, made up primarily of a pair of former Civil War re-enactors, now turned to Turkish personas named Kilij and Zaliha. He was a drummer, firebreather, and fire-spinner; she was a belly dancer. Three Swans and their neighbors, Nomads, had cooperatively ceded land to Wicked Monkey to allow them to camp on the corner of their lots. Wicked Monkey realized immediately that becoming good friends would only help; they cooked us a wonderful dinner and traded us various insect and poison ivy -killing chemicals for the use of our lovely shower. We liked them so much they wound up spending a great deal of time with us. Both had wonderful stories to share, and Kilij especially had hilarious tales of his days as a carnie, in the Navy, as a Sea World diver, and in his current environmental-safety engineering job that kept us occupied many a night.
Another great discovery was St. Jones' Mission across the street. They've been there for years, but had never really befriended the Swans, instead keeping to themselves and socializing more with the neighbors on the other side. But this year, one of them was alone for the first few days, and our land agent, Torsten, also alone and bored, helped her set up her impossible canvas pavilion in return for coffee. She rapidly became a fixture as well-- also an excellent storyteller, Regan amused us for hours on end with her tales of court cases, life as a pre-K teacher, and her father's terminal illness (which was funnier than you'd think). She was the one who was burned as a witch for her 30th birthday, and I could never tell that story as well as she could.
Big John Kilt Guy from Kindred has not always camped with Kindred-- he used to be with Die Fledermaus, and is something of a fixture of the area as opposed to any particular camp. He was wonderful as well, prone to hilariously serious-sounding booming pronouncements and the like. He coined phrases with excellent precision. And his girlfriend, Danielle, had this anarchic sense of humor that frequently destroyed us with laughter. She also was good with henna and put a beautiful design onto Klaus's bald skull, free-hand, but unfortunately the skin was so thin that it faded quickly.
I can't even count the awesome people who regularly came through Three Swans to amuse, entertain, feed, and drink with us. We sent Die Fledermaus a leftover smoked chicken; they gave us pizza and homemade French fries (Die Fledercrack), and most importantly, glow-in-the-dark Mardi Gras beads with bats on them. Yes! Bats! Die Fledermaus! Wonderful. I will treasure mine forever. Gunther stopped by, obligingly shirtless. And several groups of Tuchux came through and deemed us acceptable, and did not pillage or burn us, so we counted it a resounding victory. ("I may not be too smart," Beast said, "but at least I'm pretty.")
I know I'm missing people, but I didn't exactly take notes, and in the confusion of the last few days, much has faded into half-recollection. It really was like a dream. Now I flush my toilet and wonder, for a moment, what on earth I ever did without a flush toilet. The Mint seems like it happened to someone else.
One amusing day, I followed John on his perambulations as he visited his old camp, Maplewood (and totally scored when they had not only a power outlet, but a charger that matched my phone-- VICTORY!!! That made my WEEK!)-- only to discover that this is none other than the camp where Liesl and Dave used to stay! How amusing! It's a small world after all. Out of over ten thousand people, the odds that I would be camping with someone who used to camp with them are quite small-- I met Jill through completely different social circles than either Liesl or Dave, and they never met one another.
What did I actually do at Pennsic? Well.
There was a lot of sitting around the campsite, telling stories, listening to stories, debating esoteric points of fact or opinion, and in general amusing ourselves as has been done since ancient times: bullshitting over booze.
I made the trudge up the giant hill almost daily, to wander around the merchant areas, watch the fighters, listen to the bands playing, buy fabric (OMG $3/yd LINEN OMG), and even, twice, eat at the food court. (I did not lack for food at any point, however. Suffice to say, we ate well in our cushy kitchen.) I admired the pretty canvas pavilions, looked at the period encampments (more common Topside than down in the Swamp, but I know largely because up Top, there's time for canvas to dry-- in a year like last year's, I would have been MISERABLE in my canvas tent. Conversely, this sunny year, any topsiders in nylon tents were pretty unhappy-- sun on plastic isn't really pleasant and they all would get baked out of their tents by 8 am.) and generally wandered around in all the pretty.
I did take a few classes-- one on Lithuania that convinced me that the Baltic region is horribly under-studied. One on pirates that was entertaining. A few others. One on sea shanties full of, um, interesting people, that made me secretly slightly-thankful that I had not gone to any bardic circles. (You know the kind of people that go to a class solely to show the teacher how much they know, and are delighted if they can confuse him? Yeah. Swell. Guess what, guys, I didn't come here to listen to you talk about how awesome you are. Maybe you really are, but couldn't you throw your own party in that case? I mean, I like a good insight now and then, but I know the difference.)
One bummer was that I lost my voice. The cigarette smoke, then all the woodsmoke, left me hoarse as an old crow. I had planned on doing some singing around campfires, but the only singing I did was in the shower when the steam loosened me up enough that I could make coherent noises. I never got the middle of my range back, but I could sing either high or low. Awkward. Anyway, I was okay, and am content to leave my bardic pursuits for some other time.
The mallet my father made me for driving stakes was a resounding success. Not only did it drive stakes well, but it also looked totally rad. It also tasted blood, smashing Torsten's thumb during an ill-considered attempt at driving a metal stake with a bit of wood on top of it to keep the mallet from splitting. Thumb-crusher does not tolerate poor workplace safety measures! Thumb-crusher drinks the blood of those who misuse it! Grahh, etcetera. Many jokes were made.
I also worked several shifts at Your Inner Vagabond, the Turkish coffee house in the smaller food court near the barn. I had been scheduled to waitress, but somehow that never happened, which suited me fine; I was in no mood for flirting, strangely. (Maybe that all got used up at the parties.) I worked in the kitchen, mostly slaving over the endless dishes. I did start to master the making of various of the drinks, however. It was generally chaotic fun, and I made some fun acquaintances that way. I had forgotten: I am shy. But the drinks there are yummy, and I was there when the Health Inspector came through and can happily say that despite it being Pennsic, things are pretty much up to code in there. Except when there was a hole in the floor that I fell through like twenty times, but they fixed that. At least it was no danger to the customers.
I'm probably forgetting things, but that's the bulk of what went on at my first Pennsic. I laughed so much and so often that at one point I had sore face muscles. I actually only had a hangover once; I learned my lesson. What's the secret?
When you go wandering around drinking at everyone's bars, bring a small cup. Really. I had this little goblet I borrowed from the household stock, which probably held about six to eight ounces. It was perfect, because people's tendency is to fill up your cup, and then everyone gets a new drink at the new place so finish up what you've got, and here's a shot, and... in short, disaster, unless you're smart and ask for water first thing at every new place.
I got hung-over, like an idiot, sitting at home drinking cup after cup of mead. Whoops. I'm not twenty anymore; my body doesn't just snap back anymore.
Oh yes, I did go wandering to Vagabond, and hung out with "Multipass!" Amber and her small harem of amusing menfolks. I did not get naked at clothing-optional bar night, though. I had meant to visit the neighbors more but wound up not really doing so as much as I'd meant to. Next year!
Oh, the pictures of fire-spinning and fire-breathing etc: One night Wicked Monkey invited us down to Burning Hand, where there was kind of a Fire Night going on. We hung out there a bit, but it started raining, so we skittered back home like little cockroaches. The rain died down, and Wicked Monkey showed up and used up the last of their fuel in our front yard, which was pretty rad. I don't know the SCA name of the Monkey who wasn't Zaliha; her real name is Amanda, and she was evidently pretty new at the twirling thing, given her excitement about it. I took a bunch of pictures and put them up so she'd have copies; her own camera's flash wouldn't turn off, and I don't think that flash photos would look nearly as cool. So that's what those pictures are of. Mostly the rain had died down; I guess it's possible to breathe fire in the rain, but the water gets in your eyes so you can't see what you're doing as well.
It was cool.
Yeah, OK, so, not so coherent. But it's all the details I can still easily remember. I'm not so much for coherent narratives when it's non-fiction.
Coherent?
Well, ok, whatever. I'm trying, at least.
The photo set, which you can view here if you haven't, is in reverse-chronological order. I am going in chronological order. If these things bother you, start at the end of the set and go the other way.
I was camping with
redstapler's household, the Inn of the Three Swans. The backstory there is that there was a real Inn by that name in England in like 1450, so they seized upon that as their setting, and what's going on is that they're the crew of a pirate ship that comes ashore for an annual two-week meeting with their compatriots at this inn. Pete and Nezhah are the financiers of the organization; Nez's brother Wassouf has always been the captain but stepped down this year to allow his longtime First Mate Torsten to take over. Klaus has been the Shipbuilder/Carpenter but stepped aside for Richard (in RL, an engineer/inventor) this year in order to focus his attentions on instead being the Brewmaster. And Andrew stepped up to being the Master Gunner this year. The household was short some of its regular staff-
redstapler opted to go to FRFF and Terminus instead this year, Wassouf couldn't get the vacation time, Nez and Pete camped up with other friends in the Aethelmarc Royal encampment. But four new people came to fill in a bit: me, and a friend of Torsten's named Matthew, and a longtime friend of the camp named John (a Pennsic veteran who spent so much time with the Swans it just seemed easier to move in), and Sue, Richard's wife. Nikki, Sue and Richard's daughter, is also Torsten's girlfriend, and rounded out the household. In short, it was a family-style kind of household, meaning we ate all our meals together and spent many of our evenings together. Some households are much much bigger, some households are much less friendly. I liked the setting where I was, and it made for a great experience-- big enough that I could leave the camp without worrying it would be totally unattended, but small enough that I wasn't just another body who wouldn't be missed.
The household celebrated its fifth year this Pennsic. The first year, it was pretty bare-bones. The second year, they got their current location. The third year they got running water. The fourth year they got HOT running water. And this fifth year, they got a sink that drained into the ditch without mudpuddles, a shower built on a bridge over the ditch that likewise eliminated mudpuddles, and a tarp setup over the common area that eliminated the little rivers down the middle of the common area that had plagued them during last year's monsoons.
I could have some of that chronology a bit wrong, but that's roughly how it went. In addition, this year, the Coopers had brought in a couple of truckloads of sand to extend the flat campable area on the near side of the drainage ditch, meaning that no matter how hard it rained, the floor of the common area remained sandy not muddy.
So it was a comfortable setup, with hot shower, sink, cushy kitchen setup, new big dining room table so nobody had to balance food in their laps, and a bar, and a coffee table, in the common area. It was comfy and homey and nicely centrally-located in the Swamp/Bog area, meaning that we were in a good spot to get traffic from the various parties and such-- and thus, were never bored, and most of our friends were able to easily find us.
Our neighbors turned out to be absolutely marvellous. The closest neighbors were a new household called the Wicked Monkey Tribe, made up primarily of a pair of former Civil War re-enactors, now turned to Turkish personas named Kilij and Zaliha. He was a drummer, firebreather, and fire-spinner; she was a belly dancer. Three Swans and their neighbors, Nomads, had cooperatively ceded land to Wicked Monkey to allow them to camp on the corner of their lots. Wicked Monkey realized immediately that becoming good friends would only help; they cooked us a wonderful dinner and traded us various insect and poison ivy -killing chemicals for the use of our lovely shower. We liked them so much they wound up spending a great deal of time with us. Both had wonderful stories to share, and Kilij especially had hilarious tales of his days as a carnie, in the Navy, as a Sea World diver, and in his current environmental-safety engineering job that kept us occupied many a night.
Another great discovery was St. Jones' Mission across the street. They've been there for years, but had never really befriended the Swans, instead keeping to themselves and socializing more with the neighbors on the other side. But this year, one of them was alone for the first few days, and our land agent, Torsten, also alone and bored, helped her set up her impossible canvas pavilion in return for coffee. She rapidly became a fixture as well-- also an excellent storyteller, Regan amused us for hours on end with her tales of court cases, life as a pre-K teacher, and her father's terminal illness (which was funnier than you'd think). She was the one who was burned as a witch for her 30th birthday, and I could never tell that story as well as she could.
Big John Kilt Guy from Kindred has not always camped with Kindred-- he used to be with Die Fledermaus, and is something of a fixture of the area as opposed to any particular camp. He was wonderful as well, prone to hilariously serious-sounding booming pronouncements and the like. He coined phrases with excellent precision. And his girlfriend, Danielle, had this anarchic sense of humor that frequently destroyed us with laughter. She also was good with henna and put a beautiful design onto Klaus's bald skull, free-hand, but unfortunately the skin was so thin that it faded quickly.
I can't even count the awesome people who regularly came through Three Swans to amuse, entertain, feed, and drink with us. We sent Die Fledermaus a leftover smoked chicken; they gave us pizza and homemade French fries (Die Fledercrack), and most importantly, glow-in-the-dark Mardi Gras beads with bats on them. Yes! Bats! Die Fledermaus! Wonderful. I will treasure mine forever. Gunther stopped by, obligingly shirtless. And several groups of Tuchux came through and deemed us acceptable, and did not pillage or burn us, so we counted it a resounding victory. ("I may not be too smart," Beast said, "but at least I'm pretty.")
I know I'm missing people, but I didn't exactly take notes, and in the confusion of the last few days, much has faded into half-recollection. It really was like a dream. Now I flush my toilet and wonder, for a moment, what on earth I ever did without a flush toilet. The Mint seems like it happened to someone else.
One amusing day, I followed John on his perambulations as he visited his old camp, Maplewood (and totally scored when they had not only a power outlet, but a charger that matched my phone-- VICTORY!!! That made my WEEK!)-- only to discover that this is none other than the camp where Liesl and Dave used to stay! How amusing! It's a small world after all. Out of over ten thousand people, the odds that I would be camping with someone who used to camp with them are quite small-- I met Jill through completely different social circles than either Liesl or Dave, and they never met one another.
What did I actually do at Pennsic? Well.
There was a lot of sitting around the campsite, telling stories, listening to stories, debating esoteric points of fact or opinion, and in general amusing ourselves as has been done since ancient times: bullshitting over booze.
I made the trudge up the giant hill almost daily, to wander around the merchant areas, watch the fighters, listen to the bands playing, buy fabric (OMG $3/yd LINEN OMG), and even, twice, eat at the food court. (I did not lack for food at any point, however. Suffice to say, we ate well in our cushy kitchen.) I admired the pretty canvas pavilions, looked at the period encampments (more common Topside than down in the Swamp, but I know largely because up Top, there's time for canvas to dry-- in a year like last year's, I would have been MISERABLE in my canvas tent. Conversely, this sunny year, any topsiders in nylon tents were pretty unhappy-- sun on plastic isn't really pleasant and they all would get baked out of their tents by 8 am.) and generally wandered around in all the pretty.
I did take a few classes-- one on Lithuania that convinced me that the Baltic region is horribly under-studied. One on pirates that was entertaining. A few others. One on sea shanties full of, um, interesting people, that made me secretly slightly-thankful that I had not gone to any bardic circles. (You know the kind of people that go to a class solely to show the teacher how much they know, and are delighted if they can confuse him? Yeah. Swell. Guess what, guys, I didn't come here to listen to you talk about how awesome you are. Maybe you really are, but couldn't you throw your own party in that case? I mean, I like a good insight now and then, but I know the difference.)
One bummer was that I lost my voice. The cigarette smoke, then all the woodsmoke, left me hoarse as an old crow. I had planned on doing some singing around campfires, but the only singing I did was in the shower when the steam loosened me up enough that I could make coherent noises. I never got the middle of my range back, but I could sing either high or low. Awkward. Anyway, I was okay, and am content to leave my bardic pursuits for some other time.
The mallet my father made me for driving stakes was a resounding success. Not only did it drive stakes well, but it also looked totally rad. It also tasted blood, smashing Torsten's thumb during an ill-considered attempt at driving a metal stake with a bit of wood on top of it to keep the mallet from splitting. Thumb-crusher does not tolerate poor workplace safety measures! Thumb-crusher drinks the blood of those who misuse it! Grahh, etcetera. Many jokes were made.
I also worked several shifts at Your Inner Vagabond, the Turkish coffee house in the smaller food court near the barn. I had been scheduled to waitress, but somehow that never happened, which suited me fine; I was in no mood for flirting, strangely. (Maybe that all got used up at the parties.) I worked in the kitchen, mostly slaving over the endless dishes. I did start to master the making of various of the drinks, however. It was generally chaotic fun, and I made some fun acquaintances that way. I had forgotten: I am shy. But the drinks there are yummy, and I was there when the Health Inspector came through and can happily say that despite it being Pennsic, things are pretty much up to code in there. Except when there was a hole in the floor that I fell through like twenty times, but they fixed that. At least it was no danger to the customers.
I'm probably forgetting things, but that's the bulk of what went on at my first Pennsic. I laughed so much and so often that at one point I had sore face muscles. I actually only had a hangover once; I learned my lesson. What's the secret?
When you go wandering around drinking at everyone's bars, bring a small cup. Really. I had this little goblet I borrowed from the household stock, which probably held about six to eight ounces. It was perfect, because people's tendency is to fill up your cup, and then everyone gets a new drink at the new place so finish up what you've got, and here's a shot, and... in short, disaster, unless you're smart and ask for water first thing at every new place.
I got hung-over, like an idiot, sitting at home drinking cup after cup of mead. Whoops. I'm not twenty anymore; my body doesn't just snap back anymore.
Oh yes, I did go wandering to Vagabond, and hung out with "Multipass!" Amber and her small harem of amusing menfolks. I did not get naked at clothing-optional bar night, though. I had meant to visit the neighbors more but wound up not really doing so as much as I'd meant to. Next year!
Oh, the pictures of fire-spinning and fire-breathing etc: One night Wicked Monkey invited us down to Burning Hand, where there was kind of a Fire Night going on. We hung out there a bit, but it started raining, so we skittered back home like little cockroaches. The rain died down, and Wicked Monkey showed up and used up the last of their fuel in our front yard, which was pretty rad. I don't know the SCA name of the Monkey who wasn't Zaliha; her real name is Amanda, and she was evidently pretty new at the twirling thing, given her excitement about it. I took a bunch of pictures and put them up so she'd have copies; her own camera's flash wouldn't turn off, and I don't think that flash photos would look nearly as cool. So that's what those pictures are of. Mostly the rain had died down; I guess it's possible to breathe fire in the rain, but the water gets in your eyes so you can't see what you're doing as well.
It was cool.
Yeah, OK, so, not so coherent. But it's all the details I can still easily remember. I'm not so much for coherent narratives when it's non-fiction.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 01:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 01:32 am (UTC)But I think I'd missed most of the action previously.
Still, how fond are you of sausages???
Mmm, sausage.
___________
*** Not that Amber Multipass isn't a whole lot. Hot damn. But still. I meant numbers-wise.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 01:34 am (UTC)He he he, multipass.
I misread that as "Not that Amber Multipass isn't hot. Hot damn."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 01:36 am (UTC)She refuses to wear the costume, though. To be fair, Mila Jupopopopopovich looks a bit different all wrapped in bandages than someone with actual breasts (and how!) would.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 02:51 am (UTC)