It's storming like a wench without beer here. Like a dozen dragons breathing fire on their crying dragon babies. Like like like, well I don't know, this isn't my weather blog. I'm suffering from heatarexia and Renaissance Festival sunstroke on top of having to drive in midnight torrential downpour on these skinny Michigan two-lane highways with all those butthugging SUVs! Lay off people seriously. You can have your friend punch your time card for you if you're a little late to third shift. I only say that because I know from experience and I have read Rivethead.

I don't know if Renaissance Festivals would thrive as much if they took place in area where people live a more affluent and leisurely life like say, Laguna Beach. There is something about the world of warlocks that makes me believe its enthusiasts live quite oppressive off-ren-season lives. I know I do, but really - what kind of suffering does one have to endure during the week in order to find relief only by sticking a foxtail on his ass on a Saturday afternoon? And the girl has such a sensible purse?

There is so much I don't know about life and I realized it seventy times a million over and over again today thanks to the magical world of the Renaissance Festival.

* Next day note: I wrote this entry late at night and I woke up thinking about what a cheap shot it is to go to a Ren Fest and take pics and then poke fun at people wearng jorts and foxtails. My brother, an enthusiast of magic: the gathering told me that the foxtail may be from an anime character and then he told me a story about one of his coworkers who used to dress up as sailor moon. He was a six-foot-two dude.