I care not for people in costume.
(That’s not altogether true, as we all know that a number 1) they serve their purpose on annual October 31sts when no one is a better Dorothy than I, and c number 3) the practice is acceptable in certain boudoir situations. That said.)
I can’t stand when law-abiding, self-respecting adults put themselves in situations in which they have to don costuming, and at its worst, period costuming. Individuals with expensive liberal arts degrees, who could probably pull down more cash selling salt water taffy on the Seaside boardwalk, actually and for whatever reason choose to put themselves in these hideous and humiliating situations. Your local renaissance fair. Civil War re-enactments. The Tower of London. Like men who wear madras, they are in more places than should be legal, making many a moment more uncomfortable for me than watching newbie improv.
A friend recently spent a week with her family in Williamsburg, VA, land of the beginnings of our land, home of churning your own butter for absolutely no reason and, well, lots of dirt and manure. To me, a vacation of this sort is a fate akin to being locked for a week in an abandoned psych ward with a clan of cyborgs or Marilu Henner. In such situations, I begin to perspire when the costumed approach, worried that I’ll be forced to speak in the King’s English or sucked into a sober Maypole dance.
Public programming stuffed this down my throat this week in what promised to be a beautiful account of the life of Typhoid Mary, my watching of which you should interpret both as my attempt to assume the role of a woman once successful on her SATs and the end of all decent regular season programming as we know it. It started out all well and good, with real-life ivy leaguers talking in irritating tones of tenements and scourges, but before I knew it, there they were. Pale women with rosy cheeks in unassuming frocks. Ah, hell. Here we go. Time for a flashback. Seriously, was I expected to be transported to the 19th century by a man with an epoxied pony hair moustache*? Modern television re-enactments are offensive enough, but actors in old-timey garments set against stagnant backdrops spewing such forth such quotes as “her stools were a living culture of typhoid bacilli”? Please. Did I not just see that “town doctor” on an episode of One Tree Hill? Yeah. I thought so.
All that said, this woman will not die before she gets to Medieval Times in all its ridiculous splendor. You’ll have to pry that turkey leg from my cold, dead hands.
*What's worse? I bet even that guy has a date for next weekend. (Ye know it's true.)
(That’s not altogether true, as we all know that a number 1) they serve their purpose on annual October 31sts when no one is a better Dorothy than I, and c number 3) the practice is acceptable in certain boudoir situations. That said.)
I can’t stand when law-abiding, self-respecting adults put themselves in situations in which they have to don costuming, and at its worst, period costuming. Individuals with expensive liberal arts degrees, who could probably pull down more cash selling salt water taffy on the Seaside boardwalk, actually and for whatever reason choose to put themselves in these hideous and humiliating situations. Your local renaissance fair. Civil War re-enactments. The Tower of London. Like men who wear madras, they are in more places than should be legal, making many a moment more uncomfortable for me than watching newbie improv.
A friend recently spent a week with her family in Williamsburg, VA, land of the beginnings of our land, home of churning your own butter for absolutely no reason and, well, lots of dirt and manure. To me, a vacation of this sort is a fate akin to being locked for a week in an abandoned psych ward with a clan of cyborgs or Marilu Henner. In such situations, I begin to perspire when the costumed approach, worried that I’ll be forced to speak in the King’s English or sucked into a sober Maypole dance.
Public programming stuffed this down my throat this week in what promised to be a beautiful account of the life of Typhoid Mary, my watching of which you should interpret both as my attempt to assume the role of a woman once successful on her SATs and the end of all decent regular season programming as we know it. It started out all well and good, with real-life ivy leaguers talking in irritating tones of tenements and scourges, but before I knew it, there they were. Pale women with rosy cheeks in unassuming frocks. Ah, hell. Here we go. Time for a flashback. Seriously, was I expected to be transported to the 19th century by a man with an epoxied pony hair moustache*? Modern television re-enactments are offensive enough, but actors in old-timey garments set against stagnant backdrops spewing such forth such quotes as “her stools were a living culture of typhoid bacilli”? Please. Did I not just see that “town doctor” on an episode of One Tree Hill? Yeah. I thought so.
All that said, this woman will not die before she gets to Medieval Times in all its ridiculous splendor. You’ll have to pry that turkey leg from my cold, dead hands.
*What's worse? I bet even that guy has a date for next weekend. (Ye know it's true.)
Labels: snark
19 Comments:
I guess I shouldn't tell you about the job I had in my senior year of college as a docent for a historic house. Where they made me wear not only a costume but the servant-girl costume. Pretty! Needless to say, I didn't last long enough to work my way up to the "lady" costume.
The entire post I'm thinking, "This coming from the woman who wants to go to Medieval Times," and then there it was.
Your Medieval Times pasties can feature your knight's coat of arms. Costumes for everyone!
Is there a Medieval Times in this area? I've been to two, both times on school trips. Drinking Pepsi out of a mead glass has never been so fun.
I always knew Marilu Henner was a cyborg.
When I was in high school, my one ambition in life was to get into William and Mary and get a part-timed costumed job at Colonial Williamsburg.
Bastards waitlisted me.
Oh, and there's a Medieval Times at Arundel Mills.
I thought only trannies were allowed to dress like Dorothy. Especially if they're over 6'4" tall.
i worked at an amusement park that had period costumes. i was a teenager, and we had to wear long skirts and bloomers. during the summer. in the midwest.
huh. i guess i'm not too much of a costume fan either, after that experience.
You always do this. Your birthday is coming up and you know that Think Geek won't accept returns for clothing!!
Guess what? You get nothing for yet another year.
Your point? ;)
Ugh. I was in Boston awhile ago and saw a guy dressed as Paul revere.
So not hot.
My parents are moving to fucking Williamsburg.
Yahh but it'd be a date with someone like him.
Ewwwwwwwww
If you have kids that pretty much rules out a trip to Disneyland or to Seven Flags unless you put the blinders on. Think about it: Someone in this life has to dress in costume.
Yeah, dorks. I heard some Vietnam vets wanted to do some re-enactments but we just don't have the jungle space here in Virginia.
Seriously, we are having parallel thoughts of late. A week ago an old friend showed up with her new boyfriend - a perfectly lovely fellow whom I found utterly charming. Then he started talking about his weekends re-enacting the Civil War. All I kept asking him was, "But...but...but...why???"
And he might insist on wearing the moustache again pusuant to "c number 3"
what was "b on the other hand"? get editted out?
I was just at a wedding at a place that recreates a pioneer village (complete with apartment highrises in the background).
It started raining, and those folks cheated, opting for hi-tech umbrellys.
bastages.
I used to live in Williamsburg-I found it odd walking into a convenience store and Thomas Jefferson's in there buying a six pack.
two painful statements:
1. I went to a high school where KNIGHTS was the mascot. Hence medieval sword fighting on campus was an oft witnessed event.
2. I went with my ex-husband's family (pre ex-, without saying) to a Las Vegas venue where giant turkey legs, mugs of mead and NO NAPKINS prevailed. And no wine. Thus explains the 'ex-'.....
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