Off To War

So we, my family and I, went to Pennsic. Or more formally know as The Pennsic War.  This was at my sister-in-law’s request.

I didn’t really want to go. It sounded like a two-week long Renaissance Fair. And while I will admit to enjoying the one ren faire I had been to and that I’m not a complete stranger to geek culture (I’m a big Star Wars fan, love Doctor Who and even own a few comics ((The Walking Dead not super hero stuff))), my tolerance for the full force fanboys and girls, which are the kind of people I imagined being there, is pretty low. As is my tolerance for crowds. And people I don’t know in general. Also we would be camping, my wife and children hate the outdoors and none of them are afraid to share their feelings about a situation with me. What I’m trying to say is that Pennsic pretty much sounded like my own personal hell.

But I went.

And I really, really enjoyed myself.

Part of that was because I got to watch the kids have so much fun; they all came back sunburnt, scabby and with dirt ground in so deep we’re still trying to wash it, which in kid means that things couldn’t have gotten any better.

I also enjoyed it because I discovered, what I’ve started calling, “The Party Nerd”. Party Nerd’s are a hard group to describe; fully familiar, accepting and sometimes completely entwined within geek culture, while also enjoying the virtues of, as a good friend of mine from Alabama would put it, eatin’, drinkin’, fightin’ and fuckin’ (please read in your thickest Alabama accent for full force in meaning). Most people at Pennsic seemed to fit into this category and it led to me overhearing some interesting things, like:

INEBRIATE! INEBRIATE! Yeah, I’m saying inebriate like a Dalek! Whatta yer gonna fuckin’ do about it?!?! NOTHIN THAT’S WHAT! INEBRIATE!!!”

“If we get more drummers and maybe a bagpipe we can double the amount of belly dancers that show up. And there’s never too many belly dancers.”

And “Wouldn’t you know it, I have everything but D10’s [a ten sided die]. Oh well, I guess it’s margaritas and the bow range then…”

As my sister-in-law told me, “these are your people.”

I think she may have been right.


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