Well, it’s not exactly in Chicago – about an hour away just north of the Wisconsin border. It’s a long drive for a festival and I make it every summer. While there are street fairs and events that happen every weekend here in the city, I get most excited about the Ren Faire. Why? I really don’t know. I’m not someone that speaks in olde English nor do I play fantasy role playing games. I don’t own a sword, dagger, or scabbard. I don’t think to shout, “Huzzah” whenever someone wins my favor, and I don’t refer to the bathroom as a privy. So, what is so great about the Faire? I’ve thought about why I come back every year, and have found a number of reasons…

• It’s fun  – If you’ve never felt the satisfaction of hucking an axe at a wooden target bullseye, well sister, you’re missing out on some good time. You can throw knives, shoot arrows, fire crossbows and attempt to climb Jacob’s Ladder. There’s ten stages of shows where entertainers sword fight, sing bawdy songs, recite Shakespeare in a mud pit, and, of course juggle flaming batons. There’s a huge jousting arena where knights duke it out – sure, it’s scripted, but when they fall off their horse because they took a lance to the chest, it’s pretty intense. I could go on and on, but you’ll have to trust me here – the Faire is a real hoot.

• The clothing and speech –  The Ren Faire is only open for six weeks during the hottest part of the summer. It’s not the time to be dressing up in full Renaissance garb, yet hundreds of people do every day. Out of the thousands that attend per weekend I bet around 20% are fully decked out in heavy layered clothing. I love these people because of their commitment. This is their Halloween. But not only do they dress the part, they  speak  the part as well. Every woman is greeted as “M’lady” or “Hark, wench!” There are fairies, wizards, templars, pirates, princesses and harlots running around all sloshing their mugs of ale and cheering the queen. Also, you’ll see the occasional wood nymph wearing next to nothing which is always appreciated.

• The food  – If you’ve never had a turkey leg, you simply haven’t ever had a turkey leg. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I’d say “you haven’t lived” but that would be a stretch. The Faire has every type of food imaginable. I didn’t realize people in the 1700s ate tempura vegetables, but, hey, I didn’t exactly stay awake during history class in high school. I was too busy not getting dates. The food is amazing, however, and you can even buy those gigantic pickles on a stick. I’m going to the grave arguing that I invented the phrase “Pickles – the dessert of lunch.” In fact, I want that on my headstone. So, if you’re in charge of my grave site, get that shit done.

Aside from all else, I love the community of the Faire. A lot of people who dress up, let’s face it, are what we in America call “nerds.” But, to me, they’re fun fanatics. I love that they have the balls to get gussied up in elaborate costumes. Sure, it’s easy to make fun of the heavy-set woman in the chain mail bikini. I literally saw one gal airing out her crotch (my date explained this to me) because her costume was so layered. Every lady’s bosom is up and out, and every man is carrying a sword and mug. They greet each other as they pass, and everyone is having fun.

In a week, I’ll be attending BlogHer with nearly six thousand women. I go because my pals go. Most of my writer friends will be there. It’s my community. I’m grateful to have found my tribe, and I encourage you to explore yours. Find people that love your crap.

The Renaissance Faire is a reminder that relationships are the pinnacle of human experience. Thank you for being part of my community.

When I first met the dog she was a patient with parvo, the deadliest disease a puppy can catch. It kills most dogs it infects. She weighed one pound, seven ounces. Christina brought her to the condo on a Friday night. She had never brought an animal home before.

This dog is going to die this weekend. I just didn’t want her to die in the hospital.

The puppy lay in a small shoebox and didn’t appear to be moving. She was approximately six weeks old and had been brought in from the owner of a high-end dog shop. This store specializes in small dogs, all under five pounds. He had purchased the dog for $500 and was attempting to see her for $2,000. He would have sold her at that price, too, except she contracted parvo.

Parvo is a highly contagious disease and an infected dog needs to be removed from the general population immediately. It will infect other dogs and half of them will die. He brought her to Christina to protect his investment.

At the time we had two cats. Out of all the doctors and techs, we were the only ones without a dog. Parvo doesn’t affect cats. Even though there are employees at the hospital at the weekend, doctors are only there sporadically. Christina brought her home and we attended to her. I hadn’t really ever been around sick animals and this one was damned sick. Her eyes didn’t open. She would cough a little but that was it. Every three hours we had to use a humidifier to open her lungs and then an  eyedropper to distribute water and food. Her veins were too small to insert an IV.

D.J. – don’t get attached. I’ve estimated her chances at only 30% survival.

That Sunday we had planned to go up to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin. I know you’re laughing right now. But you’re wrong to laugh. It’s fun. More fun that you know. And no, I don’t dress up.

We had to give the dog to Will –  one of the other vets in her practice. He also didn’t have a dog. He’s got a ferret now that I think about it. There was some reason he couldn’t take her home on Friday, but whatever. Maybe he was trying to get laid and a dying dog isn’t exactly a panty-melter. He took her while we watched jousts and drank mead.

On the way home I realized I had started to fall for this dog. I told my wife as much and she was starting to have feeling for her too. There were two problems, however. First, the dog didn’t belong to us. Second, it was going to shove off.

I’ll write the whole story later, but obviously the dog survived. The vet bills to nurse her were well over $1500 and he couldn’t keep paying as she recovered so he released her to us. She also developed a nasty case of  pneumonia  during parvo and almost died again. Then she broke her leg a few months later.

Since then, perfect health. This morning it felt good to go back to the animal hospital where, for the first year of her life, she would accompany my ex-wife. Most of the staff were still there and they fawned over her when she came in. I got to visit with the doctors. Sure it was a bit uncomfortable showing up at a place with people I hadn’t seen since the divorce. I got over that quickly.

My wife moved a few years ago to California. I’m not sure if she’s been back to Chicago, but my guess is that even if she’s been here, she didn’t make a trip to the hospital. So, in a weird way, I’m the active link to these people.

I didn’t go to her hospital for the past two years. I felt too uncomfortable going there without my wife. I worked with another vet the past two years, and she was great. The real reason I went back today, however, is that they have excellent care and are reasonably priced. I called Christina last week to find out what the dog needed. My currently hospital suggested four vaccines. Christina told me the dog needed none and just some regular bloodwork.

Thank God I still have a nice relationship with Christina. She saved me $300 today. I’ll continue to use her for animal advice.

One of the things Will said when I came in this morning struck an emotional chord. He proudly announced to the newer staff, “I practically raised this dog her first year!”

This is wildly inaccurate, as he was just in the same building as her each day. My wife and I did 99.9% of the heavy lifting. But in his mind he was a big part of the experience. And you could tell how special that was to him. It was too beautiful of a moment to correct.

By the way, she needs to lose exactly one pound. Also, she’s due for  a dental, which runs around $300. Oh well – it’s basically the first time I’ve had to pay for animal care as an adult. I highly recommend marrying a vet if you have animals. Totally pays off.

Hmm – I should have factor in the cost of divorce and the emotional damage being repaired by my therapist. Probably a draw.

Jessica is at a fashion conference and so I have the dogs to myself.

Dirk is rotund while Meepers is fit.  That’s all that is necessary to say.

Now you understand the animal situation in my bed, let me explain what else is going on this week.  On Wednesday I head to NYC for BlogHer.  It’s a blogging convention for – wait, for it – ladies.  Four thousand bloggers and their estrogen will be filling downtown New York for three days.  Why am I going?  First of all I only know like two guy bloggers.  Plus, many of my readers are also girl-bloggers.  Lastly, the website I write for, AimingLow, is hosting one of the after-parties.

The two keynotes are Katie Couric and Martha Stewart.  I very well my start menstruating during their talks.

What I learned at BlogWorld last year was that it is very important that I find my tribe.  I can’t tell you how valuable it was to meet people with a similar passion.  There are a ton of travel bloggers, mom/dad bloggers, fashion bloggers, memoir bloggers, and even one guy who bragged about how he beat cancer.  What a showoff!

Up until last year my favorite annual activity was going up to the Renaissance Faire.  Now, before you label me as “that guy who goes to Renaissance Faires” please realize I don’t dress up in the outfits. I don’t speak the queen’s  english. I don’t play D&D, and I understand the joust is fixed.  But for some reason I dig it.  There’s a lot to do and tons of great shows.  If you’ve never thrown an axe into a wall, fired a crossbow at a target, or taken down a turkey leg, I feel sorry for you.

Also, if you’ve never seen an overweight chick in a  chain-mail bikini, you simply haven’t lived.

But now I have two things I look forward to each year.  he Renaissance Faire and blog conference.  Those are my things.  Some guys go to Las Vegas and others white water raft.

You know what I just realized – not once has anyone invited me to Las Vegas nor white water rafting.  And I know my friends do stuff like that, the jerks. I hope they capsize while rafting down the Hoover Damn. (I tried to tie those two things together as best I could)

Anyhow, I wrote a post a few weeks back about  how you need heroes.  You also need fun shit that you do every year that you’re into.  Find your tribe of losers who are into the same lame stuff that you dig.  Two of my readers met at a Harry Potter meetup group, and have been dating a year.  And they’re super cool.  They were also super ashamed of being Harry Potter nerds, and while I totally judge them as misfits for it, I also admire their dedication.

Be proud to be into your stuff.  Share your nerd below.  We’ll all judge you.  Immediately.

photo credit:  Templarion  via  photo pin  cc