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I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.

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Monday, May 12   >>

SCRIPTED CHIVALRY IS THE BEES FUCKIN' KNEES

If you don't know my dad, he's this really serious dude whose biggest annoyances are drunk crowds, bad food, and unreserved seating.

For his birthday last Friday, The Sister made reservations to MEDIEVAL TIMES, which, if you don't know, is JUST like the Dark Ages (or, as The Vo calls it, "the pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-pre Ages of Reason and Enlightenment).

It's hard not to walk in looking just like Matthew Broderick in that one scene in The Cable Guy, since the act of being medieval starts the moment you step inside. But you slowly realize that, to make this a really good night, and to make my dad realize how moronic his grown kids can be, you must participate in the drunken and celebratory hegemony. And that we did. And perhaps set a new benchmark along the way.

"Would you like to take your picture with the princess, m'lord?"

Yeah, NAKED. Wait, they had photography back then? WITCH! WITCH! WITCH!
PEASANT SERVANT: Soup, M'lord?

LORD HUGO: Yes, THANK YE.

[pours]

LORD HUGO: K, but, like, srsly, do you have utensils? I JUST got this sweater.

PEASANT SERVANT: M'lord, you know we have NOT utensils at Medieval Times.

LORD HUGO: Shit.
They're completely serious about authenticity: First, you eat with your hands. Secondly, they serve margaritas and have a sound system.

Anyway, if you like really shitty acting and eating super greasy food with your hands (overheard: "Mom, it's just like India!!!") and making team with completely shitfaced strangers in your knight color area, go to Medieval Times.

Or a Raiders game, but the former is a gun-free zone.