So meine kleine Wurst, what do you find more impressive, mein hat or mein mustache?
The Civil War fort behind our house apparently serves as a superior reenactment field as well as a place for old ladies to power walk at 7am on Saturdays. We rolled up just as the 1st Virginia regiment was going through their fake(?) promotional ceremony. What I am unsure of in all of these shenanigans is how much of this is just for fun and how much these reenactors just wait around for someone to die or get married or whatever happens to allow positions open up above you. There were huzzahs all around and we were able to successfully determine that colonial advancement ceremonies were just as boring as today’s modern robotic army advancement ceremonies.
Fortunately, the fake fighting began quickly and I have to say it was some of the finest fake fighting I have every witnessed. The Brits took out the whole of the drum corps in a single volley, unheard of considering the historically unreliability of their muskets. Perhaps their riflemen, the G. argued twice during the event and then several more times that night, might have been capable of such decimation but not from the muskets. There was enough fake writhing and invisible blood to entertain an entire group of Tiger Cubs in front of us, who later reenacted the entire reenactment, using sticks to their maximum gun-like-ness.
In the end, though, the Americans won the day, routing the cowardly Brits and what seemed to be the invincible Hessians. The leased Germans were the most convincing of the actors, singing their Krautrock marches and thrusting their pikes in a most diligent and economical fashion. One thrust, one kill. As mentioned, their shiny gold pope hats were the envy of all of the lesser tri-cornered head piece wearers and perhaps it was out of respect that the Americans were never able to draw an accurate bead upon them. But it was probably more likely that the hats cost a few bucks more at Sunny’s Hessian Surplus and they didn’t want to get them crimped.
This guy was so jealous of the pope hats that smoke came out of his ears. Or he was smoking a corn cob pipe. I couldn't tell.
All in all, the entire day was a success. The only real problem I heard was the colonial PA system could not handle the combination of canon fire and accompanying Prius car alarm, as it kept blowing out the speakers. But the Tiger Cubs didn’t seem to care. They had stick guns to muster.
NEXT DAY!!! PRESIDENT’S DAY!!!
The G was smart enough to ban me from bringing the dog to the canon and musket Olympics on Sunday but this was overruled on Monday for the Old Town Parade. Mistake, you ask? Indeed.
A breed renown for their legendary bravery.
Those horses are damn scary.
Oh, did I say horses? I meant Jim Moran.
It's a Badgley Mischka, actually.
Jim Moran is damn scary. He makes little brown dogs cower behind nice ladies. Moran seemed to ignore our side of the street during his entire waving routine. It wasn’t until I yelled out, “Jimmy, hey Jimmy! Look over here! Jimmy, Jimmy, who are you wearing? Is that Carolina Herrera? Elie Saab?” that he looked over.
Of note at the parade:
- Apparently there is and Alexandria Archeological society. And they have their own theme song about how awesome digging up George Washington’s narwhal tusk spatula truly is. The trained Girl Scouts who sang it did so with the utmost conviction.
- Shiners in tiny cars will always be cool.
- The MCI Center sells beers during Disney on Ice.
And if any of this has peaked an interest, April 22 is a recruiting day for "all men, women and children desiring to learn about the hobby of reenacting" according to the pamphlet thrust in my hand on the way out. I'm %1000 there.
Alright, back to the salt mines. See you in a week.