Phoole Wor(l)d

Farewell, Phoole Wor(l)d - What Ho, Wordpress!

2011-02-09T20:52:00.000-06:00

With hosting and heaps of help from MBTC, I have moved the Phoole Blague to

blog.phoole.com

I have enjoyed Blogger - we've had loads of fun together, and Blogger has seen me through some wild travels and trials! Now I'm looking forward to new adventures in formatting at the new blague. But I won't be updating this one, so you'll want to update your Most Favoritest Sites Evar to include the New Phoole Blague over on the Phoole domain. I know all change is traumatic, even good change, but I think you'll like what you see!

Crowing Over Fools! A Fool Fabric Contest Winner

2011-02-03T14:22:00.000-06:00

Frequenters of the excellent fabric-makery site Spoonflower voted Cynthia Frenette's Crows Clowning Around as their favorite Fools and Jesters Fabric! Congratulations, Cynthia! Here are the other top ten vote-getters:

2. jesters_n_fools by janiris

3. jokers by kec19

4. Acrobatic Jesters & Fools by simboko

5. Court Jester by jennartdesigns

6. Silly Wiggle Scribble by decobot

7. Clowns&buttons! by bora

8. 23 jesters and 1 fool by betje

9. Lady Jokers by catru

10. Little Clown by newmom

My own personal favorite, I think, has to be this one: Medieval Jesters by rengal

But I'm going to be acquiring yards of PLENTY of the fabric designs submitted! You can too - shop all of the submissions here!

Behold Optimist Prime!

2011-02-03T08:53:00.000-06:00

This is Optimist Prime! I made him out of pictures I found on teh intarwebz, and maybe he will become the mascot of the Willness Program, which raises funds for Optimist Theatre! They're the brilliant people who do Milwaukee's Free Shakespeare in the Park. And here is a link to a page put up by beloved geniuses Stephen Geis and Sandy Wood, wherein their robot butler Fred performs as the voice of Optimist Prime. EXCELLENT!

Foolish Fabric Contest!

2011-01-28T08:34:00.000-06:00

Cheers to Spoonflower! They're a delightful company who lets users upload images in order to create their own custom printed fabrics, and they have these brilliant contests all the time that result in dazzling arrays of excellent designs. I wrote them a couple of weeks ago, suggesting they do a Jesters and Fools image contest, and they DID! This morning I received their newsletter, containing the following:

Our Most Foolish Fabric Contest
The Fabric Of the Week contest theme this week is jokers & fools, which has a long and illustrious tradition as an artistic subject. Believe it or not, the person who wrote to suggest that we make fools the subject of a fabric design contest is actually the official jester of the city of Milwaukee. Who knew that there were official fools! [Please commence sardonic commentary here.] Of course the real fools' contest this month will, arguably, be the Spoonflower staff design contest.

Vote For Jokers & Fools Fabrics

I'm blown away! It's a great day for Fool-dom. Go ahead and vote! Meanwhile, I have some serious shopping to do - I need at least a yard of every single one of these!

The Will-Ness Program: A Brave New World for A-E & Jane the Phoole!

2010-12-23T12:25:00.002-06:00

“O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world / That has such people in't!” – Wm. Shakespeare’s THE TEMPEST 5:1

Won’t you please consider sponsoring me for a new adventure? A performing company I support is launching a special fundraising drive in the form of a new kind of marathon.

Milwaukee’s non-profit Optimist Theatre produces Free Shakespeare in the Park, bringing the greatest plays in the English language to an under-served public via Equity-level artists. I believe in them, I admire them, and I support their mission. Their inaugural production last year was THE TEMPEST, and it ruled. It shook the entire community with its vibrant life, and it got capacity crowds and rave reviews. They’re producing TWELFTH NIGHT this coming Spring, and to help them raise funds to make this and all of their endeavors the best they can be, I’m joining their Will-Ness Program.

From January 1, 2011 to December 31, 2011, I am committing to losing at least 40 pounds and improving my physical fitness through regular exercise and improved nutrition. My metabolism has always been my enemy, but my participation in the Will-Ness Program (hooray for groaner puns!) marks my first formal attack on purposefully improving my health. I'm investing in a recumbent exercise bike -- for ease on my hurty knees -- and alternating weights workouts with cardio and yoga for daily invigoration, and, on the advice of my excellent physician, I'm using My Food Diary to monitor and improve what I eat.

Sponsors can watch my progress online, either through my own webpage or through Optimist Theatre's page (details to be determined), and Optimist Theatre will request sponsor donations every other month based on the amount of pounds lost per 2-month period. For example, if you were to commit $3 per pound, and I lose my expected target of pounds (7 lbs), you’d get a request from Optimist Theatre for $21. If I didn’t lose weight, or if I gained it back, you’d pay nothing.

Optimist Theatre’s Free Shakespeare in the Park builds a bridge across the ages and brings universal human truths to audiences at no charge. To help them, I would be thrilled and honored if you could sponsor me in this adventure. Any level of sponsorship is welcome! If you can sponsor $5 per pound, that’s fantastic; if you can only afford $.50 or $1 per pound, every little bit helps. Just email me at jane@phoole.com and let me know what you’d plan on pledging, and I will then send you a simple pledge form to complete and return. It's that easy!

Click here for much more information on the program. I hope you'll consider sponsoring improved health for your friend and Phoole AND for the community at large!http://www.optimisttheatre.org/

Of Monkeys, Dogs, and Phooles

2010-12-08T11:50:00.005-06:00

"The Vagabond," equivalent of "The Fool" card
from Brian Williams' SHIP OF FOOLS Tarot.

A warning: This essay is a bit serious-ish. And there is swearing in it. But if you can bear it, I hope you'll read it.

After my mother died over a decade ago, I went through an extremely miserable and difficult time, during which I hit absolute bottom -- my mother had been an alcoholic, and I had been a textbook example of a co-dependent enabler. My mother had frequently told me that I was the reason she drank: if I were present, she drank because she couldn't stand what a disappointment I was, and if I were absent, she drank because I had abandoned her. She once said to me, "Why would you want to be an actress? You're fat and disgusting. Why would you deliberately ask people to look at you?" After she died, my subconscious continued to castigate me on her behalf: I loathed myself; I felt hideous and unloveable; I felt untalented and worthless; I felt like a gigantic fraud who'd be found out at any moment. I'd always over-sought approval, and, according to much-missed friend, advisor and Adlerian therapist Sherwin Rubenstein (R.I.P), I probably always will, but at the time, my chorus of inner condemnations reverberated throughout every part of my life. I welcomed and encouraged hateful exploitation and abuse from every quarter - relationships, dayjobs, shows, friendships. I lost all hope. So I began to shop for a therapist.

I eventually ended up with a fantastic counselor, but the first therapist I visited, after listening to me for an hour, said merely this:

"You know what the problem with YOU is? You're too nice. The world is full of assholes, and if you're going to survive, you have to become an asshole too."

Shocked, I fired him after that one session. I feebly shopped my desolation around until I happened on a wonderful counselor who, through simple grandmotherly truths, genuinely helped me rebound into the silly girl with whom you spend time nowadays.

But that awful statement smoldered, buried, in my brain ever since that day. "You have to become an asshole too." I just didn't want to believe it, regardless of the evidence.

I know I'm always going on about Machiavelli, but he and his work fascinate me. Inextricably entangled in Renaissance politics, he resisted playing the game, and when the game finally brought him down, THE PRINCE was his warning to future players. As enticing and exciting as the game of social dominance appears, I don't want to play it. I played it briefly; it's a lot of work, and it yields no useful reward whatsoever.

So, swallowing my anxiety about that statement from my first therapist, I rebuilt my life. In play, I turned the corner and discovered the audience, and the bliss I found in connecting with patrons obliterated everything else. It drove me to maximize my game, push my research, develop my brand, get more gigs, and only take the gigs I really wanted to take. Even if that first counselor were right - even if it were impossible to succeed by making people happy, if the only solution were to armor myself with cynicism and bitter distrust - I would try to prove the opposite.

I then directed the Street Theatre cast at the Bristol Renaissance Faire for ten years, and with them, I tried to share positivity, inclusion, and elevation. I worked to encourage characters who would esteem patrons at higher social status than themselves, include patrons in the fun, and make the characters' success contingent on patrons' involvement and enjoyment. The brilliant Douglas Mumaw and David Woolley inspired me with the Swordsmen's tag line: "Share the Niceness." And so many other successful walkaround performers, whether they played heroes who already championed the audience or villains who included patrons in their evil empires, gave me hope that inclusion, elevation, esteem and invested excitement could prevail over bitterness, hierarchichal obsession, and cynicism.

Still, that statement hung with me, crackling in the back of my mind. I've always been haunted by the fear that maybe he was right. Maybe people are simply horrible, and it's not possible to survive without becoming horrible too. I enjoy Dario Maestripieri's book MACACHIAVELLIAN INTELLIGENCE: HOW RHESUS MACACQUES AND HUMANS HAVE CONQUERED THE WORLD, because I think monkeys are hilarious, and I like watching them mirror human qualities -- but at the same time, the book fills me with dread, because Maestripieri posits that one chief factor in human and rhesus macacque world dominance is the fact that both species adhere to a strict social hierarchy, in which sycophants gain advantage by supplicating their betters, and in which niceness is a liability, not an asset.

I was horrified further to realize that this Machiavellian paradigm played out fully in so many spheres in my life. Creative, helpful people are constantly supplanted by scheming, talentless flatterers. People who dedicate themselves fully to their work and to the betterment of organizations or communities are run over by servile supplicants kissing the backsides of the people in power. Experience, discipline and brilliance are traded in for obsequiousness and compliance. Power wants nothing but more power, and nowhere in the Great Chain of Being does there appear to be room for someone who just wants to make people happy.

So: last night, I watched a NOVA program about dogs called DOGS DECODED.

Humans are genetically quite close to the monkeys and apes whose Machiavellian antics amuse (AND dismay) me so mightily. But the species who's responsible for human civilization? It's dogs. Puppehs. I learned immense, mind-blowing things about dogs and their relationships with people, and it shook my world. You have to see this program. It's genuinely mind-blowing. You can read a transcript of the show here, and if you have Netflix, it's available for instant viewing, or you can buy a DVD of the show here. Dogs have been by our side for tens of thousands of years, and they helped humans grow from hunter-gatherers to civilized beings. Through domestication (domestic dogs are descended from wolves), dogs are adept at reading human emotion, and they're the only animal that does that without training. Dogs have developed barks that humans instinctively, correctly interpret for meaning. Dogs respond to human pointing gestures, regardless of whether or not they've been trained to do so. Through the generations needed for full domestication of the canine species, humans originally selected "nice" dogs for breeding - and as dogs were bred for "niceness," all of the other variations (for which breeders currently select) emerged on their own.

And because humans have lived with dogs for so many tens of thousands of years, we've evolved a very special bond with one another, convergently. When a dog interacts with the dog's owner, the interaction triggers the release of oxytocin in the hypothalamus. Oxytocin is a peptide hormone, and it's the same one that's released in the hypothalamus of mothers and babies while babies are nursing. It's the chemical key to that primal bond. It lowers the heart rate and blood pressure, and it reduces stress levels. Experiencing frequent oxytocin triggering extends your life.

Playing with your dog - being happy - is good for you, in other words. It's very, very good for you. Everyone I know who has dogs who's reading this right now is saying, "Duh." But I don't have a dog (and I'll have to get a lot of allergy shots when I DO get a dog), so I didn't innately understand this. And this idea exploded my heart.

Because, after I'd watched the entire show, and processed and digested it, I thought:

"What if I'm actually helping people after all?"

When one plays as a walkaround character at Renaissance Faires, one frequently hears, "Oh, you're so good! You should be in REAL theater." It's a lot like this cartoon.

So I'm constantly told that no matter how I strive to make my product awesome, chances are it's regarded as silly, amateurish and inconsequential on the List of Things That Actually Make a Difference in Life. And throughout our culture, we are, all of us, continually reminded that individuals do not matter, that everyone is replaceable, and that real reward only comes if you are a sycophant or a cruel tyrant. Add to that my own personal inner chorus of judges (thanks, Mom!), and every little day becomes a daunting prospect.

But this program, full of wagging tails and happy barks and oxytocin releases, made me think:

Am I less like a monkey, and more like a dog?

Is it possible that patrons derive a genuine benefit from spending time with me? Are we doing something greater than merely wasting time together talking rubbish? Is our shared play good for our health? Can our time spent enjoying each other actually be improving both of our lives? Am I relieving people's stress so that they can, in turn, maybe help other people?

Is it okay to just make people happy?

Am I actually useful?

It shakes me to think that that might be true.

Pow! Mayor and Phoole Collide With Your Face at High Speeds!

2010-12-07T15:58:00.000-06:00

Amazing photo by Steven Townshend

Richard Weber, as Bristol's Lord Mayor Egads Newcastle, is one of the most amazing people ever. This photo, much like this one, conveys what it's like to play in the street with him. ALSO: he is very beautiful, both from a distance AND up close - a difficult feat for most, but he makes it look easy! I didn't actually chomp his face after this instant. Not that I recall, anyway! Cheers again to Steven Townshend for the fab snappery!

Grrrrrrrrr!

2010-12-06T12:59:00.000-06:00

Massively brilliant photo snappery by Steven Townshend!

While I'm cataloguing and preparing delightful memories of this past weekend's super-fun times at Her Majesty's Winter Renaissance Faire, let's indulge in a Bristol Renaissance Faire reverie for a moment. This hilarious 2010 precious moment is brought to you by Steven Townshend, and it shows Fasso and Jane in a typical heartwarming embrace, which closely resembles a life-and-death battle for snorgling dominance. WHO WILL WIN? It is an eternal struggle.

Her Majesty's Winter Renaissance Faire! Saturday ONLY, December 4, 10am-8pm!

2010-12-03T10:48:00.002-06:00

Jane the Phoole at Her Majesty's Midwinter Faire 2009, with her brand-new BAD MONKEY! Photo by Dawn Krot

I'll see you tomorrow for frolicksome frivolity and festive folly at Her Majesty's Winter Renaissance Faire (lower your speaker volume before clicking!) in Madison, Wisconsin! I've missed you since we goofed off at Stronghold Olde English Faire, and I'm sure we all of us have plenty of new adventures to recount and laughs in which to heartily indulge!

Where? 614 Westgate Mall, Madison, WI, 53711 - down on the right next to Woodcraft!

Where can I stay locally if I want to spend the weekend in town? Rooms at the Madison Radisson are offered at a discounted rate of $79.00 for anyone who is attending Her Majesty's Winter Renaissance Faire and wants to stay tonight, December 3rd, or tomorrow night, December 4th.

When? Saturday, December 4, 2010, 10:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m.

How much? "How little?" you mean! Tickets are available cheap-as-free at the door for a scant $7.00! Advance tickets are only $6.00 and can be procured at Ravenworks in person or by phone at 608-630-2348 (ask for Raven). Children under 5 years of age are admitted to the Faire free of charge!

Who's joining Jane there? Phoole Faves aplenty!

Her Majesty and Her Majesty's Court, introducing the electric and scintillating Marybeth Townsend in the role of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, First Queen of England to rule by that name, Queen of England, Ireland, Wales, France & the Virginias etc.
The Guilde of St. Michael, Trayn'd Bandes, engaging you in Elizabethan military life, weapons training, barber surgery, and fun times galore
Brilliant craftspeople demonstrating their talents and selling their wares! From the event's own website (lower your speaker volume before clicking - there's surprisingly loud music!) here: "Our vendors have Renaissance clothing, cloaks, capes, leather goods, swords, shields, jewelry of all sorts, handthrown pottery and Renaissance dinnerware, lampwork beads, and a host of other wonderful items. We also have tarot readers, astrologers, mystical magical items and more. Vendors include Hearthstone Arts, Relics, Ravenworks, Tyme Travel Photography, Sheldon's Pewter, Sir Rocky Rococco's, Ingrid the Crafty, Tom's Jewels, Ollin's Swords (A Phoole Fave),Grandma's Cookies and more...
Delightful musicians, jugglers and storytellers with fare for every age
You!

I always have hilarious adventures at this event. It's low-key, cozy, and intimate, and I always have time for quality chit-chattery on many and divers subjects with everyone. On the morrow, then, good cousins!

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Being Their Guest: Walt Disney World and Universal Studios' Wizarding World of Harry Potter, Part 1

2010-11-19T17:09:00.001-06:00

So Much Magic! by Tom Charney

I went on an actual vacation last week! I traveled on an airplane without hauling my gigantic blue trunk of Jane the Phoole clothes along with me. And while that in itself was novel, the newness of being in places where Other People had to engage Me in environmental interactive entertainment was beyond delightful. I had a fantastic time visiting the Magic Kingdom, EPCOT and Disney's Hollywood Studios, and then cheating on Disney for a day with a side-trip to Universal Studios' The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

First View of the Magic by Tom Charney

I'd never been to Walt Disney World before this trip - I'd been to Disneyland in California (and you must ask me about that trip. What a strange trip it was! It included adventures with former Bristol Renaissance Faire Puritans Eric Forsberg and Maurice McNicholas. If I haven't done so yet, make me tell you the story about the three of us on Space Mountain and Star Tours), but I hadn't really encountered any character interaction there, and I was much younger, less experienced, and less invested as a performer, so back then, I wasn't really switched-on for scrutinizing What Worked.

But on this trip, I was overwhelmed with glee from the first moment I walked through the gates. Yikes, it's powerfully detailed there. No holes. Everything is designed, and I really dug it. We visited the Magic Kingdom the day we landed, and we stayed until midnight, getting our minds blown by fantastic live music all over the place, parades, fireworks of unbelievably high quality and astronomical expense, and bizarre, unexplainable, possibly-supernatural experiences on three rides which you'll have to ask me about in person next time we congregate.

I know I'm extremely late to the party on this, but there is good customer service at these parks. Everyone was cheerful, slightly crazy in the way that we like, and solicitous. Even the ducks on the super-manicured lawnlets seemed helpful:

Solicitous Duck by Tom Charney

Cartoony Hodge-Podgery of Fantasyland by Tom Charney

Many years ago I visited Rothenburg ob der Tauber, and I found a house there that was yellow and tall and crooked (this link goes to a page that has a picture of it) which I'd decided needed to be replicated for Jane the Phoole's house, just plonked down on the grounds of Hampton Court Palace somewhere. When I arrived in Fantasyland in the Magic Kingdom, so much of it reminded me of Rothenburg, except with wider, flatter streets, but still very silly and charming. We rode Peter Pan's Flight, which I recommend, and in Adventureland, we rode Pirates of the Caribbean two and a half times -- and I'll have to tell you about the half next time we meet!

Ridiculously Perfect Castle Shot by Tom Charney

We stayed for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party, which was exactly as described: Merry, Christmas, and Party. Hot chocolate, SNOW, special parades with fabulous holiday costumes, and extra mind-blowing fireworks. We dug everyone in the parades, especially all of the female performers who danced the entire paved parade route in 2 1/2" heels, showing what looked like genuine smiles of joy the entire time, and the Toy Soldiers, who marched and actually played practical instruments really very well while wearing the equivalent of full suits of armor:

Photo by Tom Charney

Caboosing the parade was the Santaman himself, who greeted a small girl seated near us during the parade, called her BY NAME, and wished her a Happy Birthday. The look on her face was too magical. We thought it might seem skeevy to take a pic of her, though, so here is a shot of the Man With the Bag instead:

Photo by Tom Charney

We stayed in the Magic Kingdom until midnight, looking at everything, enjoying so many families having so much fun everywhere, absorbing the details, from the second-story shop windows, to the gradation of forestry and gardens from land to land, to the intense theming of every little thing, to the attention given to each guest by each character in every encounter. Characters there manage to make every encounter feel like it's their first and most exciting of the day, even through extended hours.

The next day we devoured Epcot's World Showcase, where naturally I went crazy over the United Kingdom Pavilion and its charming Arthurian-Legends street show:

Photo by Tom Charney

And of course we let a couple of hours slip away from us as we dallied in Italy:

Photo by Tom Charney

Photo by Tom Charney

We had an excellent pranzo at Tutto Italia Ristorante, watching le sorelle Ziti play with the crowd, doing the fake Italian stuff which we all love so well in the world of the Renaissance Faire.

Photo by Tom Charney

I dug how they amassed a crowd immediately, simply by appearing on the sidewalk outside the pavilion, drew their crowd along with them, and instantly integrated them into the act. Disney audiences seem to arrive ready to play, and they require no warm-up at all -- you can just leap directly into involving them in the action, without needing to go to any lengths to play low-dominance or exposition. Young or old, they're all just ready to be a part of the game. It was invigorating to be a part of that kind of crowd. And all of the players we encountered pushed guests just a little bit, whether through danger games or just a little gentle mockery, all to delighted audience response.

But I had to ask our server, Eduardo from Napoli (with whom I'd enjoyed using almost all of the Italian I remember in chiacchierare), whether he thought it was strange that the park didn't hire an actual native Italian street act for the pavilion, and that led to a sweet discussion of the real beautiful things about actual Italian culture and living. Eduardo asked, "When you were in Italy, what did you love most about the country?" I replied that on all of my visits, especially on our honeymoon, I appreciated above all the rhythm of life there -- the slow, casual, calm, human pace of enjoying life. "Ah, you make me cry!" exclaimed Eduardo; "The rhythm of life, that's it. I miss it so much. Ah!"

Photo by Tom Charney

In the Germany pavilion, we liked this statue of St. George, and we enjoyed the silly automaton clock too:

Photo by Tom Charney

We didn't spend much time in FutureWorld, apart from an awesome freaky voyage to Mars on Mission:Space. And we laughed our faces completely off during Turtle Talk With Crush, which is a must-experience if you go. It's hilarious. Can't figure out how it's done, but Crush interacts with the crowd, and it is hysterically funny. On my next trip I'll definitely try Test Track, which we just didn't get to for whatever reason.

I'm out of writing time now, but as soon as I can, I have many, many more Orlando adventures to share. The next day of our trip was spent in the village of Hogsmeade -- and butterbeer, I'm here to tell you, is very, very yummmz.

Phoole Fave: Omega Restaurant

2010-11-02T12:46:00.000-05:00

http://www.omegaon27.com/

Not many things in Milwaukee are open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. Fortunately, one of my favorite restaurants is open forever and always! Break your fast, lunch, dine, sup or get your midnight munch on at Omega for their encyclopedic menu, tasty food, hasty service, irresistible bakery, and fantastic staff.

At the end of a Hallowe'ekend of total chaos and madness, we (MBTC, Jiggins and I) collapsed into a booth at Omega, delighted to find many of the staff costumed for the occasion. Here are some blurry picutres I took with my PhoolePhone:

In addition to these characters, there was also a cheerful slow-moving fireman who remembered me from the Bristol Renaissance Faire (even though I was dressed in what passes for Normal Human Clothes except for a ridiculous hat) and a couple of other charming costumes too.

Chomp there today, and you can tell them Jane the Phoole sent you, but that might not mean anything until lots of you tell them that, and even then, it might just be confusing! But it will be strangely satisfying at the same time. Enjoy!

Jane the Phoole Gives a Terribly Impressive Talk: American Association of University Women, Milwaukee, Nov. 6, 2010!

2010-10-15T12:50:00.002-05:00

Come hear Jane the Phoole discourse on her most favorite subject in the world besides bad monkeys - Jane the Phoole - at the November meeting of the American Association of University Women's Milwaukee Branch!

When? Saturday, November 6, 2010. My talk begins at 1:00 p.m., and it will be followed by Questions and Answers!

If you like the really inspiring things the AAUW does and are considering joining the organization (visit their website here for more information), contact the branch's Secretary, Kathe Bogdan (click here to email her, or call 414-276-6820) to inquire about attending the pre-talk social from 11:30 a.m. to 12:15 p.m.
If you'd like to join Jane the Phoole and the Milwaukee branch of the AAUW for a luncheon before the talk, contact Kathe (see the previous paragraph) to make a luncheon reservation. Luncheon is from 12:15 p.m. to 1:00 p.m., and the cost is $15.00 per person, which will be collected at the door.

Where? The Astor Hotel, 924 East Juneau Avenue, Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53202. The luncheon and the talk will be held in one of the two large banquet rooms on the main floor; on the day of the event, signs will guide you to the room.

How Much? The luncheon is $15 - reservations are required (see above). There is no admission charge for the talk!

Wherever Shall I Park? Use the parking for the Astor Hotel. It's gated; you push the button and say, "I'm with AAUW, Apt. 202," and they let you in. There's no fee for parking.

I owe many thanks to Phoole Friend Julie Ferris for arranging this magnificent display of effusion -- she's the chapter's ~~Foundations Chair~~ VP of Programming and President Elect, among the many amazing things she does. Cheers, Julie!

I'm looking forward to this immensely - it'll be a treat to talk about Jane the Phoole in a slightly-less-distracting environment, and I'll be discussing facets of being a female Elizabethan royal fool that are extremely interesting to me and, I hope, highly amusing to you!

Phoole-o-ween Fun Times Galore!

2010-10-07T13:10:00.003-05:00

Halloween Smile Mask by Jeff Semmerling of Semmerling and Schaefer Studios. Order yours today, and tell 'em Jane the Phoole says they're brilliant!

So many Halloween Hijinks abound this month! Come dress up and Phoole around with me at a couple of brilliantly fun Halloween events coming up:

Halloween Bash With the Outta State Plates - Jane the Phoole's In the House!

Come dance with me at the Outta State Plates' Halloween Bash on Friday, October 29th!

What: Halloween Dance Party With the Outta State Plates and Jane the Phoole! My hurrrrsband, Tom, a/k/a Fasso Latido or MBTC, plays guitar and sings vintage dance rock 'n' roll with them, and they're fantastic. Admission includes delicious hors d'oeuvres, snacks, beer and soda. And of course there'll be a costume contest with prizes!

Where: Knights of Columbus Hall, 3200 S. 103rd Street, Greenfield, WI 53227 (just south of Oklahoma Avenue) Click here for directions.

When: Friday, October 29th, 2010, 8:00 p.m. until Midnight!

Whom: Everyone! ~~I'll be there debuting a brand-new Halloween-themed motley!~~ Alas, it won't be done in time. But it'll be that much more exciting next Halloween, when I actually finish building it! I'll wear my new pastoral blue motley instead.

How Much: $20, or 2 for $35! Admission includes delicious hors d'oeuvres, snacks, beer and soda.

Tales of the Macabre / Halloween Party at Milwaukee Gay Arts Center - Jane the Phoole Hob-Nobs With You!

Goats and Monkeys, an ensemble risen from the ashes of the late great Milwaukee Shakespeare, present an evening of readings of spooky Halloween tales while the Milwaukee Gay Arts Center throws a fabulous Halloween bash! Dress up, come out, and play with me there! Phoole Friends Marcella Kearns and Bill Jackson perform with Nick Harazin and Courtney Jones.

Where: 703 South 2nd Street, Milwaukee, WI 53204 Click here for directions.

When: Friday, October 30th, 2010, doors open at 7:00 p.m. I won't be able to be there all night, as I've got Phoole's Errands to make, but I should be there until at least 9pm! Stay on top of my Tweets to be in the know!

How Much: Donation suggested -- if there is a minimum suggested donation, watch this space for updates!

Secret Historian: Author Justin Spring Speaks!

Also of note at the Milwaukee Gay Arts Center, coming up sooner, on October 14, 2010:

SECRET HISTORIAN

The Life and Times of Samuel Steward

by Justin Spring

Reading & Author’s Reception

October 14th, 2010

6:00 PM

FREE admission, refreshments served

Books available for purchase on-site through Outwords Books

Justin Spring is a writer specializing in twentieth-century American art and culture, and the author of many monographs, catalogs, museum publications, and books, including Fairfield Porter: A Life in Art and Paul Cadmus: The Male Nude.

“[An] absorbing act of biographical excavation . . . The probity and expansive vision of Spring’s work is a reminder that a great, outspread terrain of gay history remains to be mapped . . . One suspects there are many more stories of that time worth telling, and too few treasure-packed attics.”

—Mark Harris, The New York Times Book Review

I won't be able to make this one, unfortunately, as I'm already booked that evening! Boo. But please attend and then tell me all about it! It's noteworthy that the Milwaukee Gay Arts Center has been able to provide the venue for this excellent writer's reading and reception. Enjoy!

Stronghold Olde English Faire! Oct. 2 & 3 2010, Oregon, Illinois

2010-09-29T16:19:00.001-05:00

Join me, Jane the Phoole, at the Stronghold Olde English Faire this coming weekend! Click here for every li'l detail about this delightful event at the scenic Stronghold Castle. Phoole Friend Odorferious Thunderbottom will be there selling ThunderPickles (he's a Privy-Keeper, and here's his eye-searing Privy Council site), and there will be droves of other fun frolickers besides, including Phoole Faves the Guild of St. George and the deranged Anne Sommerset, Lady Percy, the Countess of Northumberland in her first visit to the Burleigh household -- brawling imminent! On the subject of brawling, Phoole Skoolmaster Bob Charron of St. Martin's Academy of Medieval Arms ~~will~~ may possibly join Phoole Faves the Guild of St. Michael for demonstrations of the principles of Fior dei Liberi's Il Fior di Battaglia, and in any case, the Trayn'd Bands always deliver action-packed fun! Phoole Faves the Ogham Duo are among the many excellent music acts. And there are many more treats besides. It's one weekend only, so hie thee thither with all speed!

PERSIA! PERSIA! PERSIA! Or: Jane the Phoole in an Exciting Adventure with the 300 Battle

2010-08-18T14:04:00.024-05:00

By Steve Spitzer: A victory romp for Jane the Phoole, rabid Sir Thomas Radclyffe the Earl of Sussex (portrayed by Frank Skony), Gertrude the Bringer of Total Rampaging Death (portrayed by Sandra Howard), and silent assassin Lady Ann Seymour the Countess of Warwick (portrayed by Mary Hough).

What made me take up arms against a sea of Barbarians last Sunday? Was it the soul-cringe I've felt the past several months that life is short and should be enjoyed sans prohibition at all times? Was it the surprising and endless kindness of the Barbarians themselves (savage though they could seem)? Was it boiling frustration with the endless, pointless, ego-fertilizing Machiavellian machinations surrounding me in nearly every social sphere? Was it a burning need to smash people with stuff?

Regardless of the root of it, I woke up this past Sunday morning with a death wish. I hurtled through my morning with what my venerable college roommate Paul Herbert (a/k/a "PHB," which is short for "Paul Herbert's Butt") would call "Thanatos-Glam" or "Than-Glam," which is that feeling you get when you're on a subway platform, and you get very close to the dangerous precipice, and something in you says, "You could just tumble over." I don't know where the feeling came from, but there it was, pushing me to do even sillier things than I usually do.

I quickly understood that I wasn't the only person enthralled with Than-Glam that day -- everyone was up to strange heroics on Sunday. At the morning Joust of Skill (mind your speaker volume if you click - the music will terrify you if you aren't careful), a young man named Keith approached the dais with two wingmen, humbly asking if anyone ever proposed to their fiancées at the Joust. I assured him that it would be brilliant to do so, and it was, and his sweet Lady Heather nodded vigorous, joyously-tearful assent when the question came, eliciting thunderous cheers from the excited crowd:

Photo by the beautiful Satine Keala

Then Sir Maximillian and Master of Arms Sir Mauldron got up to a world of hijinks during the tournament itself. In one moment, Sir Maximillian (portrayed by longtime Phoole friend and brilliant leather mask artist, the legendary Matthew Mansour) rode slowly over toward the dais, made eye contact with me, and just started singing, "Did you ever know that you're my heeeeerooooo...", which naturally killed everyone on the dais with explosive guffaws. In another, Sir Maximillian and his mighty steed Kilvarough managed to sneak up on the Master of Arms; after nearly leaping out of his saddle in surprise, Sir Mauldron snapped, "Get away from me, or I'll stab you!" Again we all barked with mirth -- and the dais was jam-packed, by the way, full of beautiful people. And at some point the Quintain attacked Sir Wilfort and unhorsed him, which I confess I don't understand, and later his horse's caparison just flew away, which made even less sense! Wyckham Field was Bizzarro-Land Sunday morning, and it was a delightful time of Big Laffs.

Feeling strangely invincible, I remembered that Lady Warwick and I had planned to get ourselves some weapons and join Barbarian Battles for their 300 Battle that afternoon. So I drifted up the hill with Phooligan genius Ivan Phillips and Mistress of Misrule Magnolia May in tow, and I selected my weapon. As Ivan notes, it had a strange effect on me:

Photo by the brilliant Ivan Phillips. MBTC calls this "The Angry Hamster Face" and it is not often allowed at home.

Barbarian Battles are a company of merchant-adventurers at the Bristol Renaissance Faire and many other excellent venues around the world, and they deal in sheer, unadulterated adrenaline. They allow patrons to try out their less-harmful (not harmless, of course, if wielded dangerously and without caution, but useful in conscientious brandishment) daggers, swords, warhammers, spears, pikes, throwing stars, throwing daggers and more, and they offer these weapons for sale. All day, you can enjoy patrons and participants alike whacking one another silly with these things, and I'm here to tell you this: it's a joy to behold, and it's an even greater joy to join in!

At 4:30 p.m. every show day at the Bristol Renaissance Faire, Barbarian Battles organize what they call The 300 Battle, essentially a reenactment of the Battle of Thermopylae. (I haven't seen the movie, but from a glance at the trailer, it's exactly completely correct, albeit in full color.) Lady Warwick and I had made up our minds to join in Sunday's battle, and I'd Tweeted my intentions that morning, so we were committed to action. The day before, the too-kind Barbarians presented me with one of their excellent stout short swords, but I wanted to buy a gigantic two-hander sword, because in my tiny brain, it made sense to compensate for my little Tyrannosaurus-Rex-proportioned flipper arms with a monster sword. Of course that doesn't actually work, but it amused me at the time, and I had fun running around town brandishing the thing:

Photo of Jane on her way to attack Little John by Ivan Phillips

Jane the Barbarian with Maid Marian (Stephanie Murphy) and Little John (Heath Denikas) by Ivan Phillips

So I carried the frightening foam instrument of Phoolish destruction around with me all day. I ran off to show the thing to Ivanovich the Impossibilist and Dinty the Moor, and they agreed I was completely terrifying and warlike; and everyone we encountered approached with a measure more approbation than usual, which interested me.

Excitement about the battle sparked all over town! Phoole Friends working at the Front Gate reported patrons had been asking, "Where's the tiltyard? When is Jane the Phoole in the big fight? Are we here in time to see it go down?" Phooligans checked in from all quarters reporting they'd be in the stands cheering us on. And my very own barbarian horde, the Nation of Dark Cloud, surprised me with their reaction to my announcement about joining in the battle.

His Majesty King Zavier of Dark Cloud himself came forward and said, "Jane, we'll be your guards in the battle. Just tell us when and where."

I was really moved by this -- I got a little choked up. I mean, it's not every day you have a King of a Barbarian Horde declare not only his fealty to your cause but also offer to defend your silly hide in a massive war! I'm serious when I tell you that that was an intense little moment.

And the hours between flew by, as I toddled around the city waving this enormous sword around, daring patrons not to laugh at my awful, horrible jokes. Everyone was delightfully obliging. Then I collected King Zavier and his two Lieutenants, and we went back to Barbarian Battles for a briefing on the order of battle. Once the Battle Barbarians had instructed us, patiently and clearly, on how the battle would proceed (I was very excited about everything, so I had to ask them to explain things very simply and with a little repetition -- you know how I get), the Dark Cloud legion retired to their pavilion to prepare, and I descended the hill toward Bristol Castle to retrieve Lady Warwick.

Meanwhile, Sir Thomas Radclyffe the Earl of Sussex decided he wanted to fight too, and Lady Warwick invited Mistress Gertrude Bridgewater, Mistress of the Bedchamber in the Sussex household (formerly of the Norris household) to vent her frustrations in the fray as well, and Gertrude was beside herself in glee at the invitation. We happy four trudged back up the hill to make ready for the Battle of the 300.

The forest fairly vibrated with the energy of the fighters and their supporters preparing for battle. Phooligans clustered around us, some revving us up for the clash, some providing gentle well-intentioned warnings about what we were about to face. It occurred to us for the first time that we might well get the ever-living snot kicked out of us, and that we'd be running around on the sand at Wyckham Field, which was dusty, gritty, and, by the late afternoon, baked to a blinding glare. But a razor-fanged King Zavier and his tall, black-clad Lieutenants arrived and met the Noble Party, and said to us: "We'll look out for you. No one will touch you."

And as absurd as the whole situation may seem, in that moment, we were bathed in golden shining tingly protective reassurance. I thought, "I will never have this feeling again. I'd better savor it."

The Bristol Renaissance Faire's own Royal Brass came to blast fanfares for the battle, which humbled and awed me completely. I wish they had a website; I'd like to link to it and connect you to them. They really make the entire show, and Pete, Jim, Tom and Jennifer always make me feel like I'm in a Really Exciting Movie of Thrilling Moments of Pageantry when they play.

And then it was TIME. The Barbarian Battles barbarians led the martial procession down the hill to the tiltyard, beating their weapons against their shields, representing the Spartans; and the Persian team's barbarian Generals allowed the Phoole Party to lead their part of the march, chanting "PERSIA! PERSIA! PERSIA!" all the way. Swords aloft, marching and chanting, my heart began to pound, and I realized we were a part of something much larger than ourselves, much more ancient, much more powerful than I'd reckoned for as an afternoon's amusement. Gertrude was beside me, and I thought I heard her growl more than once, and I wondered if she would suddenly change into a slavering werewolf and devour the enemy, but I put that down to those novels I've been consuming lately. And I admit that I turned to Warwick and murmured, sotto voce, "I think maybe we might be about to die." We laughed, but I think we may all have wondered, just even only a little, if we'd survive.

Entering Wyckham Field, we were stunned and thrilled by the patrons packing the stands - and on the dais, Sir Robert Dudley the Earl of Leycestre presided, ready to provide color commentary during the battle. The dais was jammed full of the glitterati of the Elizabethan age -- Lord Mayor Egads Newcastle was in attendance, as was the young Christopher Marlowe, Her Majesty's Dwarf Thomasina, and a host of dazzling characters besides.

And then someone cried havoc, and we let slip the dogs of war!

Photo by Cara Strong

Photo by James Martin

Photo by Laura Kresch

I know "epic" is a word overworn, but it applies. EPIC BATTLE! And Gertrude was the fiercest among us, charging in again and again, wiping out, face-planting, getting back up, and returning to the front line. Warwick and I began delivering some strategy for the younger fighters -- we'd block for them with our ridiculous huge gowns, making holes for them to get through the Spartan defenses, if their sheer terror didn't stop them in their tracks, which it often did. Sussex clamored through the lines, limbs gangling everywhere - over the din, I heard Lord Leycester comment, "And now there seems to be an orangutan on the field -- no, sorry, that's just Lord Sussex." Dust and sand filled the air and ground our teeth. Battle cries soared, and swords thudded on shields and shoulders and backs. And throughout, little boys with big swords kept encouraging us: "Ladies, you're doing really well. Jane, you're doing a good job!" And that too was overwhelming.

And then the day was ours! Persia broke through the Spartan defense for the seventh time and seized the trophy helm, and the victory cry went up. Valiant soldiers returned loaner weapons to the indulgent Barbarian Battle horde, and the Barbarian Queen took Gertrude's sword from her hands with a kind of reverence that made our hearts swell with lung-burning pride. Later, Barbarian Battles and their fierce-but-kind Queen would honor our Gertrude with a gift of a sword for her to keep, and I think each of us, we few, we happy four, we band of usually-merely-decorative Nobles on Progress, shed a tear of proud joy for Gertrude, our surprise Berserker protectress.

None of us will ever forget that day, that march, those cries, the frenzied fray, and if you've never tried Barbarian Battles or engaged in the 300, I hope this little tale inspires you to heft some of their swords and give them a swing. There's something in the experience that defies description, and you and your fellow-fighters will share a bond thereafter that's unlikely to be forged in any less fiery a furnace than the sizzling sands of Wyckham field!

Jane the Phoole is a Certified Kilt Inspector!

2010-08-13T09:45:00.002-05:00

Jane the Phoole is a Certified Kilt Inspector, originally uploaded by Phoole.

I don't yet know what duties come with this title, but I look forward to finding out! Cheers to enthusiastic Phooligans Clay and Randi Stiller for the honor!

The Bristol Renaissance Faire's Guilde of St. Lawrence Babysits A REAL DUCK

2010-08-12T10:13:00.002-05:00

(Photo by Phoole Fave and Super-Genius Ivan Phillips.)

All the best people I know have been receiving discouraging news lately, and we've all been feeling a bit run down by the oppressive heat and humidity, and by oppressive oppressors. So I thought I would just mention that if you visit the Dirty Duck Inn at the Bristol Renaissance Faire, of which the Guilde of St. Lawrence are proprietors, and you do so in the late afternoon, you may encounter AN ACTUAL DUCK.

Last Saturday, in my guise as Jane the Phoole, well-dressed blurter of idiocies and occasional wisdoms, I was tooling around in the wake of some powerful Counties: the Earl of Leycester and the Countesses of Sussex and Warwick were there, and a servant of the Sussex household colloquially known as "Pie Boy" because he is content to be paid for his services in pies; and I'm too addled to recall who else was in the company, but there we were, idly sauntering to the North end of the city close to day's end.

We were hard by the Inn, and the Earl said, "Let's go frighten the lower classes -- they never get to see us up close." This sounded fun, so we breached the innyard and caused a conflagration of shocked and terrified bows and curtsies and other abasings, which, I can tell you, always warms the cockles.

And then, out from under a countertop, a white duck slapped his way out onto the cobbles directly in front of our little raiding party. He had bright orange webbed feet and a little Doc-Emmett-Brown tuft of feathers puffing out the back of his head, as if his little duck brain had exploded, and he tilted his head around, exactly as if animated by Nick Park, quizzically assessing all of us as we guffawed in surprise.

"Where is the innkeeper?!" thundered the Earl, and Master Peter Cabot leapt handily over a table and presented himself in a sweeping reverance (I seem to recall -- though of course in my memory now, the whole episode has turned into a Very Exciting Short Film with dramatic music and tight edits and heightened drama, so it's possible that didn't actually happen).

"How, fellow, didst thou come by this duck?" asked the flustered Earl. (Small animals and large birds of all kinds are a tremendous laff-riot novelty with the visiting nobility on Progress at Bristol, you may have gathered by now.)

And calmly as anything, Master Cabot replied, quietly, "Why, my Lord Earl, God hath provided us with this duck."

And for some reason, that struck us all as the Funniest Thing Anyone Ever Said Ever, and we fell about laughing, the duck surveying us with mute wonderment the while.

After I have pretended to be a functioning adult in modern society for a while longer, I will have more amusing little anecdotes with which to distract you, but I hope you have enjoyed this duck tale in the meantime.

Phoole Friend Martin Soan's Awesome Viddy for the Robin Hood Tax

2010-08-06T08:23:00.003-05:00

Here's a video by the hilarious Martin Soan, whom I met along with his hilarious and brilliant wife Vivienne at Muncaster Castle's International Jester Tournament in 2007. It's for an excellent cause (one also supported by delightful vids by the delicious Bill Nighy).

Also: Keep an eye out for a Semmerling-Schaefer Mask Studios smile mask, which makes a special appearance in the video! I sent one to the Soans after they made me laugh my face completely off throughout the '07 Festival of Fools. You need one too, you know - and they're easily buy-able here. Get yours today, 'coz you're never fully dressed without a Semmerling Smile!

Muncaster Review LIVE! Bristol Renaissance Faire's Friends of Faire Garden 7/25 2-4pm

2010-07-21T11:15:00.002-05:00

Photo by Tom Charney

This coming Sunday, July 25, 2010, from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m., I'll be talking about my most recent journey to Muncaster Castle to the assembled beloved crazies at the Bristol Renaissance Faire's Friends of Faire Garden!

If you're not a member of Friends of Faire, a scant $5 gets you a single-weekend membership -- email Dayna Thomas at nlraf_unilady@yahoo.com for more details. While many of our adventures will be posted here on the Phoole Wor(l)d blague, there's at least one anecdote that can only be related in person, so you'll want to get there and hear it straight from the Phoole's mouth!

Open Wide the Gates! Weekend 1, Bristol Renaissance Faire 2010

2010-07-16T15:25:00.003-05:00

Brilliant snappery by Brent Price II; find more heart-expanding work by this fine Phooligan at http://www.stunninglight.com/

I've only just fully recovered from Opening Weekend at the Bristol Renaissance Faire - and it's a good thing, too, because tomorrow's Weekend 2! Her Majesty's Progress in Bristol is full of international intrigue, romance, derring-do, devoted and adored mad Phooligans a-plenty, a joust by Phoole Faves the Hanlon-Lees that will blow your mind with everything from horror to hilarity, and -- yes! -- PORPENTINES. Here are some more of the magic moments:

Photo by Larry Maka

Photo by Kayoz Swicago, with more amazing work at http://yourphotoworld.com/

Photo by Deniiiiiiise Prohaska! I am not actually drunk in this picture, although over on the FaceBook, T. Stacy Hicks captioned this one as "Drunk, Drunker, Drunkest." With Jenni Glueckstein as Magnolia May and Richard Weber as Lord Mayor Egads Newcastle.

Another precious moment from Denise Prohaska. T. Stacy Hicks captioned this one: "She has no idea where she is right now."

Photo by James Tampa. These pirates needed to keep their identities a secret, and I happened to have a package of false moustaches, which I had just received as a gift from indulgent and generous Phooligans Clay and Randi Stiller. These moustaches shall be mentioned again later.

Joy Blast! Photo by James Tampa. Gabriel, the tiny fool on the right, blasts people with joy! I recommend it!

Phooligan Photo-Taker Extraordinaire Ivan Phillips captured many little moments with a lens of magnificence this past Sunday, and I hope you enjoy these little glimpses. The glamor? He captures it. Let me show you it. The following several moments transpired during an encounter with Sir Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leycestre, Her Majesty's Master of Horse -- and one of Her Grace's other best friends. T. Stacy Hicks and I portray Leycestre and Jane as friends who have faced a great deal together, and Phooligans enjoy the pauses from intrigue which punctuate our adventures:

Photo by Ivan Phillips

T. Stacy Hicks as Sir Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leycestre, Master of Her Majesty's Horse; photo by Ivan Phillips

Photo by Ivan Phillips

Photo by Ivan Phillips, composition and framing once again by Caravaggio, I think

Photo by Ivan Phillips, and doesn't this look like a movie still? Somebody get us a movie.

Photo by Ivan Phillips: "The Monkey List!"

Photo by Ivan Phillips, with Jenni Glueckstein as Magnolia May, Bristol's Mistress of Misrule

And now: PORPENTINES. Porkchop the Porpentine's adventures from last year are chronicled here. But Porkchop's not the only porpentine on the block now, for he has a new baby sister. And her name is:

BEANS!

Photo by Denise Prohaska. Here Beans snuzzles Magnolia May's fingers, making us all wonder if chompage would shortly ensue.

Beans was born on April 1, 2010. She's an April Fool's Porpentine Baby!

Photo by Denise Prohaska. You cannot handle this much cuteness. No one can. Just fall down.

Photo by Denise Prohaska. Can you stand it? You can't!

Photo by Denise Prohaska. Here, Porkchop gleefully devours Lord Mayor Egads Newcastle's deleeeeecious fan.

Photo by Denise Prohaska. There's nothing in the world that can't be improved by letting a baby porpentine clamber up your cleavage!

Photo by Denise Prohaska. Here, Porkchop begins his ascent of the Lord Mayor. Brent Price II was on hand as well, and here is a series of pictures he took of the rest of Porkchop's Adventure On Top of the Lord Mayor's Head. Click and enjoy!

The Bristol Renaissance Faire Opens Saturday 7/10/2010!

2010-07-08T09:00:00.004-05:00

I am PURE FUN! So is the Bristol Renaissance Faire, opening this weekend in Kenosha, WI and running every Saturday and Sunday through Labor Day, including Labor Day Monday (that's 6 September for my UK Phooligans), rain or shine!

I get to have a line during the Opening of the Gates Ceremony - be there early (my guess is 9:45 a.m. would be a great time to jostle for a listening position) or you'll miss it!

Every Faire day at 11:00 a.m., they're letting me be the Mistress of Ceremonies for the Joust of Skill at Wyckham Field -- DESPITE the things I've done in the past! Or, perhaps, because of them...?

And at the Globe Stage just before 1:00 p.m., His Highness Prince Hercules Francois, duc d'Anjou et Alencon, or the Prince of France for short, and the Lord Mayor (I think! I hope!) and I will be goofing it up with the crowds in anticipation of Her Majesty's arrival. Who'll be the lucky lady selected for double-barrel wooing on the Queen's behalf? Stunt double call is at the Globe Stage just before 1:oo p.m.!

Phoole's Pilgrimage, Part 5: The Festival of Fools Begins!

2010-07-07T10:25:00.009-05:00

Photos by Tom Charney - An unstable girl in a stable yard

(This chapter continues the tale from where I left off here. Click here to get all of the chapters in the story so far.)

Bright sunshine and deep blue skies awoke us Sunday morning. We crept down to Creeping Kate's Kitchens for breakfast. Like all good castles, Muncaster has converted their stables to an eatery, with some of the stall partitions still standing to divide the dining room into cozy little nooks. At breakfast, we both ate cereal with milk, which we cannot do at home -- there's something about American milk that makes both Tom and I quite ill! But UK milk has no adverse effect on us whatever. It's the little things.

On our way back up to our room in the Coachman's Quarters, I had a little reunion with the thoroughly-upstanding Joel Dickinson and the excellent Iain McNicol (who doesn't have a webpage, as far as I can tell, but why not nip over to the FaceBook and ask to be his friend?), who would also be performing throughout the entire Festival. Joel was there to do his gently-brilliant interactive walkaround juggling, tricks and magic gig, having added some delightful sleight-of-hand since we last played together in 2007, and running Circus Workshops for the patrons at intervals throughout the day in the big marquee tent on the stable-yard lawn. And Iain coordinated the other walkarounds and contributed his own very funny performance as his rustic local farmer character, complete with bunny puppet. I felt a bit of an idiot not recognizing Iain right away when we encountered him that morning -- the last time I'd seen him, we'd both been in biggins-caps, the wearing of which impairs my memory greatly. But it was great to see them again. It was yet another little confirmation that I hadn't just dreamed my first trip; it had actually happened, and there are extant witnesses.

I took a moment to freak out over the fantastic poster of me hanging in the stable yard on the front of the gift shop. Thanks to Muncaster's PR Guru, I am even more super-unbelievably-internationally-famous than ever. And the PR Guru's name? Quite coincidentally, it is Steve Bishop. Phooligans and Phoole Friends who have been with me through my entire career will remember a different Stephen Bishop, who used to be the Bristol Renaissance Faire's head costumer, and who used to portray the Russian Ambassador to Elizabeth's Court. He had hilarious eating habits, it will be remembered. Muncaster's Steve Bishop has a diametrically-opposed temperament to the Russian Ambassador of yore; he's rather reserved and quiet, and it's very funny to Tom and I that such different people have the same name.

And then we were out with the guests! I'm completely spoiled for UK audiences: at the very least, patrons at Muncaster humor Jane the Phoole, responding to assumptions with assumptions of their own, and it makes me work to keep up with their clever inventiveness. Very rarely do UK patrons refuse interaction -- small children may be shy at a first encounter with my very-overdressed character, but every grownup we met was ready to incorporate me into their world, with handy comebacks at every turn. I enthused wildly about the temperament of Muncaster guests here on my last voyage, and the 2010 Festival of Fools guests didn't disappoint!

We enjoyed a hilarious act by Jason the Juggling Jester, who had been one of the competitors in 2007 (when I made my own feeble attempt). His show has really grown. It's extremely funny, has lots of hilarious audience-interaction moments, and I wish I had a website for him to tag with little videos all over it, just to share it with you -- we genuinely dug his show, and I hope he's there the next time we're there. His act is tight timewise, and his running gags are endearing, slightly dangerous, and very fun!

Meanwhile, this was Tom's first visit to Muncaster, and the sights filled his eyes and heart with wonder, as they always do mine. Here are some vistas, courtesy the camera of MBTC:

Our window, and the blue sky that greeted us Sunday morning.

The Nose Bag, a little snack shop in the Stable Yard.

Ancient Stable Yard wall.

Coachmen's Quarters.

Skylights and chimney-stacks over Creeping Kate's Kitchens.

Another view out another window in our room.

The road separating the Owlery (left) from the Coachmen's Quarters (right). Our rooms were up on top; our windows were the four furthest on top.

A pond, home to ducks and a few geese.

Can you even stand it? I can't. Makes the heart skip a beat every time.

It just looks like that. Really. But more so.

In the left foreground, you can see just an edge of the glorious ancient rhododendron plant that's over 150 years old. It's huge and beautiful.

The clock on the castle works properly and marks the hours with a clear chime. Back home, Tom and I rely on our mobile phones (and his nifty TokyoFlash watches) to tell us the time, but we could barely get any mobile signal at the castle, and Tom was Fasso Latido most of the trip, so we came to rely on the castle bells for the hours, especially as the position of the sun was completely unreliable as a time-telling tool, since the sun stays up in the sky much longer there than it does in the Midwest US. The "magic hour" photographers crave at dusk lasts much longer than an hour in Cumbria. The chiming of the clock was just another one of those covetous, authentic little history-glimpses for which we live.

We met a variety of hilarious guests that day, including a rowdy table of holidaymakers who pointed to one of their number and said, "Oi! He's a knight, you know. Knighted yesterday. No, honestly he was!" I turned to the fellow they'd indicated, and he confirmed, "Yep, I'm Sir Mike now."

I had to laugh, because back home, I get that a lot! US audiences are fascinated with obvious class-based social systems. US society spends so much effort pretending to be egalitarian; when US audiences get a chance to goof off, they like to openly acknowledge the class systems they secretly covet. So when patrons back home announce themselves as royalty or nobility, I take it in stride, and I often beat them to it by making up outrageous titles and new names. I think I learned this particular habit from T. Stacy Hicks, when I found him naming audience women "Lady Iphigenia Throgbottom" and so on. "Rumbleseat" is another favorite surname of his. I've stolen that gag, haven't I? Well, I will give him some of my gags in return when we next convene, and maybe we can call it even.

But it was odd to encounter UK patrons naming themselves with glamorous titles. "Sir Mike?" I giggled. "Please can't I call you 'Sir Michael,' just so it sounds more proper? It's a bit like calling you 'Sir Jeff' or 'Sir Steve.' It just doesn't flow somehow." Fasso and Jane had fun goofing with that whole group -- they were lively and silly and kept us entertained too.

As the crowd began to thin toward three o'clock, we wandered back to the castle proper, where we accepted the little audio-tour hand-transmitter thingies and made our way through the hallowed halls of the beautiful old place. I took my own Tom Fool to see the famous panel painting of Thomas Skelton, fool to the Penningtons in the late 16th century and early 17th century, the Fool who inspired the Festival.

On the stairs up to Tom Fool's painting, we were alarmed to find three genuine Canova relief panels which I'd somehow missed during my last visit -- I've now been in the presence of actual Canova sculptures in five different countries, including the Vatican. We discovered a portrait of Dame Askew upstairs, dated "1574" right on the painting, which made us hyperventilate a bit, because, as we like to say at the Bristol Renaissance Faire, we've been doing "1574 since 1989." (Learn all about the Pennington family history here.) And in the Tapestry Room, we had little heart attacks upon scrutinizing the fireplace, discovering the date "1588" inscribed in the back panels, with maritime-themed andirons and decorations. Despite the fact that one of Tom's characters, Sir Ralph Sadleir, died in 1588, that year makes the heart leap for us Elizabethan enthusiasts, being the year of the defeat of the Armada.

While we were having our minds blown by the fireplace, a patron scooted past the doorway to the room, stopped, came back and did a big double-take. We turned around to grin at him with the little audio-tour gadgets in our hands, and he laughed in surprise. "I thought you were waxworks!" he said. "You look perfect in this room, you know?" And we did.

We took in as much of the castle as we could, and when we realized we were the only non-Penningtons left in the building, we grudgingly trudged toward the door. But we spent a few delightful minutes chatting with Phyllida Pennington and Patrick Gordon-Duff-Pennington (I like including their surnames because I love all of the hyphens. I have a hyphen in my first name, and I just giggle over any hyphenated names, especially surnames with more than one hyphen). Phyllida, alarmingly, had been working the door at the castle. She is young at heart, to be certain, but of advanced years, and it was sobering to realize that, as much privilege as the family enjoyed in prior centuries and generations, now the castle's maintenance is a great deal of hard work, and the entire family is devoted to the estate's intense upkeep and elaborate events. Patrick loves the gardens wholeheartedly, and those gardens are a lot to love, especially as the entire vasty estate exceeds eighty acres and includes hundreds of diverse species. And Phyllida dons her kirtle, wimple and veil and acts the part charmingly as she welcomes guests to tour the halls. Tom and I admire them intensely, and it was humbling and invigorating to be able to chat with them, however briefly. We didn't want to make their day any longer than it needed to be, though, so we excused ourselves after a bit and went to enjoy the waning sun on the cannon bank.

Here I'm taking in the sight of the gigantic rhododendron I've mentioned above. The thing is epic in scale! And when one's wearing 20 yards of upholstery fabric, one wants to sit on as many low stone walls as possible. It's just what's done.

We toddled back toward the stable-yard lawn to see what stragglers were left after the day's entertainments, and we were delighted to find that most of the patrons we'd seen all day were still there, lazing about on the lawn, practicing circus tricks they'd learned from Joel's workshops during the day, and drinking a last pint while listening to the big sound of the Holborn Hill Royal Brass Band, which we greatly enjoyed. Sadie commanded us to have pints, so, knowing her to be quite fierce, we obeyed quickly, and basked in marches and overtures by the marquee while chatting with Sadie and Stuart, a production manager at the castle who loves gorillas. We talked monkey and gorilla behavior extensively, and it was one of those perfect times you remember for the rest of your life: brass band, Tom Fool Ale from the Jennings Brewery, marquee, lawn, happy people, and talk of all kinds of monkeys and apes.

During the happiness, though, we realized we'd forgotten to eat supper, and we'd also failed to ask the kitchens to send plates up to our room for us. So once we dragged ourselves back to the Coachman's Quarters to change (and wash the glue out of my hair, as mentioned in my 2007 tale here), we decided to try to walk into Ravenglass to get a bite at the Ratty Arms.

While the walk was scenic and beautiful and perfect, it was also long -- it took us an hour to climb the hills and descend the valleys along the narrow road, dodging fast cars on unaccustomed sides of the road (it was only our second day abroad), and by the time we made the Arms, the kitchen there had closed as well. So we resigned ourselves to -- more pints! And a packet of crisps. We took our meager supper out on the deck by the La'al Ratty narrow-gauge railway.

After a short while, a woman came out of the Arms, chatting on her phone, and presently we recognized her as having been part of the "Sir Mike" party earlier that day! We wondered if she would recognize us "out of drag." I caught her eye at one point and smiled, and asked her, "Did you enjoy the Castle today?" She looked puzzled for a fraction of a second; then realization popped her eyes wide, and she hung up on her call, saying, "I've gotta go - there are entertainers from the Castle here!" and she promptly sat down with us, grinning madly.

She looked Tom in the eyes and commanded, "All right. Talk to me. In your voice." Tom carried on with his Fasso-standard Chico Marx impression, and she shook her head broadly. "No no, I want to hear how you sound. What do you really talk like?" Tom smiled and said, in his best John Lennon voice, "Should I pretend to be from Liverpool?" She looked grave and admonished, "Oh no. Don't do that. No. You shouldn't. Come on!" And we gave in and talked like Americans from Milwaukee, introducing ourselves in real life. Her name's Mo, and she's married to Sir Mike!

I had to know why everyone in their party was insisting he was called "Sir Mike," and she told us a Most Surprising Tale of Heroism and Gallantry!

Mo and Mike live on Piel Island, which has a fascinating history, and, curiously, has its own King. Not surprisingly, the ancient and scenic island welcomes many tourists, and it happened that on that Monday, a vicar from somewhere else in the UK had been visiting Piel Island. The vicar had had some kind of accident and had fallen into the water, and he would have drowned if Mike hadn't leapt into the foam and SAVED HIS LIFE. For real. And the King of Piel Island had knighted Mike, making him Sir Mike, a Knight of Piel Island.

I immediately felt like a Giant Jerk for having made fun of Sir Mike before, and I said so. "No, he enjoyed you immensely!" Mo reassured me. But I asked Mo to convey to Sir Mike my admiration and assure him that, had I not assumed him to be like the faux-knights of home, I would have deferred to him much more mightily! We chatted on with Mo for a good bit more, and she told us all about the Furness Peninsula and Barrow and the charming and relaxing sights to see and things to do there. On our next trip, we really must include a day or two visiting the area. Mo said, "Just mention Mo and Mike when you're there; everyone knows us." I felt certain that was true.

And then she returned to her party, grinning, and we realized we'd had several pints and not a lot to eat -- and that the walk home was going to be long and silly! And it was. As we tottered back toward the road, a black cat appeared out of nowhere (black cats are good luck in British superstition, I'm told) and ran up to Tom directly, as if saying, "Oh, Tom's here! There you are, Tom!" He has that power over most animals; it's as if he's known throughout the Jungian unconscious of all critters, and they're really excited when they get to meet him in real life. We saw another cat further down the road, as we struggled up the farmland hills near Muncaster, but that cat was firmly feral, regarding us for the briefest of moments, just registering Tom's presence for a second, then lunging back into the tall grass, hunting a vole or some other little running furry thing.

We got back to our comfortable room and collapsed, and that was our first day at the Festival of Fools! In the next chapter, we'll meet a Dog Called Smiley, get mistaken for the King and Queen of Muncaster, and have even more silly adventures. Click back often!

Bellissima Mama Zini

2010-06-16T15:23:00.002-05:00

ND131 863, originally uploaded by A J Stevens.

I'm no good at writing about serious things.

Frieda Paras-Jones passed away yesterday.

In addition to being a couture genius, a design wizard, a fabric-shopping Genie of terrifying power, and a not-to-be-withstood force for truth and good in any project she worked on, she was a pioneer in creating the art form that is now my career: Looking Amazing while Walking Around Talking to People. Not content to simply make, design and oversee the most amazing clothes, she created and guided brilliant characters, playing incredible ones herself, like the irrepressible perfect hilarious Mama Zini, Italian mother to 47 bambini, all born in the same year. Poor Mama!

T. Stacy Hicks, another of my mentors and former Guildemaster of the Bristol Renaissance Faire's Guilde of St. George, wrote this about Frieda:

"It is with the heaviest heart I have ever felt that I send out this news. Yesterday afternoon Frieda Parras-Jones passed away quite suddenly. Most of us know she and her husband Guy from their business at BRF where they operate under Muscovy Trading Company. Some of us remember her as Mama Zini and a select few of us remember her as Mary, Lady Sidney. None of you will ever understand the impact that Frieda had on the Guilde of St. George at BRF but suffice to say that the standards she set decades ago are among the founding principles of our group; so much of what we do, wear, and are that is so commonplace it passes as understood and daily routine in our Guilde is a direct reflection of the work and practices she helped form in the early days of the court in California.

"Plans and arrangements have not been set. When I spoke with Guy this evening he wanted everyone in Wisconsin to know that she was completely at ease and in no pain. I spoke with Frieda this afternoon, just in our routine of checking in with each other, and she was her usual brassy, happy, dishy, bitchy self. Thank you all for understanding that Guy would like some privacy at this time, but he's still making plans to be here this summer."

And Andrew Elkins, General Manager of RPFS, writes this:

"Below please find the official announcement on behalf of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire and Guy Jones on the passing of Frieda Paras-Jones.

"It is with great sadness and loss that the Renaissance Pleasure Faire must announce the sudden and tragic passing of Frieda Paras-Jones, Costume Designer, loving wife, dear friend and long-time member of our Faire family. She passed away peacefully late yesterday afternoon after lying down for a nap. Her influence and vision for the Faire was second-to-none and will be whole-heartedly missed. Guy, Frieda’s husband, has expressed his gratitude in the support offered. At this time, he is focusing on the necessary arrangements. There will be a private service for family only, but there will be a memorial service at the Northern California Faire this fall and we will certainly have a memorial at the 2011 Renaissance Pleasure Faire. Guy has asked that during this difficult period that he not receive any phone calls or flowers. Please wait until he contacts you or reaches out through a message from us. At this time, all the family has been notified. You are now invited to express publicly on Facebook or other forums your feelings of loss and memories of this wonderful, beautiful, creative woman who we dearly loved.

"ON A PERSONAL NOTE: Nothing can express the pain and hole in my chest at the loss of Frieda. She was my friend, co-worker and someone I held in high-esteem and with great love in my heart. Her passing is a great loss to Guy, the Faire, our community and personally. She was at the top her game. We were working on many exciting projects for the faire in the near and upcoming future. She had a hand in all of them. She would tell me that the show must go on and it will, but everything I do will be influenced by her incredible vision and creativity and I do it in her memory. All she ever wanted was for us to be at our best, but she was the best of us. I will miss her terribly."

She was the best of us -- that is beautifully said. I miss her so much already.

Many thanks to A. J. Stevens for the kind permission to use the brilliant shot above of Frieda Paras-Jones as Mama Zini, horsing around with Her Majesty's Master of the Horse, Sir Robert Dudley (played by T. Stacy Hicks) at Renaissance Entertainment Productions' Renaissance Pleasure Faire South last Spring.

Phoole's Pilgrimage, Part 4: Sadie, a Snail, and the Room of Requirement

2010-06-15T16:06:00.003-05:00

(This entry continues the tale from where I left off here. Click here to get all of the chapters in the story so far.)

It never really occurred to us before, but in getting to know Muncaster's Events Coordinator, Sadie, a bit better on this trip, we realized that Sadie is the UK version of our friend Mary. Exhibit A:

This is a picture I took of Sadie (using my Palm Pre), near Sca Fell. It looks like a lot of pictures of Mary anywhere, except that Mary will occasionally allow her picture to be taken, as long as she's got her tongue stuck out at the camera.

The similarities between Sades and Maaaary (as we call her) don't end there. Either of them could have subbed in for Jack Palance in City Slickers. Either of them could also reenact any of Calamity Jane's Pony Express rides. They are, in a word, tough! We should be glad they're on our side, and that they've got healthy senses of humor.

Tom and I are both Anglophiles, and of the two of us, I'm possibly the bigger Gigantic Geek for All Things British. I was raised on BBC TV and radio, comedy and drama, and a steady diet of Wodehouse, Wilde, Tolkien, Douglas Adams and Stephen Fry from a very young age, and the default setting in my brain has always been, "If it's funny, clever, cultured and articulate, chances are it's British."

So, in getting to know Sadie better, it was so strange to hear her extol the virtues of American things! We were driving into a caravan park to drop off brochures to attract visitors to the Festival, and we laughed at how many campers had satellite-TV dishes hanging off of their tents and caravans, whereat Sadie revealed she'd lived in some pretty rough places, herding cattle on the Great Plains. She's lived and worked on cattle ranches across North America (you can learn more about the ranch she worked on in Montana here); she misses Hershey bars; she loves True Blood; she grew up watching The Dukes of Hazzard, and when we showed her photos of Tom and his best friends clambering into the General Lee, she flipped. While I often daydream about just upping and moving permanently to the isles where my motley make so much more sense, she's practicing with the bullwhip she got while driving cattle in Australia and learning deep South slang. She's a real cowgirl who's had crazy adventures all over the world, and after that conversation, we frequently joked about just trading places with her -- sending her back to the States to rope and ride, and moving in with her folks and her dogs and doing her jobs in the UK for her.

Another thing she has in common with Maaaary is this: she has two dogs, of the same breed, one of which is calm, the other of which is completely, utterly koo-koo. But we'll meet her hilarious puppehs in a later chapter.

So after devouring a thoroughly wonderful meal at the Brook House Inn (in Eskdale, quite close to the tiny town of Boot, which became important a few days later in our trip), Sadie took us to see more fells and deep lakes and verdant rolling sheep-covered hills. In honor of our friend Rico, Tom found a good rock to throw out into the lake:

And we saw this huge snail, which was curious to us, because back home, the snails are tiny:

And then Sadie took us back to Muncaster, to settle in for the first good night's sleep since leaving the US. We didn't, though, because the sun-staying-up-nearly-all-night thing is a huge novelty when you first arrive, and we weren't sleepy enough yet. We went for a little stroll around -- I had to show Tom the cannon bank, the brain-melting vistas, and Tom Fool's Tree, for starters.

When we'd wandered around to the lawn side of the Castle, where the Kingdom of Fools' stage gets set up, we found Peter Frost-Pennington and his son Ewan grappling with a tent, preparing for the arrival of Maximus, a Roman Soldier who'd be there during the Festival of Fools, recruiting and training young soldiers and gladiators. (We learned a great deal more about the Roman history of the area a few days later.) We helped get the tent put up, and it was delightful to pass a bit of time with Peter and Ewan. They're hilarious, much funnier than we are, not that it's a race, but there it is. And then Peter said, "Have you ever visited this room? I don't think you have."

And there he indicated a door we'd never really noticed before, probably because it's as old and beautiful as the rest of the castle, and it blended into the rusticated stone and vines. And Peter showed us the room behind the giant old door. It was definitely J. K. Rowling's Room of Requirement, containing wonders. You're going to have to trust me on this one -- we didn't feel like we should photograph anything there. But Antiques Roadshow could spend a two-week special on this room, and we felt humbled and really pretty giddy that we got to have a look.

When the sun finally started to actually set, we knew we'd be doomed if we didn't rest up for opening day of the Festival, so we bid our hosts goodnight and climbed up to the Coachman's Quarters, prepped costumes and props for the next day, fell into our incredibly comfortable beds, and passed out. (If you click here and then select the Virtual Tour of the "double room [disabled access]," you can see the actual room we stayed in.)

In Part 5, the Festival of Fools begins!

Phoole's Pilgrimage, Part 3, In Which The Lodgings Are Fantastic

2010-06-11T16:33:00.004-05:00

(This entry continues the tale from where I left off here. Click here to get all the chapters in the story.)

So Peter Frost-Pennington met us at the Ratty Arms (an excellent pub in Ravenglass, conveniently situated at the train station, waiting to gather you into its, um, arms) and cheerfully chided us over our repeated and bizarre travel delays. It's always good to see Peter -- he inspires confidence. He hefted our luggage and drove us up the winding roads to the castle, warning us: "Sadie's having kittens, you know! She'll be relieved you're finally here." She was! Introductions all around, check-in at reception, and we lugged luggage up to the room.

THE ROOM. We had Room 1 in the Coachmen's Quarters. Nice big room, with windows on two opposite sides. On one side, we had a view of the courtyard, so we could watch people bustling behind the scenes to get things done and see the other guests and fools arrive with their entourages and families. On the other side, we had the owlery. Very Hogwarts.

Now, in my travels, I end up having to wash a lot of glue off of my head. (See my account of the end of my last visit to Muncaster here.) As a result, I become keenly aware of How Awesome Showers Are. Until recently, my most favorite shower in the world was the one at The Dome, which is a private residence maintained by some Brilliant Delightful Well-Loved Friends of Mine. The shower in the Subterranean Suite at the Dome has the water pressure of a firehose, which is exactly what you want after performing for nine consecutive hours in 100-degree Fahrenheit heat and 100-percent humidity in 100 pounds of upholstery fabric! The water-cannon-like force smashes you up against the opposite side of the shower cabinet, and you let it. You love it! It's brilliant.

A close second favorite to this shower is my shower at my bungalow. Excellent water pressure, and apparently it's heated by the center of the sun itself. Unbelievably lobsterfying hot water. Very wonderful.

But I'm here to tell you that the shower in Room 1 at Muncaster Castle's Coachman's Quarters is my favorite shower in the world. I hope my beloved pals at The Dome forgive me for cheating on them, but the experience of voluntarily waterboarding myself in their basement now comes a close second to the shower that unglued my head for my Muncaster week. When you book your Muncaster holiday, try to book this room. Between the views and the shower, you'll barely have time for tourism, but it is well worth it!

So we chucked our bags into the room, marveled slack-jawed at the lodgings, and then tumbled back downstairs to Sadie's car, and she whisked us off for a drive up to Unbelievably Beautiful Scenery and a completely amazingly delicious meal at the Brook House Inn. Tom went mad for the beef-and-beer pie, and I devoured Sadie's recommendation, which was the bleu-cheese chicken. The Inn is a Free House, which means, I learned, that you can get Lots of Different Brewers' Beers and Ales there, instead of the place being beholden to a single brewery.

And I have to continue the story in Part 4, wherein we learn about Sadie's True Calling: COWGIRL!

OWLS!

2010-06-09T16:48:00.003-05:00

The World Owl Trust is headquartered at Muncaster Castle, and they are fantastically wonderful people. And owls. SO MANY OWLS! When you visit the Castle, visit the owls. You can adopt an owl for a really amazingly low fee, see a wide variety of species, and even get your picture made. How could we resist? WE COULD NOT. So here are two very nice pictures of Fasso Latido and Jane the Phoole with owls:

But of course I love I Can Haz Cheezburger?, so I couldn't resist making these very nice pictures (taken and very kindly shared by Trystan Williams) into LOLz:

Phoole's Pilgrimage: Muncaster Castle Festival of Fools 2010, Continued

2010-06-07T04:20:00.004-05:00

Brilliant photo by Graham Farey, whom I heartily thank for the use of the image. See more of his excellent work here!

When I last journeyed to Muncaster Castle in 2007 with the intrepid Jenny Higgins (henceforth known as "Jiggins"), we timed things well without even knowing it: quite by happenstance, we traveled on days when no one else was traveling, and from the States to the Castle, we enjoyed on-time flights and mostly-empty trains with no delays.

So it never occurred to me that traveling on the Friday and Saturday of a bank holiday weekend in the UK, with storms predicted in our flight connection city, would present any obstacle. After all, my 2007 trip had been nothing but ease, so why would I expect hurdles?

In Atlanta, our flight to Manchester was delayed an hour while the entire airport shut down due to frightening lightning-rife thunderstorms. Arriving in Manchester, we were tangled in delays at the airport there as well, and we struggled with our monstrous luggage onto already-packed trains.

We did manage to get seats on the first train, from Manchester Airport to Lancaster -- albeit the folding jump seats in the vestibule. Sometime after my 2007 visit, Northern Rail and TransPennine Express seem to have invented a new Seat-Reservation system for coach-class passengers, and though we've been riding trains now for several days here, we cannot make heads nor tails of it. The seats aren't actually reserved for any one person, it appears; the seats are tagged with little cards on the backs of the seats, and they're reserved for people getting on at certain stops and getting off at certain other stops. But there are other rules as well, and they seem completely inscrutable. So though we found the train to have a lot of empty seats, we couldn't actually use any of them, and we had to huddle in the baggage area, mantling our giant trunks as they tried to roll all over the train.

The luggage-rolling dilemma was soon solved by 100 other people piling their luggage on top of and around ours; we grimaced at the imminent rummage to get our stuff out from under the pile at Lancaster, but that was an hour away. The seats soon filled up, and I'm not sure if the reservation system was paid any heed by anyone else -- no one seemed to get ousted, regardless of where they got on the train or what their seat-card said. The train could easily have done with two more cars, and soon the entire train was packed, with people standing in all of the aisles.

A very nice older couple joined us on the jump seats after a few stops, and, jointly horrified at the mountain of luggage, we worked out together how we'd Tetris the upper luggages down into the spaces occupied by our trunks so that we could all detrain at Lancaster. They were off to visit children and grandchildren in Lancaster, and they enjoyed finding out that we were continuing on to Ravenglass for a festival dedicated entirely to Foolery, the discussion of which eventually turned to amateur fools (a.k.a politicians) and the state of the world. Their perspective was kind, worldly-wise and charitable, and we greatly enjoyed passing the time talking with them and solving the great crises facing humankind. They had actually traveled much more of the world than either Tom or I had -- they'd ridden elephants in India and visited Africa and all kinds of remote places. I greatly enjoyed the short time we spent talking together, and though it's unlikely, I hope we get stuck on a crowded train again with them someday -- we rearranged the teetering luggage-pile quite efficiently and brilliantly, and if it weren't for their patient assistance, our motleys may have gone on an adventure without us!

We'd hoped for a less-crowded train to take us the remaining two hours to Ravenglass, but no joy: the next train arrived crammed to capacity already, without even jump seats being available, so we braced ourselves against our trunks in the vestibule and prepared for the worst. At many stops, we had to get off the train with our trunks to let passengers off, let new passengers on, and then cram ourselves and our trunks back into the vestibule for the next travel segment.

We discovered hordes of holidaymakers were bound for different coastal towns -- many happy young families and older travelers cheerfully emerged at Grange-over-Sands for a fete, and a rowdy crowd of already-drunk youths roared obscenities at each other and bellowed with laughter until they exited at Cark for the Cartmel Races. At that point we turned to a handsome couple with whom we'd shared the cramped vestibule, and I said, "It was efficient of them to get endrunkened in advance! They seem high-spirited holidaymakers," to which the other gentleman responded, "Yeh, we've got a different term for them: d***heads," and we all had a loud laugh at that. The guy in that couple had really rugged good looks, we remember -- short-cropped hair, well-weathered oxblood-colored gloss-finish leather coat, lots of woolen layers under, gruff voice but arch and articulate, good choice to have on your side if anticipating a sudden brawl. The woman with whom he traveled was smaller, seeming of Indian descent, impeccably stylish, and also a good choice to have on your side in a brawl.

Jostled over the miles in the crowded vestibule, through fogged windows, we got glances of a rainy coastline, with lambs hunkered down in sandy pits to avoid the chill misty wind. When Jiggins and I had made the trip in 2007, the sun had come with us, and our comfortable seats afforded views of rolling green Tolkien hills full of fat frolicking fleecy sheep. But as the rain slashed against the packed train on this trip, I began to despair of fulfilling my promise to Peter Frost-Pennington that we'd bring five days of sunshine for the Festival.

In Barrow-in-Furness, a twenty-minute stop stretched into an hour as we learned we couldn't go on because the train no longer had a driver. Loudspeakers announced that another driver was on his way down from Carlisle, but no one knew when he'd arrive. Then announcements came that once the driver arrived, trouble on the tracks ahead would need to be resolved before we could go. The train lurched ahead 100 yards, giving us a heartswell of hope, but then it stopped again and we waited. I tried using our rented mobile to reach Sadie at Muncaster, but the service coverage was spotty, and the signal went in and out and finally completely dead. I hoped the main details had gotten through -- that we'd be delayed; that we'd hoped to arrive by two o'clock but probably wouldn't actually get there until after five. At least we'd been able to find a couple of seats by then, though we were sure that at any moment, a conductor would come through and chase us back to the vestibule, as the seats were probably "reserved" for someone or no one else.

Finally, FINALLY we made Ravenglass, and I got through to Sadie, who said Peter would be at the Ratty Arms having a pint, waiting for us. And the adventure continues in my next post, when we finally get to the castle!

Phoole's Pilgrimage: Muncaster Castle Festival of Fools 2010

2010-06-04T13:06:00.002-05:00

(Photo, by Tom Charney, of an inchworm on my hat, on the windowsill in our room in the Coachmen's Quarters at Muncaster Castle. Every time I look at this pic, I get the Danny Kaye song stuck in my head.)

With heavy hearts and even heavier trunks, we left Muncaster Castle and the soul-ignitingly beautiful Lake District behind today. We're wasting a little time in Manchester until next week; Tom's having a well-earned nap, and I should be re-packing my mountains of gear, but I couldn't wait to share a few pictures. These were all taken by my brilliant husband Tom Charney; he performed (dazzlingly) with me almost all day every day as silly Italian Fasso Latido, so he didn't get that many shots, but hopefully some of my new Phoole Photog friends will be sending along more images I can share too.

Jane and Fasso, Fools for Love

2010-06-04T11:43:00.001-05:00

Muncaster Castle, originally uploaded by S Tu.

Cheers to Flickr user Scarlett Tu for snapping this moment! More to come!

Muncaster Reveries, Last Chapter: Or, Back and There Again

2010-05-21T14:58:00.002-05:00

And so today I'll finally tell the end of the story that really started six years ago, when I became Milwaukee's Official Municipal Jester, and ran a rambling road of preparations, experiences and delightful terrors on the way to the end of the International Jester Tournament during Muncaster Castle's Festival of Fools 2007.

For the earlier parts of the story, click here. I'll now continue from yesterday's thrilling cliff-hanger, where I was hoping to quietly slink away to chat with people, rather than having to revisit the so-silent crowd I puzzled that morning.

After the last act had performed a spectacular competition show, with juggling and fire and fire-juggling, and I was embroiled in a very serious conversation with a group 7-to-10-year-old children about the future of screenwriting and the joys of churning out 2-minute plays with no punchlines, Sadie found me and gently ushered me into the castle's dining room, which had been doubling as a sort of green room for those about to go on during the competition. We were all supposed to wait there for the awards ceremony. Embarrassed as I was, Sadie and Vivienne Soan managed to distract me brilliantly by asking me charming questions about how I'd constructed my clothes -- and all Phooligans know I love to jabber on about motley haberdashery! So many students ask me why I bother to spend so much time, money, research and energy on my motleys. Well, it pays off, one way or another!

(I don't know why, but I like the way Paul's sort of peeking into this shot, like a one-eyed Jack on a playing card. I just like it.)

And then we all had to troop outside, to await our fates behind the little stage, while Patrick Gordon-Duff-Pennington re-introduced us each to the crowd and then announced the judges' pick for the winner. The crowd cheered when I came back on, which I attribute to them having just been seriously revved up by the last several excellent acts, and also I think the children might have been energized a bit by my goofing off with them all day; my interactions with them may have caused them to forget my dreary performance earlier. In any case, cheering happened, and it surprised me.

Paul Garbanzo took the big prize, to thunderous accolades, and once he'd been hatted and coated and adorned with medals, Patrick handed around the consolation prizes -- each of the non-winning competitors received a handsome, simple wooden bowl.

The hilarious Martin Soan had changed costumes about 457 times that day, and he'd appeared for the awards dressed as the Pantomime Mrs. Havisham (yes, that one, from GREAT EXPECTATIONS). I do not have a picture of Martin dressed as the Pantomime Mrs. Havisham, but I want you to know that it's one of the funniest things ever. Chair, dress, wig, everything: hysterical! And I wish I had video to show you of the moment he received his wooden bowl from Patrick Gordon-Duff-Pennington, whereat he pointed into the bowl and said, "Hey, there's no money in there!"

The audience enjoyed this. But taking it completely in stride, Patrick addressed the crowd directly, on the mic: "He says there's no money in there. Look here, fellow, I'll have you know that branch came through my sitting-room window!" And the crowd roared with delighted laughter.

While the roaring went on, I grinned dazedly, and the little wheels inside my brain clicked around and lined up: in 2005, a devastating storm struck Muncaster Castle, taking two huge branches off Tom Fool's Tree. The family had saved the wood from that ancient chestnut tree and had our prizes fashioned from it. I held in my hands a piece of Tom Fool's Tree.

That felt a bit like winning. It still does. I have the bowl at home, in a nice case. Here you can see me, gripping it while getting jostled for the obligatory group portraits:

(Back row: Mike Hancock; Compere Maynard FlipFlap, Muncaster Fool Emeritus; Etienne; Martin Soan in his Elizabethan attire. Front row: Jason the Juggling Jester, Paul Garbanzo, and yours very truly madly deeply.)

Here, Martin discovers that my bumroll makes an excellent place to rest a drink when you're tired of carrying it around.

And then we all had to do big arms:

Paul was shortly whisked off to BBC-Carlisle for interviews, but the rest of us got a bit of tape in as well:

And then I goofed with the crowds again until all had calmed down and the Festival had closed.

I recall we got rain then, the first rain since Jiggins and I had disembarked in Ravenglass, just a five-minute squall, and the sun came right back out again. I'd dashed up to our perfect little room in the Coachman's Quarters to wash the glue out of my hair (my hair [I do actually have hair, and I'm sorry if you're finding this out now for the first time] is so fine it won't hold any kind of hairpin or bobby pin, so in order to make my hats stay on correctly, I have to coat my head in hair glue, which is a real thing that exists] and put on A-E clothing, came down, got rained on very briefly, and then everyone piled into a room to enjoy Paul on telly from Carlisle. That being achieved, Jiggins and I headed out for possibly our last Muncaster stroll of the voyage.

We had an absurdly dramatic farewell scene with Joel Dickinson, who was clinging to the back of a luggage-cart train as it zipped across the lawns, waving with baroque sentimentality, which we returned double, because he's an extremely nice person. And rounding the corner by Tom's Tree, we found Martin and Vivienne taking in one last skullfull of the mind-blowingly beautiful vista:

If you can arrange to recline on cannons by Tom's Tree and watch slanting evening sunbeams chase a rainstorm across the fells while in the charmingest company of the Soans, I recommend you do it.

And the next day, so very sadly, we left great Muncaster Castle, gorgeous sheepy Cumbria, and the eye-explodingly-beautiful Lake District behind. But I can't end the story without revisiting Eric Tree-Head. Remember young Eric, son of the great Maynard Flip-Flap?

The day after Eric and I first met, he recognized me at breakfast in Creeping Kate's Kitchens, even though I was out of my motley. He approached our table wide-eyed and awed, and pointed to me, and said, "You were the Queen yesterday!" I grinned gigantically. After he'd retreated, beaming, his mum confided, "You're his new girlfriend, I'm afraid; he talks of no-one but you." I was terribly impressed with myself at that. I mean, his dad was the reigning Muncaster Fool at the time -- I was happy to simply be remembered at all!

So on the last day of the festival, Eric Tree-Head, age six and three-quarters years, gave me a gift. He presented me with the stout walking staff he'd found and used during the Festival of Fools, shown in his hand below:

He was extremely solemn in giving it to me. I took it reverently, turned it over in my hands, and looked at him very seriously. "Eric, this stick has a pointed end, and I am a very silly person. Do you think it's safe for me to have a stick like this?"

He considered for a long moment. And then he pronounced, "I believe you can be trusted."

I laughed and cried.

I couldn't fit the stick in my trunk, no matter how I tried (which will amaze those of you who have seen my trunk. I can fit ME in my trunk, but this stick just would not fit in). So as we were leaving, I found Eric Tree-Head, and together we put the stick leaning up against the trunk of Tom Fool's Tree, and I said, "I'm coming back to Muncaster Castle some day, and I'm going to find this stick when I come back, all right?" That seemed fine with young Mr. Tree-Head.

It's hard to believe that "some day" is coming up in less than a week.

Will the stick still be there?

Will I see Eric Tree-Head again?

Will he remember?

I wish I could take every last one of you with me -- I'd pack you in my trunk, but I need room for the stick! Failing that, I'm bringing some tech, so I can report on adventures if there is ever a lull.

Phooligans all, thanks, thanks and ever thanks for your absurd devotion. It's the Phoole Fuel that keeps me adventuring!

Jane the Fool Meets Xit LeGrand: Ainsworth's THE TOWER OF LONDON Excerpt

2010-05-21T12:29:00.004-05:00

I enjoy scouting Jane the Fool mentions in Wm. Harrison Ainsworth's chewy historical romance THE TOWER OF LONDON, published in 1858. Here's the bit where 2-foot-tall Sir Narcissus "Xit" LeGrand meets Jane for the first time, as Mary Tudor arrives at the Tower to depose Jane Grey and claim the throne for herself, and it also refers to the giants, Og, Gog and Magog, who may have been Henry VIII's illegitimate sons:

At the By-ward Tower she [Queen Mary] was received by Lord Clinton, and a train of nobles. On either side of the gate stood Gog and Magog. Both giants made a profound obeisance' as she passed. A few steps further, her course was checked by Og and Xit. Prostrating himself before her, the elder giant assisted his diminutive companion to clamber upon his back, and as soon as he had gained this position, the dwarf knelt down, and offered the keys of the fortress to the queen. Mary was much diverted at the incident, nor was she less surprised at the vast size of Og and his brethren—than at the resemblance they presented to her royal father. Guessing what was passing through her mind, and regardless of consequences as of decorum, Xit remarked,—
"Your majesty, I perceive, is struck with the likeness of my worthy friend Og to your late sire, King Henry VIII, of high and renowned memory. You will not, therefore, be surprised, when I inform you that he is his—"

Before another word could bo uttered, Og, who had been greatly alarmed at the preamble, arose with such suddenness, that Xit was precipitated to the ground.

"Pardon me, your majesty," cried the giant, in great confusion, " it is true what the accursed imp says. I have the honour to be indirectly related to your highness. God's death, sirrah, I have half a mind to set my foot upon thee and crush thee. Thou art ever in mischief."

The look and gesture which accompanied this exclamation, were so indescribably like their royal parent, that neither the queen nor the Princess Elizabeth could forbear laughing.

As to Xit, the occurrence gained him a new friend in the person of Jane the Fool, who ran up as he was limping off with a crest-fallen look, and begged her majesty's permission to take charge of him. This was granted, and the dwarf proceeded with the royal cortege. On learning the name of his protectress, Xit observed,—

"You are wrongfully designated, sweetheart. Jane the Queen was Jane the Fool—you are Jane the Wise."

Muncaster Reveries: Maybe I Should Finish The Story From Last Time!

2010-05-19T15:47:00.005-05:00

In just over a week, Tom and I will brave the volcano and fly to Manchester, and then take a train to beautiful Muncaster Castle to do walkaround performance for the Festival of Fools 2010. I won't be competing this time around, and that pressure being off, the run-up is a breathless whirl of packing, last-minute motley-making, and other minute launch preparations.

But we haven't even finished the story of the last trip I made to Muncaster, my first visit, in 2007, when I competed in the International Jester Tournament.

To save you anxiety, I'll cut to the punchline: I didn't win. No, not even close! Martin Soan told me I should say I won 2nd place, and I grinned and followed his advice. But if you believed me when I told you that, you've been Phooled. There were no places -- just a winner, Paul Garbanzo, and, as Martin said to us after the prize had been awarded, "The rest of us? We're LOOOOOOSERS!"

The competition is really for acts with big physical spectacle and audience involvement. MoOnIe the Magnif'cent, a.k.a. the brilliant and amazing Philip Earl, would be a shoo-in for the tournament -- the judges sought acts on his zesty scale. Something talky? Not so much. And even before the day, once all of the competitors had arrived, I knew I was doomed.

Jiggins had the right idea -- she went off for insane adventures around the castle grounds with Etienne, while I stayed behind at the lounge with the other competitors and their families. On the one hand, the night before the competition was brilliantly memorable -- I was in a room with some of the funniest people I'd ever met. They were all just calmly, deeply hilarious. Usually, in a room full of people, I eventually feel that pull to be the funny person -- not that night. My services were not required. And that terrified me deeply.

Soon I was on the phone to poor patient Tom for at least an hour. "I have to come home. This is insane. I can't do this. These people are too funny. No, I mean everyone. In the entire country. It's presumptuous of me to pretend to be qualified to compete." Tom reassured me the way he always does, reminding me of the devoted people who Got Behind the Phoole to get me to the UK in the first place, reminding me of the love and generosity of the people who would come to be known as Phooligans, reminding me that I'd gotten laughs and encouragement the rest of the trip, from the too-kind Penningtons and their charming guests. I'd gotten that far, farther than any other jester I'd known. I had to try.

I had originally planned a ten-minute act of story-joking and self-effacery, and in hindsight, I should probably have stayed with it, not that it would have mattered; I was up against five acts that were all bold physical spectacle. I panicked the night before, and feared that what was funny to Americans wouldn't be funny at all to Brits, and tried to rewrite at the last minute, going instead for jokes I'd learned from the Brits themselves. I could hardly get to sleep, dreading the morning like a date with a firing squad.

And, indeed, when my performance began and I faced the crowd, I did in fact die. I bombed. I bombed worse than I have ever bombed in my life, and I mean ever. The first story-joke fell absolutely flat, with no response, and I felt myself drowning in the crowd's uncomfortable silence at a minute in; at two minutes in, lacking even one laugh, I cut and ran. I got out of there. I bowed with a flourish and bolted, polite and confused applause propelling me through the castle doors and into the depths of a kitchen in the middle of the house.

I know Americans traveling abroad have a reputation for being over-emotional, particularly as considered from the British perspective, so I knew I had to make this quick -- I found a place to hide, and I cried for exactly one minute, very, very quietly. I had anticipated failure, but I hadn't anticipated it being so very painful! I'd stuffed my bag with the brightly-colored tissues for which I'm oddly famous, the ones that seem to come in colors to match every motley I make, and I soaked two of them efficiently, with hot tears of shame.

I don't know how, but Etienne found me first. He tried to be encouraging: "Well, at least you're done!" The totally-not-helpful substance of that remark made me bark with unexpected laughter, and I wondered how I was going to put my face back together sufficiently to get back out there and get back to the thing I do well, Walking Around Talking to People. Just then, Jiggins found me too -- with my makeup in hand, ready to help repair the Phoole visage. So thoughtful, Jiggins, the Phoole Guard Extraordinaire.

As I put my eyes back together, Jiggins quietly and calmly said, "Now, there's something I have to ask you, and I do not want this to make you anxious. But did you contact David Tennant's agency about you coming to the UK?"

Indeed, I had done so. In fact, in the months running up to the Festival, I'd cheekily pinged the agents of all of my favorite British celebrities, saying, "Hi! I'm a silly American who loves your work. If you'd like to see me goof around in 16th-century motley with a fake British dialect, I'll be up North soon." I stared with saucer eyes at Jiggins as she rotated her camera so I could see the screen on the back.

"It's just that there's this guy out there, and it probably isn't him, but he just watched your performance, and, well..." And I cringed and peeked, and on that little screen, it looked exactly like him:

I died inside, even more than I'd already just died inside. Had I just given the worst performance of my entire career, with David Tennant in the house? I couldn't let that potential hang in the air -- I had to know. I whooshed out of the castle to find this guy.

I found him right away -- he'd sat down to wait through the brief intermission for the next act. As I swept toward him, all of the tiny children who had just sat through my awful cringefest swarmed around me: "Jane the Phoole! I liked your stories, Jane! I enjoyed you!"

I stopped and grinned warmly at them all. "Ah. You did, did you?" I gritted my teeth slightly. "You all must have been laughing on the inside, where it counts!" But their ebullience boiled over, and they took my hands and pulled me down for what must have been congratulatory hugs.

The Guy With the Unmistakable Hair was still in his seat. I steeled myself and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, begging your extreme pardon, Sir, but has anyone ever told you you look exactly like David Tennant before?"

The man turned around. "Who?"

My heart started beating again. The lovely young woman next to him, whom in that second I realized was his wife, prompted, "The bloke who plays Doctor Who on telly."

"Oh," he replied, not Scottish in the least. "No. Afraid not."

I turned to the pile of children. "Don't you think this man looks like The Doctor, though?"

They exploded. "It's The Doctor! Are you The Doctor? You look like The Doctor, though!" And so on.

I'm afraid I must have embarrassed the poor fellow unduly, but I couldn't just go on thinking that the bottom of my career might have been witnessed by one of the most amazing performers ever. Relieved, I laughed my head off, and, begging the gentleman's pardon, I excused myself and drew my new entourage along with me.

Phooligans know how I love to goof with kids, and I like to speak to them as if they're adults, taking their ideas very seriously and engaging them as people, not as any kind of subordinate or in-progress person. Well, these children actually ARE adults. They're incredibly articulate, well-spoken, considerate individuals, and I delight in their insistings and assertions. I passed the rest of the afternoon trying to forget my abysmal belly-flop of a show, immersing myself in nonsense conversations with the very young.

I ended up getting my picture taken with hundreds of people, and before long, each TV station crew had put me in front of their cameras. I heard a producer say, "Get her. She has good clothes, and she can talk. Get her on camera." Jiggins overheard other producers saying the same thing. So I flexed some "thee"s and "thou"s on various BBC channels. That goes a long way toward helping one forget that one's just bombed onstage -- very cheering! One crew had me juggle with Joel Dickinson; another had me do an interlude in a tour of the castle.

I barked with laughter through Martin Soan's hysterical show, and when Etienne and Paul Garbanzo made the crowds roar, I felt perhaps I should just draw off my little crowd of followers and hunker down until the whole awards thing had blown over. But it was not to be.

Soon: the rest of the tale!

The New Motley! By Steve Spitzer

2010-05-18T18:22:00.004-05:00

Phooligan Steve Spitzer rewards his friends with brilliantly-detailed memories via his camera, and I'm so grateful! Enjoy. Many more shots from the Janesville Renaissance Faire are at Steve's Facebook here.

Jane's Ville: A Leap Forward in Fun, and a New Motley Unveiled!

2010-05-17T15:05:00.006-05:00

Photo by Chris Muetz

Cheers to all of the Phooligans who jaunted out to the Janesville Renaissance Faire this past weekend! It was fantastic Phoolish fun spending time with all of you: old friends, new friends, esteemed colleagues and comrades-in-arms. We shared big laughs, in-depth discussions on Subjects of Monumental Import, and general delightful silliness. We never reached a solid consensus on the meaning of the signs posted in the park that say "FEEDING GEESE DUCKS PROHIBITED." Some say it means you shouldn't feed ducks to geese; others maintain there's something called a Geese Duck that one mustn't feed. Don't Know. It's still a mystery! I didn't get any new languages for "bad monkey," but I had fun supplying the ones I had to Phooligans burning to know the phrase in a range of tongues and dialects. Fasso Latido made an appearance on Saturday, in his own fantastic new motley. And a nice "round-Robin" discussion on Sunday morning featuring Robin Hood and Little John tackled the always-timely topic of How to Remedy an Excess of Moral Fiber and ended in lots of loud double-over guffaws. Good good goofings had by all!

A special cheer goes to the Guildes of St. George, St. Michael and St. Lawrence -- you make me feel mighty real! I realized this past weekend how heavily I've come to rely on these organizations for inspiration, creative context, and survival. I appreciate these volunteers and the immense research, work and resources they dedicate to building the bridge between the Audience-World and 16th-Century England.

Great acts, fascinating craft demonstrators, and luxury vendors abounded in Jane's Ville. Many thanks to the devoted and driven organizers of this event, Chris and Heather and Rick and Shelly, and everyone who helped make my Ville a delightful place to be! More views of Jane enjoying the Ville are here:

Photo by Alexis Pena

Photo by Alexis Pena

Photo by Chris Muetz

Photo by Bob Matthews

Photo by Satine Keala

Photo by Satine Keala

Jane's Ville This Weekend! May 15-16, Traxler Park, Janesville, WI

2010-05-10T14:15:00.004-05:00

Welcome to my Ville! This coming weekend, May 15-16, 2010, join me and about one hundred bazillion great acts and vendors at the Janesville Renaissance Faire! This show is near and dear to your Phoole -- all proceeds go to support local community groups and scholarships, and the atmosphere is pastoral and full of delights. Now actually IS the month of Maying, so get your May on in 16th-century style at Jane's Ville this weekend!

I can't believe they succeeded in luring The Fairy Godmothers out of retirement -- this act has to be seen and personally-experienced to be believed. They're brilliant sisters who are attuned to one another in high farcical comic style, and they're thrilled to draw you into their game. Many street acts have spectacle, but I haven't worked with many who listen as well as this act -- they're quick thinkers and large-crowd-includers, and they assimilate guest assumptions instantly to escalate the hilarity. And Phoole Faves the Guildes of St. Michael, St. George and St. Lawrence will all be in the Ville too, along with so many other delights for all divers and sundrie revelers and ruminants alike! Can't wait to goof with you in my Ville!

Vote Fool!

2010-04-24T08:50:00.001-05:00

Quoth Will Tease, incumbent Fool Party head, regarding the UK's 2010 elections:

“We’ve decided that since most of the candidates of the other parties were big enough fools, what this election really needs was a level playing field so we’re putting ourselves forward to bring some levity to the campaign and to prick the pomposity of those who seek to govern us. Together with my fellow Fools I have been trying to put together a manifesto which is even more ludicrous than the ones that have been published so far by other political parties.

“As this has proved rather more difficult than we’d expected, we’ve decided simply to produce our own pledge card. We believe that the 10 promises we are announcing today would solve most of this country’s current problems. But if anyone has any other ideas for really foolish policies we’d be delighted to hear them and we’ll even offer a prize for the best one!

“Our first promise is that if we win this election we will turn the Houses of Parliament into Britain’s biggest comedy club. Overnight we would massively increase the number of people tuning into the Parliament Channel. MPs would instead sit at Muncaster Castle, the home of Tom Fool, the man who is this inspiration for all real Fools.

“Anyone who has concerns about our current policies need fear not. A new Fool of Muncaster and leader of the Tom Fool Party is elected every year following a rigorous selection procedure. In fact I will oversee the election of my successor at the International Jester Tournament at Muncaster Castle just four weeks after the General Election on 3 June.”

Visit http://ping.fm/kxJL4 for all the details, and help get out the Fool Vote!

Smells Like Fool Spirit: Fool Fragrance from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

2010-04-22T09:53:00.008-05:00

At C2E2, I met the hyper-stylish, extremely kind people from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, purveyors of scents and soaps to the deliciously literate and haute-macabre. Their zesty "Fool" scent is based on "15 Painted Cards From a Vampire Tarot," a short story by Phoole Fave Neil Gaiman. All proceeds from sales of the fragrances in this series (and their corresponding tees, which are also gorgeous and not to be resisted) go to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, working to preserve the First-Amendment rights of the comic community. Order the scent, and you also receive the corresponding Tarot card, created by Madame Talbot. Spookyween's right around the corner, and these scents are the perfect accoutrement to your Octoberings!

Jane the Phoole by Doug Sneyd

2010-04-19T21:28:00.001-05:00

Jane the Phoole by Doug Sneyd, originally uploaded by Phoole.

Doug Sneyd, legendary Playboy cartoonist, drew this excellent portrait of Jane the Phoole during C2E2 2010!

Jane the Phoole Loves C2E2!

2010-04-19T10:57:00.003-05:00

I had a fantastic time at the Chicago Comic and Entertainment Expo, a.k.a. C2E2, this past weekend at Chicago's McCormick Place, promoting the Bristol Renaissance Faire! Everyone I met was delightful, kind, energetic and intelligent. I had great encounters and engaging chats. I learned that, while most children whom I meet at Renaissance Faires prefer flight over invisibility, children at conventions prefer invisibility over flight, and if monkey-tail-having is introduced as an option, it gets chosen far more frequently by children at conventions versus children at Faires. I met Rich Koz again! I made new friends and laughed with old friends. Here are some snaps from the event, with many more to be found at the Phoole Flickr Page:

More soon!

HAPPY FOOLS' DAY!

2010-04-01T16:07:00.005-05:00

A happy, silly, disorienting and completely amazingly delightful April Fools' Day to all you Phooligans! I celebrated at top speeds, starting on All Fools' Eve yesterday.

First, I got this really sweet message from Peter Frost-Pennington of Muncaster Castle on the Facebook:

Hi Jane, I'm just preparing for the Fools to take over Muncaster tomorrow.....oh dear! Will Tease is in charge as he hosts his "Feast of Fools" on Tom Fool's Day...and no doubt I'll get thrown in the stocks again! Nevertheless, looking forward to your Tomfoolery here in a few weeks time...make sure you bring the sunshine and I'm sure you'll pack your smile - one of them still hangs in our Office Reception! Maynard Flip-Flap is also here tomorrow, so I'll pass on your compliments. All the Jest, Peter

Then, I met the brilliant Christopher Moore, author of my most favorite book of all time, FOOL! He was on fire, energetic, engaged, zesty, genius. His talk was hilarious and inspiring, and I have quite a lot to think about and digest after having spent some time in the actual presence. He researched FOOL for two years, he said, and it startled me, because in that book, he managed to not merely display but synthesize the knowledge and experience I myself have needed 21 years to accumulate. Humbling! AND he's just a great, genuine person. He handled a live audience calmly, happily, brilliantly and hilariously. Here he is, signing my scribbled-in FOOL hardback and a paperback copy for my Dad:

Still spinning from yesterday's madnesses, I greeted the dayjob cubicle hatted and smile-masked:

And I got fantastic Fools' Day greetings all day long from fabulous people. Cheers to all!

Muncaster Memories, Continued

2010-03-31T12:32:00.002-05:00

With the 2010 Festival of Fools at Muncaster Castle rapidly approaching, I'm frantically sewing, packing for both the trip and our move to a new house, and scrambling to get the best deal on our plane tickets. But I must not neglect the completion of the blague accounts from the last time I visited the hallowed haunts. More Muncaster!

Goofing with guests on the third morning of the Festival.

Here's Sadie, our indulgent and too-kind liaison from Muncaster. She'd just been for a walk with me, letting me know the hosts and guests were really enjoying my act. I was tremendously relieved -- being a Fake British Person surrounded by Real British Persons is daunting, but I was glad to know my walkaround was helping people have fun.

Checking the gate.

Huzzah the Family Flip-Flap! I cannot remember their real surname, and I'm not sure I ever actually knew what it was. But I just made Maynard Flip-Flap's family into "the Family Flip-Flap" in my notes, and it makes me happy to think of a family named Flip-Flap. When Maynard introduced us to little 2-year-old Lydia, he swung her up into his arms and said, "She's got a pooey bottom and a poor disposition." Here she's completely clothed, but we'd often see her darting around without trousers, gleefully escaped. And when Maynard was onstage bedecking the new Fool of Muncaster Castle with hat and coat and awards, Lydia seized the opportunity to appear onstage with them, "sans pantalones," as we are fond of saying (mis-matched languages at no extra charge). Mrs. Flip-Flap remarked to Jenny and I at one point, "Do you two perform together? If not, you ought to. I see a double-act here." (If only she could have seen the puppeteering madness with which we'd gotten away years ago. In a way, every adventure Jenny and I have ends up as a double-act, and they always get great notices!)

The stick being wielded as a staff by young Eric Tree-Head here was presented to me as a gift at the end of our visit to Muncaster. It was a serious, weighty, and happy-sad thing, and I have to tell you about it later.

That's all the reminiscence I can afford at the moment -- it's April Fool's Eve, FOOL author Christopher Moore comes to Milwaukee tonight, and there's so much to do!

I'VE BEEN SEWING.

2010-03-16T21:12:00.001-05:00

I'm making nice new clothes for Tom and I to wear for our upcoming fabulous gigs. I finished a new doublet for Tom's comic walkaround character, the silly Italian loverman Fasso Latido, a few days ago, and a few minutes ago I finished the demi-slops. The doublet design is mine. It's not found in history, except after now, when the future happens. It will be found in history later, but not the correct history. I merged a wide-collared jerkin (laugh, consarn you! JERKIN) with a doublet with gigantor epaulets. The silhouette suits Tom's frame, and the monstrously-large sleeves that are next on the worktable will make the epaulets look less space-age. Because we tend to perform in extreme heat, I didn't want to layer a jerkin over a doublet for Tom. He's had quite enough of that nonsense, thank you. The demi-slop pattern was created by Phoole mentor T. Stacy Hicks, and he and I are both responsible for the color choices.

Phoole on Film! CIRCUSWORLD by Chloe Arbiture

2010-03-16T12:35:00.001-05:00

Soon to be world-famous Production Designer Chloe Arbiture made this short film for her senior project at UWM's film program. It won awards and has many of your favorite people in it, including the up-and-coming Seth Neuschwander, whom you should meet because he's very clever and very funny, and Phoole Mentor Ron Scot Fry, and my hurrrrrsband Tom Charney helped with a lot of it too and has a cameo. And I'm in it too. Enjoy!

CIRCUSWORLD from UWM Film on Vimeo.

"Zis is not funneh!" by Ivan Phillips

2010-02-12T17:23:00.002-06:00

Zis is not funneh!, originally uploaded by theta_sigma.

Every person in this photograph is wildly uncomfortable. That WWII German soldier reenactor is not having Monarcho and I in the slightest. And we don't really know what to do either. So we do the hands-up posey-grinney thing. So awkward! Cheers again to Ivan Phillips for the moment-catchery.

Chemise by Hicks, Lighting by Caravaggio

2010-02-12T17:19:00.002-06:00

, originally uploaded by theta_sigma.

Ivan Phillips has a way with capturing the light at hand, worthy of that fighty Caravaggio rascal. I just hope he's a better sport at tennis. Didn't Caravaggio kill someone over a tennis match? I think he might have done. Yet another fine moment snapped by Mr. Phillips. And I am crazy about my new chemise. I've never worn a chemise I didn't make myself before. This one was my Christmas present from my sewing mentor, Monarcho himself, T. Stacy Hicks. It makes the dress feel brand-new, regardless of how many times the thing has been shipped around the world. Cheers, brilliant makers of things!

Up to No Good With Jane

2010-02-12T17:14:00.002-06:00

, originally uploaded by theta_sigma.

Don't I look conspiratorial? I would not trust me in this moment. But I think these nice people did. Alas for them! Cheers as ever to Ivan Phillips for the excellent snappery.

Monarcho and Jane, in flagrante something-or-other

2010-02-12T17:12:00.002-06:00

, originally uploaded by theta_sigma.

Another precious moment captured by the brilliant Ivan Phillips.

"Hampton Court...Not!" by Ivan Phillips

2010-02-12T16:57:00.005-06:00

I love this shot of Monarcho and Jane in the hall at the gorgeous, modern Westin North Shore, where ReenactorFest was held last weekend. It was snapped by the immensely-talented Ivan Phillips, whose Flickr collection will delight you hugely.

It reminds me of my favorite Henri Rousseau painting, Carnivale Evening:

Cheers, ReenactorFest!

2010-02-08T08:29:00.002-06:00

I had the best time. It was great to meet so many people who are so enthusiastic about bringing living history to audiences around the country and around the world. I only have a moment to write at present, but I did want to thank Autumn Tree Productions and Guilde of St. Michael-Bristol for the fun times and the panel discussion, the organizers for having the event in the first place, Ivan Phillips for the fantastic photos, Phooligans for coming and playing, TimeOut Chicago for stopping to chat and make me even more famous, the Westin North Shore for sweetly and efficiently supplying my every ridiculous whim, Bob and Kristina for the brilliant conversazione, the owner of Oreo the Shih-Tzu for letting me pet his prosh li'l dog every time he crossed the lobby, and absolutely everyone for being so kind and indulgent. It really was a gathering for the ages!

Jane the Phoole Appearance! Brave New World, Jan. 30: FUNdraiser for Optimist Theatre's Shakespeare in the Park

2010-01-30T22:30:00.000-06:00

Come goof with Jane the Phoole and Many Illustrious Brilliants at Brave New World, a fundraising event for Optimist Theatre's Shakespeare in the Park venture! The deets:

Where: Alverno College, The Teaching, Learning and Technology Center, 3400 S. 43rd St., Milwaukee, WI 53234

When: Saturday, January 30, 2010, reception begins 7:00 p.m., show begins 8:00 p.m. (It's recommended to reserve by January 22, 2010.)

Admission: $35

Mixing it up with the crowds: Jane the Phoole!

Onstage: Philip Earl Johnson (a.k.a MoOnIe the Magnificent)! The Jeanna Salzer Trio!

Enjoying every minute: YOU. Hope to see you there!

UPDATE: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE HIMSELF will attend this event! He'll be brought to zesty delicious life by none other than Phoole Friend and Mentor T. Stacy Hicks.

Jane the Phoole Returns to Festival of Fools at Muncaster Castle 2010!

2010-01-28T15:34:00.002-06:00

I know. I KNOW! It's TOO FANTASTIC! Phooligans, Phoole Friends and everyone who Got Behind the Phoole in 2007, I owe this to you. If you hadn't encouraged and supported me back then, I'd never have made it to Muncaster; and if I'd never been, I couldn't be invited back. But yesterday, a delightful exchange of emails with Sadie confirmed I'll be performing walkaround at Muncaster Castle's Festival of Fools 2010!

That means I have a lot of chronicling of the last trip to get through before a very firm departure date of May 28. Where were we? Ah, yes -- tea with Owl.

Muncaster Castle is very far north. Have I mentioned that? Where I live, in Milwaukee, WI, in May, the sun rises around 5:30 p.m. and sets around 8:00 p.m. And it had just never occurred to me to look up what time the sun rose and set at Muncaster Castle. We were shocked to discover a completely alien light rhythm: in late May and early June, the sun rises around 4:45 a.m. and sets around 9:40 p.m. I am not used to living in a world where the sun is up that late.

So that first day, when I was out romping the grounds all day, I think I was waiting for the sun to lower so that I could go back inside, because that's the performance day to which I'm accustomed -- you're out until sunset. Sadie and other castle staff kindly shepherded me inside after the gates closed, and I couldn't believe how much daylight still remained! I'm used to riding the last rays of sunlight out, and then schlepping toward civilian clothes in semi-darkness. Mad place.

On one of the subsequent days, Sadie took Jenny and I for a trip to view the tallest mountain in England. I failed to write down or remember the name of this mountain, but I think it might have been Scafell Pike. In any case, I'll get to find out for certain in May, but here are some of the pastoral scenes that rendered Jenny and I quite blissfully stunned.

My Flickr page has many more images of this entire excursion, all snapped by the intrepid Jenny "Jiggins" Higgins.

It was lambing season when we rolled through the winding country lanes, and the fields were full of leaping, kicking, baaaaing lambies. Completely deadly cute. It really was excessive. It would have been as much as our lives were worth if we'd tried to pet these lambies, as the ewes are quite aggressive, so I had to take it out on the lemurs at the petting zoo when I got home. They bore up well. But it is immensely soothing to the city-dweller's soul to be amongst endless fields of frolicking, white, fluffulent little lambs.

Jenny and I entertained Sadie mightily by blurting out, "SHEEP!" every time we passed a pasture. We had to explain to her that that's how we are at home -- out on a drive in the country, we yell out the name of any animal we see. Even in the city, I yell "PUPPY!" every time I see a dog. The three of us shared giggles over a mutual acquaintance, someone we'd just met the day before, who had never even seen a sheep before coming to the Lake District, and who wanted very much to hug one. Nothing twisted or sinister in that, mind -- he just liked how fluffy the sheep looked, and he wanted to give a sheep a cuddle. In her delicious Cumbrian dialect, Sadie said, "He could be a sheep-coodler!" and Jenny and I were done for, laughing our heads off.

An award mentioning Jane the Phoole and "Bad Monkey" in Spanish!

2010-01-16T15:48:00.002-06:00

The award!, originally uploaded by Phoole.

Please enjoy this li'l award bestowed upon me at, of all places, my day job. I appreciate that the award-bestowers included "mico malo," which is "bad monkey" in Spanish (in Spain and many other Spanish-speaking places, but not all -- visit http://badmonkeylog.blogspot.com/ for the lowdown). I also appreciate "Theatre Person" being encapsulated in quotation marks. Some of my dearest Phoole Friends will battle me on this point, but I cringe at being thought of that way. I'm a fool who happens, occasionally, to be in a theatre, usually as a paying customer, but Phooligans know I'm really mainly all about the Walking Around Talking to People. That fourth-wall concept weirds me out big-time these days. 'Nuff said, though -- this is a delight! Cheers!

Isaac Newton Was Our DJ: Thanks For Coming Out!

2010-01-11T15:59:00.001-06:00

IMG_8246, originally uploaded by thaumazin.

Click the excellent photo by Bucketworks genius James Carlson to enjoy a Flickr set of brilliant shots of ISAAC NEWTON IS OUR DJ, the show I enjoyed being a part of this past Saturday night at MOCT in Milwaukee. Thanks and ever thanks to those who made it out to the show! You had a great time, and so did I!

ISAAC NEWTON IS OUR DJ: A Show I'm In! Sat. Jan. 9 8pm @ MOCT Milwaukee!

2010-01-08T11:34:00.003-06:00

I'm suddenly in a show where I'm not wearing 70 lbs of upholstery fabric! Please come check it out. From the Hinterlands' project-fundraiser website, here's information about the mind-blowery:

“Let mortals rejoice that there has existed so great an ornament of the human race.” These are the words inscribed on the tomb of Sir Isaac Newton, and rejoice is exactly what performers Liza Bielby, Brian Moore, and Richard Newman intend to do. **The Hinterlands and ***(con)temporary works exchange are hosting a party in celebration of Sir Isaac Newton, the world’s greatest mind, most notorious alchemist, and worst lover, on his 366th Birthday. It’s a party, a performance, a night where we dare to ask how the world would have been different if Newton had gotten laid.

For those of you in and around the Milwaukee area, we would love to see you at the show, which will be THIS SATURDAY, January 9th, at 8 PM. Please drop us a line— thehinterlandsmilwaukee@gmail.com —or give us a call—414.208.4237 to let us know if you'll be coming. Space is limited, so reservations are necessary.

**The Hinterlands are an ensemble of Milwaukee based artists who:
- Create original, multidisciplinary performance works
- Explore the art of the performer through explosive and ecstatic training and play
- Engage their community through direct collaboration and exchange

Our Mission
To create essential, immediate, and visceral performances which propel our audience into a landscape of questions, possibilities, and unknowns. To develop training for the 21st century performer which integrates body and voice, content and form, impulse and technique, technology and tradition. To band together with our community to explore the unmapped regions of our culture, our world, and ourselves: the hinterlands.

***Created in September 2008 by Eleni Zaharopoulos and Liza Bielby, (con)temporary works exchange is a multi-disciplinary arts and performance collective that has dug its roots into a variety of communities across the globe. From found object sculpture to sound poetry to parking lot revivals to surprise kazoo concerts in Shanghai parks, (c)twe strives to create dynamic and unexpected partnerships with publics across social, economic, linguistic, and cultural divides.

Project location: Milwaukee, WI

ExpressMilwaukee.com has this article containing more details about the event! http://www.expressmilwaukee.com/blog-4659-a-new-theatre-company-in-town-in-the-new-year.html

And now The Onion's AV Club covers the piece in this excellent interview with Richard Newman: www.avclub.com/milwaukee/articles/from-the-hinterlands-to-the-hinterlands-meet-milwa,36677/

I really hope you can make it! This isn't a Jane the Phoole event -- I'll be appearing as me, club-kid clothes 'n' all -- but it is interactive and environmental, with the emphasis on mental, and it truly is part science experiment, part rave, all manic fun!

Stunt Audience Call! Tonight, Thurs. Jan. 7, 8-9pm

2010-01-07T11:51:00.002-06:00

This isn't a Jane the Phoole event, but it IS an event, and if you're free, up for fun, and have always wondered what I look like when I'm not wearing a whole entire sofa, come to 728 S 5th Street in Milwaukee, WI tonight to help The Hinterlands and (con)temporary works exchange by being members of the "stunt audience" for their rehearsal tonight for ISAAC NEWTON IS OUR DJ, the show I'm joining them for Saturday night at MOCT.

So here are the details for tonight:

What: Be a member of a "stunt audience" for a rehearsal for ISAAC NEWTON IS OUR DJ (you don't have to do the stunts! Stunts will be supplied. You just enjoy yourself.)

Where: 728 S 5th, Milwaukee, WI 53204. Look for the green awnings, come in, and come upstairs!

How: Email me at jane@phoole.com, and I'll give you THE SUPER-SECRET PHOOLE PHONE NUMBER. Shoot me a text when you arrive and I'll make sure someone lets you in!

When: Thursday, January 7, 2010, 8:00 p.m. to approximately 9:00 p.m. We might be done a tiny bit earlier than that.

How much: It's free tonight! Just show up! Fantastic! Bring friends!

For the performance on Saturday night at MOCT, details can be found by clickitty-clicking here.

Phoole Fave: SCROOGE IN ROUGE at In Tandem Theatre through Jan. 3!

2009-12-30T13:48:00.002-06:00

Matt Daniels and Marcella Kearns in SCROOGE IN ROUGE. Photos in this entry courtesy Mark Frohna Photography via Third Coast Digest.

Above, behold the MONSTER TALENTS of totally-brilliant Phoole Friend Marcella Kearns and the extremely-amazing Matt Daniels in In Tandem's SCROOGE IN ROUGE, which runs through this coming Sunday, January 3, 2009. Clickitty-click here to get tickety-boos for this outrageous, scandalous, hilarious panto.

The premise is that a turn-of-the-century British music-hall ensemble of twenty-three is ready to do a lavish musical version of Charles Dickens' beloved A CHRISTMAS CAROL, but twenty of them have succumbed to food poisoning at the last possible second. So four performers have to take on every role in the show.

That's Funny Enough, but this show is So Much Funnier than I can describe. Barbara Castonguay wrote a great review of the show in the Third Coast Digest, clickable here. It's from this excellent review that I got the photo above -- these photos appear in the piece courtesy Mark Frohna Photography, and, by the way, we all should probably go get snapped by Mr. Frohna, as his pics make everyone look super-ultra-famous, which is grand.

Chris Flieller (above, with Marcella Kearns again, photo once again nicely done by Mark Frohna Photography) will make you shoot stuff out your nose, too, 'coz he's screamingly funny in this too, AND you get to bring refreshments right into the hall with you, so SIP STRATEGICALLY, though you cannot possibly plan for calamities such as these. Be prepared to wear beverages, basically, I guess. And do not underestimate the stealth laughs served surreptitiously by pianist Alfred, played by David Bonofiglio -- his is the sort of quiet, brilliant, slightly mean character for whom we all get giddy.

So if you can get a tickety-boo, get in there and see this thing! I'm taking MBTC to see it on Saturday, January 2 in the afternoon. I fear they may be sold out. But I have other fears too, many of which prove baseless, so, you know, give it a try!

Happy Phooletide to All!

2009-12-24T19:37:00.001-06:00

Phoole Friends, Phooligans and every last everyone, here's wishing you the happiest of Midwinter Hunkerings. I'm humbled by your friendship and grateful for your company, whether in frivolity at festivals or in virtuality on the intarwebz. Without you, there is no need for me. Enjoy yourself and each other, and we'll see each other soon!

Happy Phooletide 2009! Art By Adam McAleavey

2009-12-23T16:26:00.002-06:00

Happy Phooletide 2009! Art By Adam McAleavey, originally uploaded by Phoole.

A Very Slappy Happy Phooletide to all! Phoole Friend Adam McAleavey created this mixed-media card. It is DELIGHTFUL.

Phoole Fave Elon Arbiture Needs Your Votes

2009-12-18T15:11:00.003-06:00

Phoole Friends, help Elon Arbiture, composer extraordinaire, as he vies for an honor for the work he's done on the hilarious LEGEND OF NEIL Series 2. From Elon himself:

Hello
Every year Hollywood hosts the "Streamy Awards" which is like the Academy Awards but for web television. This year my scores for The Legend of Neil, Season 2 are eligible to win! Craft Awards (like Best Music) are not determined by popular vote - thankfully - but I think a few nominations would put it more strongly on the committee's radar. So if you could click the link, select Original Music from the list, type my name and then type the Legend of Neil Season 2 and www.legendofneil.com in the boxes that would be G R E A T! (it takes 4 seconds).

Events like this really help bring to light genuine artistry and upcoming talent in the film industry and it is great exposure for my show and my work. Comedy/Zelda/adventure.... there's no better first job I could have gotten!

http://www.streamys.org/submit/public-submissions-people/

THANKS! Season 3 is ALMOST confirmed!!
Elon

Phooligans, Elon's sister Chloe Arbiture is known to you -- she is the performer who brought to life Nixie, the Water Faerie in the Bristol Renaissance Faire's Fantastickals ensemble for several years. Chloe is herself a filmmaker, and Elon and Chloe are a brilliant set of siblings who will one day own the entire entertainment industry, or at least as much of it as they'd like to. Let's get in on the ground floor of their ROCKET TO FAME and support Elon!

The Gift That Keeps On Giving: A RESCU Donation

2009-12-15T11:15:00.003-06:00

The following was posted to The Bristol Discussion Board, a forum for everyone and anyone involved with or interested in the Bristol Renaissance Faire, by my brilliant colleague and friend Chris Major, and I am compelled to share it with you.

I realize you are all probably a little numb from being dunned by charities at year’s end - well, here’s one more.

For over 6 years, RESCU Foundation, Inc. (Renaissance Entertainers, Services and Crafters United) has been helping our community, all across the country, with medical expenses. As of last month we have helped over 400 individuals, disbursed over $300,000 in direct aid, and our 2-year-old Advocacy Program has relieved over $1.2 million in medical debt for individuals (as in getting the facility to reduce or completely drop medical charges). Our Wellness Program has sponsored CPR/First Aid training and medical screenings (mammography, prostate) for members of our community. And our constituency is comprised of anyone who has worked at a Renaissance Faire/Festival/Historical Reenactment, etc. That means that many of you on the Bristol Board are eligible for RESCU assistance. There are people on this board that have been helped by RESCU.

I attended a nonprofit conference this last spring and found out we are very unusual in the nonprofit world: We are still all-volunteer; we have kept our annual expenses to less than 10% of income; we normally make an assistance decision within weeks of an application submission; our financial assistance amount, as a percentage of the total bills, is usually higher than other similar nonprofits; our constituency is spread across the country and tends to be nomadic, as is most of the board of directors (most of the conference attendees represented a constituency in a single city or even a neighborhood); the entire board meets face-to-face only once a year; . . .

You get the idea - we don’t really fit the mold. My most frequently asked question was, “How do you do that?” That was the same thing that other board members found when they attended a conference in California last year with heavy-hitters in the entertainment industry. Like the Actor’s Fund, Will Rogers Institute, SAG. They were incredulous that we disbursed as much as we did per case, and how quickly we did it.

RESCU is pretty special.

So, if you have a few extra bucks that you don’t know where to put, we’d appreciate your consideration. We are a 501(c)3 nonprofit foundation, so any donations are fully tax deductible (to the extent individually allowed by law). You can donate online or by mail; it’s all easily done by looking at the donation page on our website.

All of us at RESCU thank you very much.

And PLEASE, if you have need of medical financial assistance (or know a rennie that does), contact us. We have a toll-free phone number, you can email us, you can download an application from the website. All information is confidential and we are HIPAA-compliant. We want to help if we can.

RESCU website

Chris Major aka “banjo”
for RESCU: Board Member, Vice President, Governance Committee Chairman, Tech Monkey

The need is always great, but at this time of year, the want is always felt more keenly. Consider making a donation to RESCU in lieu of buying Stuff for gifts this year. The Renaissance Faire entertainer, service provider or crafter you help may be your favorite, or may be someone you've never met, but you can make such a difference in people's lives simply by giving.

Views from the Phoole Cube

2009-12-14T09:00:00.001-06:00

East Wall Photos and Monkeys, originally uploaded by Phoole.

When people find out that I also have a DayJob, some are disappointed, some encouraged, and some utterly bewildered -- how could I possibly fit in a cubicle? Some glimpses of my 40-hours-per-week grey fabric walls and grey work surfaces can be found in a Flickr set here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/phoole/sets/72157622706173857/ .

In the photo above:

Top left photo by Steve Spitzer. Bottom left photos by various photographers, and I wish I knew who they were. Framed photos at right by Carl Jester. Large monkey: gift from delightful woman who was in the Norreys' Household in the Guilde of St. George at the Bristol Renaissance Faire in 2009 whose name I need to look up. Little pipecleaner frond: gift from perfect kind little girl who visited me at Bristol. Gold monkey idol: gift from Raven at Ravenworks. Tiny monkey: gift from hurrsband, out of a gumball machine.

Phoole Fave: Tyme Travel Photography, Madison, WI

2009-12-14T08:32:00.002-06:00

It's beginning to Phoole a lot like Christmas., originally uploaded by Phoole.

I'm still getting caught up on blague-ing my Madison adventures, but to tide you over in the meantime, here is a photo by the kind and indulgent Jim Dietrich of Tyme Travel Photography, Madison, WI, one of the sponsors of and vendors at Her Majesty's Winter Faire. He snaps your likeness and drops you into the historic or otherwise scenic background of your choice, but I let him pick for mine this year. It's very win...try. Visit my Flickr page at http://www.flickr.com/photos/phoole/ for more delights!

Phoole on Film! AND Tom's Band, the OUTTA STATE PLATES!

2009-12-12T12:44:00.002-06:00

Phoole protege Chloe Arbiture's senior film project, CIRCUSWORLD, won 3rd place out of lots of entries last night at UWM's Student Film Fest. I'm exploding with pride. I'm hoping to check out another screening of the short piece tonight!

Where: University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee's Union Theatre, 2200 East Kenwood Boulevard, Milwaukee, WI, between Stowell Avenue on the east and Maryland Avenue on the west, on the east side of Milwaukee.

When: 7:00 p.m.

The theatre's website doesn't have a world of useful information on it, but if you must have a URL, here it is, but you gotta scroll all the way to the bottom, and the page is absurdly long: http://ping.fm/CVosd

I'm hoping to time things out so that I can catch the screening and then make it over early to My Husband Tom Charney's band's gig.

Tom's band, the Outta State Plates, plays at Milwaukee's Conway's Smokin' Bar & Grill tonight from 9 p.m. on! Check their site at http://osplates.com/ for more info!

Hopefully I'll see you at both happenings!

Update: Alas, I won't be at the CIRCUSWORLD screening...Chloe's film will likely not be shown until 8pm (all of her class's projects are showing), and I want to be available to help Tom load in, set up, and probably tweet lots. But do go see the film and then come to Conway's! Let's pack the house!

Phoole Skooled! A Mini-Lesson With Bob Charron of St. Martin's Academy

2009-12-10T17:08:00.010-06:00

At Her Majesty's Winter Faire presented by Ravenworks in Madison, Wisconsin, I had Outrageous Adventures of All Kinds, with Good Friends, New Friends, and a Bad Monkey Extraordinaire. One of these exploits flipped open the top of my head and exposed me to dangerous levels of Brilliant Knowledges, and I'm still feeling the aftereffects, so I'd like to share this experience with you.

One of my most favorite features of Her Majesty's Winter Faire is the perennial presence of the Guilde of St. Michael, the Elizabethan military living-history society found at the Bristol and Janesville Renaissance Faires and other fine historical-entertainment establishments. Apart from the fact that my hurrrrsband was one of their founders, along with his best friend Brian Brecht, I delight in them for their candid comfort with the era and their ease of teaching. Spend but five minutes with them, and you've had an excellent and exciting five minutes -- and then you later realize you've learned twenty things you never knew about British military and living history. They build the bridge across eras calmly and cheerfully, without ego or exhausting pretension, and they include and elevate their audience without a second thought. Delightful bunch.

Chris Last is their Assistant Guildemaster, and Chris studies with Bob Charron of the St. Martin's Academy of Medieval Martial Arts in Stoughton, Wisconsin. In the photograph above, snapped by the inimitable, indomitable Heather Winterling Last, Bob is blowing my mind. You might not be able to tell from there, but it happened: my brain exploded.

I think my first experience of Bob's brilliance was at the Madison Faire last winter -- during the supper show, with Chris Last, he gave a demonstration and lecture on Fiore dei Liberi's principles of abrazare, translating in this context to "grappling." Mistress of Misrule Magnolia May and I were, um, riveted, and that's enough said about THAT. But intellectually, the demo was electrically exciting, because Fiore's principles are rooted, of course, in the Trivium -- the grammar, logic and rhetoric of 15th-century Europe. And I've approached the Trivium from so many angles throughout my 20 years of Elizabethan historical interpretation -- customs and manners, dance, fashion, architecture, design, language (Italian, French and Elizabethan English), science, music, poetry, dance, masques, political rhetoric, philosophy, social theory, theology, and on and on -- that it was truly earth-shaking to me to see these disciplines' underlying precepts interpreted physically.

And because I can't leave anything alone, I naturally applied every tidbit I could assimilate to my practice and teaching of interactive environmental historical-comic performance. Mind you, I didn't assimilate very many tidbits at that stage. The grappling was distracting, you see. But that early encounter definitely whetted the appetite for more knowledges of Fiore and his monumental treatise on Medieval martial arts, The Flower of Battle. At the same supper show, I recall having some verbal exchanges with audience and other players that got some fairly big laughs, and Bob had complimented me on really playing the Court Jester, parleying in a ready wit, and I remember that compliment turned my world golden, because it had come from someone who'd taught me something. (I've always had an extreme weakness for getting approval from teachers. It's an ACoA thing, possibly, but Adlerian therapist Sherwin Rubenstein [R.I.P., much-missed friend] told me it works for me, so I keep it.)

I encountered Bob again with the St. Mike's troops at the incredibly-fun Jane's Ville Renaissance Faire last spring, and made myself pay particular attention to the vocabulary of the principles during the Fiore demonstrations. I enjoyed silently congratulating myself over understanding the concept of time being measured as it is in music, and it was delightful to hear music-theory terms from my favorite era of study being used in a martial context, minim-rests and all those things that evoke Mercutio's instructions to Benvolio and so on. I didn't yet understand that this was something I could learn first-hand, despite invitations and encouragements to sign on for lessons at St. Martin's Academy. (Not Relevant At All: I grew up listening to bebop, but developed an appetite for the Baroque masters at a rather young age. Lots of the long-playing records I checked out from the local public libraries were performed by the justly-famous ancient music ensemble, the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, so when I heard that this martial arts academy was called St. Martin's, for the longest time I was putting an entirely incorrect mental soundtrack with the thing. Brandenburg Concertos, orchestral suites, everything, instead of the catches and lute and chittern and rackets and sackbuts that should have been reverberating in my sconce. Ah, well.) It was there that Chris told me about Bob's wife, Kristina. "All the amazing stuff Bob can do?" Chris enthused. "Kristina can do it on horseback. At full speed." I grinned fit to split my skull over the images that conjured. I recall making a mental note to get someone to do a documentary of these two remarkable people.

Bob joined St. Mike's again for this year's Her Majesty's Winter Faire in Madison, and I tried to keep myself occupied elsewhere in the Faire so as to not be an over-fannish too-geeky hanger-on, but that didn't last long, and, swallowing trepidation, I bounced over to the "encampment" and announced, "I'm here for my Fiore lesson!"

Bob smiled. "All right. Hand-to-hand first, or sword?"

I goggled. "Really?" Couldn't believe I'd get away with it. "Whatever is best, I suppose -- I have no idea!"

"SWORD!" yelled the St. Mike's crew. The smattering of an audience clapped approval.

"Sword it is!" Bob handed me a waster, his steely eyes a-twinkle. I gulped at the heavy short sword's weight in my hand.

I looked down at my capacious busk-farthingale-and-bumroll motley. "Do I need to attire myself in the manner of a boy for this?"

"No." Bob looked at me very seriously. "You must learn to fight in what you're wearing. Your attacker won't wait for you to change your clothes."

And so we squared off, and I suppressed the thrills jangling my spine and tried to pay attention.

At the top of the lesson, I kept mis-stepping, and I kept judging myself, which he of course saw immediately, being an excellent teacher. "Just breathe!" he grinned, and I dropped in a breath and tried to exhale my self-conscience. "Just relax. It's so easy." And he patiently reminded me to do this, over and over, as we practiced. He'd attack, I'd deflect with the false edge, change feet, rotate to the true edge, and allow him to walk into my blade. That was the sequence. But I kept forgetting I didn't have to advance -- I just had to step to the side and let his momentum cause the damage. One of Fiore's basic precepts seems to be to always place oneself on the defensive, never the attack. And each time I mis-stepped I'd berate myself just the tiniest bit, partly verbally, mostly internally.

And then he stopped at one point and said, "Remember your Plato, and the levels of soul?"

I blinked. No one ever, EVER asks me to remember that. I DO know it, but no one had ever asked me about it. "The vegetative and animal and cosmic, you mean?"

He beamed. "Yes. Exactly. Plato says the vegetative soul governs your autonomic nervous functions. The animal soul governs movement, interaction, social conduct, flight, and fight. But you didn't mention the contemplative soul. The contemplative soul governs reflection and prediction, planning out next steps. Your contemplative soul is extremely highly developed. It has to be -- you're the fool. You need your wit for your livelihood. But you don't need it right now. I want you to set it aside for the remainder of the exercise, and whenever we work together. Use your animal soul now -- it knows what to do. You don't have to do anything but let your animal soul fight me."

It was intense. I finally dismissed the head-voices, just thanked and released conscious inner chatter, and of course, it all clicked. He phrased that exactly the way I needed it phrased. And I succeeded instantly and repeatedly. It irked me that I hadn't been able to teach myself that lesson -- after all, I've taught students to release self-judgment for ten years -- but I was amazed that it was simply a matter of the right spell, the right words, and I understood the concept the way I needed to. I made eye contact, received the attack, and the moves were right where they needed to be. And they returned for each repeat of the play.

We then went on to some grappling (HOORAY), and I learned so much. Did you know the human body can shift a TON of weight just using the hips? I didn't. I do now. I enjoyed letting my animal soul run things. To be "on," onstage, usually means the predictive aspect of my contemplative soul isn't fully engaged anyway, as Jane the Phoole has Now, Now and Now, but no Later or Consequences of Now. But this was a Whole New Level of living in the moment. I also had the extreme privilege of meeting the legendary Kristina Charron, horse-warrior extraordinaire. I'm certain I came off as a fangirl dressed rather terrifyingly as a Grotesque History Clown, but this woman has Very Serious Skills at something that's incredibly dangerous and just plain cool, so I suppose I'll not critique my own exuberance. There are viddies online of her equestrian martial excellence, but it would be fantastic to see her applying Fiore a cavallo live.

My Facebook page has loads of pictures from the lesson and the rest of the hijinks from Her Majesty's Winter Faire -- peruse! Hopefully I'll have time soon to detail the Adventure of the Baddest Monkey Yet.

Muncaster Reveries: Meal With Mascots

2009-12-09T14:04:00.002-06:00

Muncaster Meal With Mascot, originally uploaded by Phoole.

I'm hoping to return to Muncaster for Festival of Fools 2010, as a walkaround character, and in the best of all possible worlds, I'd love to be there with so many of you who've raised a glass with me in the past couple of years, saying, "Next year, in Muncaster!" But that means More Adventure. And I haven't finished the chronicle of the LAST adventure yet. So let's journey back to the 2007 adventure and recollect the tale.

In another blague, I've talked about my training as an interactive environmental edu-tainment character, and the long performance day I grew up accepting as normal: The day begins when the event's gates open, often at 10:00 a.m., and continues, non-stop, until the event's gates close, often at 7:00 p.m. or later. A handful of years ago, that kind of schedule began to wear me down, even while pacing myself between large-scale look-at-me big-crowd happenings and what we call "hit-and-run" encounters, making brief exchanges with large numbers in moving crowds. For many years, I prided myself on being able to be "on" for a close-to-ten-hour performance day, with little to no time "offstage" or out of the performance area -- I would take all meals with the audience, and spend every minute of the day with patrons. But four or five years ago, I suddenly couldn't do that without having extreme consequences at the end of the day, where I'd crash very, very hard, often needing to be completely isolated from other people. Too many faces, it felt like. I'd need to be a complete hermit on the weeks between gigs to recharge.

So I started to take a break once a day, right in the middle of the performance day, usually after a large-ensemble number or parade or other spectacle. I take an hour to be very quiet, eat a little something, rehydrate, recharge. When I first began doing this, I felt incredibly guilty, particularly while performing at shows where there were few or no other lively walkaround characters. The sense of responsibility, as twisted as it may have been, was simply too deeply ingrained.

So at Muncaster, the first day I appeared as Jane the Phoole, I emerged around 11:00 a.m. I wasn't on a schedule at all -- I was doing it simply because it delighted me, and because I couldn't bear to not be Phooling at the Festival of Fools.

At noon, Sadie, our kind and indulgent go-to person, plucked at my elbow. "Don't you want to take a break? You've been at it for a whole hour!"

I grinned at her as if she were making fun of me. "I'm fine! Cheers!" And I was off entertaining another family, letting the kids jump on me and tell me the very silliest of jokes. And so on for the next few hours: Sadie or Becks would find me every hour or so and say, "You've not taken a break yet! Are you sure you're all right?"

I thought, "I'm in England, it's bright and sunny and cool and dry, and there's A CASTLE HERE. I'm perfect! NO WAY am I stopping!"

Finally, about 4:00 p.m., Sadie put her foot down. "You're having a meal now, no question." Jiggins fetched me a sandwich, and, reluctant to be away from the lovely kind people visiting that day, I plopped down on the castle lawn.

Inevitably, a small crowd formed immediately. (Phooligans know what happens at a festival when I stop moving for too long -- eventually the whole world ends up gathered around me, conveniently enough.) At first, a choir of towheaded kids chirped nonsensical riddles at me while I nearly choked from laughing, and then along came this charming woman with her labrador retriever dog, and just when I thought the company was at its most delightful, along came Muncaster's Owl Mascot, and we THINK Peter Frost-Pennington himself was inside the thing! It was too fabulous. Muncaster Castle is the headquarters of the National Owl Trust, and the mascot costume is made of thousands of owl feathers moulted and otherwise shed by the hundreds of owls resident in the castle's owlery. "Chouette!" the French would say.

Later, Max the Meadowvole, another mascot of Muncaster Castle, joined us for a chat and a chew too. I felt truly honored that my humble repast should be host to such noble guesties.

I Know An Alarming Array of Brilliant People

2009-12-07T21:31:00.001-06:00

To borrow a phrase Hodgmanic, WERE YOU AWARE OF IT? I am Personally Acquainted with a dazzling constellation of geniuses. Here is a Short List:

Tom Charney, Rock Star, Jackhammer of All Trades and Master of More Than Anyone Suspects

Chloe Arbiture, someday sun-bleaching red carpets with the sheer ultraviolet might of her cinematickal brilliance

Elon Arbiture, the Hollywood away team, already making his mighty musical mark in Tinseltown

Bob and Kristina Charron, who could DESTROY YOU, and do it in Perfect Time, but they Choose Not To, and you should be Very Grateful Indeed

Ron and Susan Scot Fry, who put the "impres(s)" in "impresario" and pile success on satisfying success in style

Etienne McGinley, who can Out-Juggle Anyone I Know, and I know 10,000 jugglers, who teaches me to take Every Gig and leads by fiercely hilarious example

Richard Weber, Headmaster of the School of The Way People Would Behave in the Best of All Possible Civilized Worlds: Always gracious, impossible to imitate, whirlwind wit

This is just a short, shorty-short list. I also know Marcella Kearns, Missy Zeien, and an outrageous pile of other geniuses.

Life Couldn't Possibly Better Be

2009-12-07T19:58:00.001-06:00

Against the cold and the coming snow, my heart's aglow with so many good great fond things.

I had a delightful weekend at Her Majesty's Winter Faire in Madison, and watch this space for much much more on that in the hours and days to come. Raven of Ravenworks and her legions of devotees built players, exhibitors and guests alike a splendid indoor playground, and I brought home with me not just a Bad Monkey of my own but a wealth of kindnesses, laughs and memories I look forward to recounting.

Also I had a lesson with Bob Charron of the St. Martin's Academy of Martial Arts, and I'm not indulging in hyperbole here: It Affected My Life. I'll expound anon, but for now, this is the best summary: All that random knowledge for which people lovingly make fun of me? It all relates. Every little Italian and Latin and Ancient Greek bit. All that geometry, astronomy, philosophy and cosmology. All of that now has a greater significance to me than merely enabling me to win at Jeopardy every night during supper.

And today, I had the privilege of viewing the final cut of Phoole Protege Chloe Arbiture's film-school final project. It's outstanding. I couldn't be more exhilarated and proud. Her brother Elon contributed a spine-sparking score, and I'm in it, along with epic talents Seth Neuschwander, Ron Scot Fry, Melissa Zeien, and several charming others. My hurrrsband Tom Charney helped with makeup and his ever-present brand of all-aspects assistance.

But binding all of these elements is the magnesium-bright ribbon of Chloe's creative light. I want to say more, but really, I want to wait until I'm cleared to let the piece speak for itself. When it's posted publicly, I'll make sure to post a link. For those of you who have been my students in the past, or for any of you who know me inside OR outside of the motley, you'll see why her film is exploding my brain and making me burn with pride.

I have a 12-yard bolt of muslin to press and scores of chores tapping impatience at me now, but when I can, hopefully tomorrow, I'll post my weekend adventures and reflections thereon, and I'll introduce you to Bad Monkey, my latest trophy and, apparently, yet another one of my masters!

Her Majesty's Winter Faire: This Weekend! Dec. 5-6 2009!

2009-12-06T20:00:00.002-06:00

Join Jane the Phoole at Her Majesty's Winter Faire in Madison, Wisconsin this weekend! It's an intimate experience, indoors, giving you a chance to meet and spend real quality face-time with some of your favorite characters. If you're one of those Phooligans who's always at my perimeter, patiently waiting for the crowds to disperse so you can get some face time, here's your opportunity!

Turn down your speakers and visit the new website for the event at http://winterrenfair.webs.com/ for more info (the site has music that plays automatically, which is pretty surprising if you're going for stealth as you browse)! There's also a delightful article about the event in the Capitol Times at http://host.madison.com/entertainment/arts_and_theatre/article_1f35d384-0337-5081-892d-6f11350d5cc7.html . Cheers to Katjusa Cisar for the kind writeup.

Can't wait! See you there!

Phoole Fave: RESCU Foundation

2009-12-02T08:45:00.002-06:00

This Holiday season, consider giving to this monstrously-important organization. They're one of my favorite charities, and their work is very close to my heart. From their website at http://www.rescufoundation.org/ :

The RESCU Foundation is a non-profit organization established to promote and maintain the health and medical well-being of the participants of Renaissance Faires, historical performances and other artistic events through financial assistance, advocacy, education and preventative programs.
RESCU was founded almost 6 years ago by veteran Renaissance participants. We now consist of 10-12 board members including artisans, actors, guild members, and a former bank executive. Over the years, we have seen almost 400 cases and have disbursed well over $300,000 in financial assistance to recipients in our community. In 2007 our Advocacy Program got off the ground and as of summer of 2009 has further assisted in relieving over $525,000 worth of medical bills through hospital financial assistance, prescription assistance and other programs.
If you qualify for a participant pass at a faire, you qualify for help from the RESCU Foundation.

This winter, so many people everywhere are experiencing soul-crushing hard economic times. Performers and participants in Renaissance Faires often feel these wants even more keenly, because many spend most of the year on the road, hoping to make enough to keep doing what we're best at: delighting you. Won't you consider a gift to the RESCU Foundation to help them continue their advocacy and support of this genre?

Motley 2010

2009-11-11T15:16:00.002-06:00

Motley 2010, originally uploaded by Phoole.

In the works is a new motley for Jane the Phoole. It will be half harlequin diamonds and half wide stripes, and it will have lots and lots of color. The silhouette is identical to that of the Competition Gown (the one worn at Muncaster Castle in 2007), but the color and contrast will be pushed past 11.

You're Never Phoole-y Dressed Without a Smile (From Semmerling & Schaefer Mask Studios!)

2009-10-25T18:19:00.003-05:00

Halloween Smile, Custom, Semmerling & Schaefer Mask Studios 2009, originally uploaded by Phoole.

I want to have a Jane the Phoole motley for each holiday season, and the one I'm working on currently is the Halloween gown. It's all orange and black, and I commissioned a special smile mask from the Official Maskers of Jane the Phoole, Semmerling & Schaefer Mask Studios (http://maskartists.com/). I never actually did a drawing or anything -- through an exchange of emails and Facebook messages with Mask Master Jeff Semmerling, during which I'd said Big Chunky Jack-o'-Lantern Teeth would be awesome, Jeff devised this brilliant grin. Now the rest of the ensemble has to live up to this fantastic detail! Order your smile today -- you're never Phoole-y dressed without a smile from Semmerling & Schaefer Mask Studios!

Jane the Phoole's Collection of Barbarian Hordes

2009-10-17T13:09:00.004-05:00

(I originally clickety-clacked this as a response on a thread over at the Bristol Discussion Board, http://bristolboard.com/board , but I had so much fun composing it I thought I'd share it over here. It doesn't appear that I have previously disclosed anything on this blague regarding my modest collection of Barbarian Hordes, which is what I collected before I took up collecting the words "bad monkey" in foreign languages. Enjoy!)

At the moment I only really have two: Dark Cloud and their tiny-but-tenacious rival, the Nation of Ukhatar.

It all started two years ago when a Fantastickal whispered, ethereally (i.e. told me backstage), "There are some people in the parade who don't yell 'God Save the Queen.' It sounds like they're yelling something like 'All Hail Dark Cloud.'" I went and found the fellows, and offered to bribe them (some pittance, really; they were very acquiescent and actually quite nice and reasonable) if they'd say "All Hail Jane the Phoole" during the parade ten times instead of "All Hail Dark Cloud."

Their King, His Most Royal Majesty King Zavier, protested, "But we only say it twelve times overall!"

I suggested they say it 15 times, and make 10 of those "All Hail Jane the Phoole!"

Next day, reports came in that they were saying "All Hail Jane the Phoole!" all throughout the parade. So I made it my custom to hail them whenever I encountered them - "All Hail Dark Cloud!" - and they would thunder in response, "All Hail Jane the Phoole!", which suited me PERFECTLY.

This custom continues to this very day. In fact I look forward to visiting them at TRF some day to see if the allegiance survives the distance!

Meanwhile, shortly after acquiring Dark Cloud as my first Barbarian Horde, I was on my way down to the Priory at day's end to attend Her Grace during Audience when I encountered three guys on a bench near Grandmother Cob's web, all dressed in armor that looked very much like the kind purveyed by King Zavier and his Horde. So I greeted them: "All Hail Dark Cloud!"

They sneered and hissed, "We SPIT on Dark Cloud! We are their sworn enemies and will vanquish them in battle!"

Awkward! A gaffe of INTERNATIONAL proportions. I coughed politely, squirmed, and tried to amend: "Crying your most earnest and heartfelt pardons, I beg your forgiveness, noble guests. I am, after all, an idiot. Whom am I pleased and humbled here to greet?"

They bellowed, "We are the Nation of Ukhatar!"

I blinked. (You may imagine a "plink-plink" sound.) Then, smiling expansively, "Well met, my Lords. And you are the whole Nation of Ukhatar, the three of you gentlemen?"

They looked at me, then at one another, then at me. "We...ARE the Nation of Ukhatar!"

"Ah." I paused, thinking how well it would go over if I asked them how their rate of reproduction fared, given that there are three of them, and they're all butch-ish blokes, but I decided that could wait. While I considered, I noted the middle one of them wore a silver, pointy, rather twisty and scary crown. "And might it be gently and non-threateningly assumed that I am addressing none other than His Most Royal Majesty, the King of Ukhatar?"

The crowny chap sat up a bit taller. "I AM the King of Ukhatar!" His men grunted happy assent.

"Excellent, Your Majesty. And how are you called?"

They looked at me.

I entreated, "I mean, Your Grace, how shall I address Your Majesty?"

They kept looking at me. One of the men inclined his head slightly to the left.

I smiled kindly. "I am called JANE the Phoole, Queen of Jesters and Jester to Her Majesty, Queen ELIZABETH, Queen of England, Ireland, Wales, France, the Virginias et. al. And Your Majesty is King...?" I leaned forward, hopeful, hands spread wide.

They all exchanged looks again, and then His Majesty thundered, "I am the KING of UKHATAR!"

"I thank you, your Grace, for your patience with my stupidity and dwarfish scope of perception." I offered then to act as emissary from England to Ukhatar, but that seemed to puzzle and upset them only slightly more, so I reverted to the thesis of the entire meeting: "So...at war with Dark Cloud, are you? They your neighbors or something?" I entertained myself momentarily by imagining Dark Cloud as this vast, bleak, stepped blight of a country, haunted and windy and barren, with twisted dark dead trees and scorched fortresses and violated graves and a big pointy wall around it, and Ukhatar being these three guys poinking li'l flaming arrows against the battlements.

As could be predicted, they simply bellowed, "We are the SWORN ENEMIES of Dark Cloud!"

I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to draw them off of their script. "Look, Your Majesty, I have a lifetime of experience in International Espionage. If you want to work toward peace, or if you need help fighting, I'm really acquainted with those Dark Cloud fellows, so, you know, let me know. God be with Your Majesty; I must away to Her Grace; well met..." and I bowed and scooted away. As I descended the hill I heard them jostle each other and say, "We are the Nation of Ukhatar!"

The next weekend, I addressed myself to King Zavier. "Your Majesty, I hear you're at war!"

He laughed, then stopped. "Huh?"

"With the Nation of Ukhatar. Your sworn enemies."

He squinted, then rumbled, in his gruff Texan baritone, "Jane, you're not making any sense. I hear you usually don't, but -- what?"

I explained about the guys and their King and their phrases, and King Zavier stroked his beard and looked thoughtful.

I finally described their appearances: "They look like they either bought your armor, or possibly they tried to copy it at home, in their parents' basements, but they were of, um, SLIGHTER BUILD than you beefy fellows, and they looked a bit pale..."

A light ignited in His Majesty's eyes. "Oh, THOSE guys!" He threw back his head and guffawed. "Really? They're at war with us? Aw. Well, okay!"

I let him know I'd offered to spy for them, and if they wanted to return aggression, I'd be happy to double-agent the affair. King Zavier patted my shoulder and said they'd handle it. As I toddled off to whatever my Next Thing was, I heard him spreading the news to the rest of Dark Cloud, and enjoyed their surprised laughs.

Unfortunately, not much came of it, and a few weeks later I learned they'd made a peace accord, without my involvement! Well, it saved time, I suppose. The next year I saw Ukhatar again, and they had increased their population -- quadrupled it, in fact, but had not yet gotten any girls in the Nation; still all blokes. But they seem to be having fun, and that's really the name of the Barbarian Horde game. I was going to try to acquire Iron Wolf, but they're not strictly Barbarian -- didn't I learn from all those Brian Friel plays that the Celtic cultures were the Guardians of Knowledge and Learning during the Dark Ages? -- and anyway they seem to be devoted to the Earl of Northumberland, and I don't want to get mixed up in that Windows-Into-Men's-Souls Recusants-vs-Precisionists business any more than I already am. Maybe next time I'll try to acquire Barbarian Battles. They're very, very nice, and they look comfortable, and they don't seem to be at war with anyone until 4:30 every day, when all those kids get run over in Wyckham Field, which is fun.

A Legend in Groaner Gags: Svengoolie!

2009-10-16T14:02:00.003-05:00

A-E Meets Svengoolie At Last!, originally uploaded by Phoole.

I met one of my heroes last weekend. Rich Koz is a Chicago-area comedian and TV personality who, when I was a kid, hosted a Saturday-afternoon scary-movie show called SON OF SVENGOOLIE. I grew up watching Svengoolie's cheesy horror films interspersed by his hilarious supa-cheesy gags and sketches and catchphrases. His gig was a tremendous influence on me, I've realized. He's smart, he's got a giant comic lexicon, he's drawn from the best sources, and he isn't afraid to trade exclusively in groaners.

It was great to meet him as he signed autographs and posed for pictures with a long line of devoted fans winding through Six Flags Great America's Hometown Square on that freezy cold afternoon. I'd love to actually talk with Rich someday. His gigs are so much more widely culturally-relevant than mine; I envy him that, but at the same time of course I dig being the bizarrely-non-threatening mini-celeb I get to be too, using so many of the awful jokes I must have heard from him for the first time.

Some time ago I was enjoying a boisterous phone-guffaw with Etienne (http://veryfunny.com/) during which he told me he cringingly admired my gig, because of the way I stick with a "crappy fake RenFair British accent," even in the face of an Actual British Audience, and the way I rely on what he calls "joke-book jokes." I laughed my head off over that. Yeah, I guess I do! Phooligans leap to my defense at these charges, but it's gotta be admitted: No one is deceived by my gig, and I'm not blazing any trails to New Horizons In Innovative Humor Composition. I'm definitely an American freak in a gigantic tea-cozy, goading for groans with the worst possible punchlines that you don't realize you've heard before until it's too late.

But this material works for me -- I get laughs, break the ice with crowds with a bizarre, non-threatening character, and share amazing encounters. And Rich Koz as Svengoolie (and his cohorts Doug Graves and Zolman T. Tombstone Jr.) was one of the first people to show me that that was possible. Cheers, Sven!

Stronghold Olde English Faire! Oct. 3 & 4 2009

2009-09-30T11:04:00.005-05:00

Come play with me at the Stronghold Olde English Faire this weekend! Autumn's gilding the Midwest with gorgeous color, and Stronghold's the perfect place to enjoy Nature's best-dressed season AND the Elizabethan Age's best-dressed people, of which I am, perhaps, the silliest.

The Stronghold Olde English Faire is a cozy little affair," nestled," as the website says, "high on the bluffs overlooking the Rock River." As I've just learned on Oregon, Illinois' website, Stronghold Castle was built by Chicago Daily News publisher/editor Walter Strong in 1929, as a retreat for his family and friends, based on the castles they'd visited and enjoyed in Europe, where castles and history come from.

There's plenty to do, and plenty of places to relax when you're done doing things for a little while. There are little shops, castle tours, hayrides (one of the drivers will deliver HAIR-RAISING HIGH-SPEED TERROR, if the one who drove me last year's still there), high-school madrigality, games, characters, sword-fightings, playlets, comedy, musics, Odorferious Thunderbottom, and sundrie delights. The Bristol Renaissance Faire's Guilde of St. Michael will be there, for Military Action Experience Beyond Your Expectations, and so will Bristol's Guilde of St. George, for Frolics with Queen Elizabeth and her Court and Hob-Nobbing With the Cultural Elite, or at least the Very, Very Rich.

And I'll be there too! I've thought about hosting a talk show there. Don't know when or where it'll happen, but be prepared to go on!

Stronghold's site includes a handy li'l gadget for getting directions to their location. The drive is picturesque, the site precious, and the diversions delightful, no matter what the weather. Merry meet me there, Phoole Friends!

Phoole Friend Fun! Leigh & RJ & Fasso & Sir Ralph Sadleir

2009-09-23T12:10:00.007-05:00

The top picture shows my husband, Tom Charney, as the silly foreigner Fasso Latido, with his little brother, Pico, played by Phoole Friend RJ, who joins me in the next picture on the Day of Moustache Controversy -- a Tale Too Torrid and Tedious for Text! The last pic shows RJ and his sister, Phoole Friend Leigh, with me and Tom again, this time as Sir Ralph Sadleir, the Richest Commoner in England! Cheers to Phoole Friend Toby for the excellent photographic preservation of these fun times!

Phooligans: A Guild of Jesters in World of Warcraft

2009-09-22T16:10:00.005-05:00

From Phoole Friend Kurt Magoon comes news that his son's created a

Guild of Jesters within World of Warcraft called The Phooligans!

I don't actually play the game myself -- I'm either not hip enough, or I'm terrified of all of my free time dissolving, or my real actual life is too fraught with conflict, or a myriad other excuses. But if you play this game, I understand the Phooligans reside on the Wyrmrest Accord Server, which must be an Extremely Fashionable and Entertaining Place Indeed.

Here is a screenshot of the leader of The Phooligans, Jayyn, in front of what I'm told is the well in Stormwind City:

Good Fun Times! If any of you play this game, and Jayyn and The Phooligans get up to any hijinks, I rely on you to Regale Me With Tales!

Here's A Health To...The Porpentine! or: Farewell, Porkchop

2009-09-09T19:50:00.002-05:00

Cute Porcupine Guy, originally uploaded by ice.bluess.

Nine days' worth of things happened in the three days of the Bristol Renaissance Faire's closing weekend, but one of my favorite farewells happened to involve this sleepy li'l curmudgeon, our friend, Porkchop the Porpentine (which is a Porcupine, but 450 years ago).

On Monday, Bristol's closing day, I had been involved in hijinks that kept me close to the North side of town, and so as the shadows began to stretch into autumnal afternoon, I made a determined stomp Southward, to try to visit every neighborhood I'd neglected earlier in the day. Having already achieved my 100th language for "bad monkey" (full story later), I trundled through Shoplatch Lane, greeted people in the High Street, and reached the crossroads of The Frightening Bridge and the middle road in Traders' Wharf. I decided this might be my best chance to have one last beviewment of Porkchop before Fall carried Her Grace and Court off to Barkley Castle, so I swung over toward the Petting Farm.

The Farm was jammed with excited critters and happy children, and a longish line of people waited for a visit with the goats, piggies, lemurs, pastel skunklets, and fluffy wee Highland coo. I approached the lass tending the gate and asked if Porkchop were receiving guests -- I anticipated disappointment, as I knew he had been grumpy earlier that day and had received a "time-out," which is funny to me, 'coz you can't take the "chop" out of "Porkchop," can you?

She reported that Porkchop, alas, was napping, in a bucket, which is terribly cute of him you must admit. I smiled sadly and asked her to please tell him "goodbye" for me when he woke, and then thanked her and went on my way.

Mere steps away I encountered small crowds of well-wishers, wanting to know if I'd gotten 100 languages for "bad monkey" yet, and hoping the Queen was liking her birthday presents, and so forth, and I hadn't gotten more than a block away from the Petting Farm when I suddenly heard, "Jane!" We all looked up, and here was the Master of the Porpentine, hurtling toward us, a very sleepy Porkchop in his arms.

My eyes filled with happy tears, and a crowd whooshed in around us, marvelling at the slumbering so-soft-looking Porpentine. We all pet Porkchop, very tentatively like you do when you know that the fluffy fur hides a tiny painful pike-block, and I found myself rattling off every fact I knew about the Porpentine, sounding very much like an even sillier David Attenborough, as all gathered around and enjoyed the cute face and fluffulence of the dozing 'Tine.

Finally, I looked up at the handler and said, "You know, all this season we've made such an enormous fuss over Porkchop, celebrating him with tales and songs and pageantry, and yet, through all of it, I've been so thoughtless as to never ask your name!" He smiled and said he was called Jason. I addressed the company then, saluting Master Jason, Master of Porkchop the Porpentine, and regaling the crowd with how his tender care of the beast had brought him to the notice even of the Queen of England, and how Her Majesty had bade us gift him with the vambraces that protect Jason's arms from the monstrous chompers of the Porpentine.

Delighted by this last reunion, and grieved to part, I thanked Jason one more time for his patience with our silly obsession with this cutest of curmudgeonly creatures. We exchanged sad smiles, and I turned toward the North again, to bid a few more farewells before addressing myself to Her Grace for a last Bristol audience. But all the while the day lasted, I thought of Porkchop, the Porpentine of Bristol, and the joy he'd brought us with every prickle and every chomp during this Her Majesty's Royal Progress. Merry meet, merry Porkchop, and merry meet again!

Phoole Fave: Queen Elizabeth Gloriana

2009-09-04T22:02:00.004-05:00

Bristol Ren Faire 2009 - 7th wknd Sat/Sun, originally uploaded by meryddian.

In honor of Her Majesty's Natal Day, I would just like to give a Right Good Shout-Out to Her Grace, particularly as portrayed by the Bristol Renaissance Faire's Mary Kababik. I've loved playing Phoole to Mary's Queen for many, many years, and let me tell you something: If you've seen Mary play Elizabeth I once, you've seen her do it ONCE. She's the Lion's Cub quintessentially, with abrupt turns in mood, a ready wit, and the last laugh, always. And you let her, and not just because she's God's representative on earth -- she earns those laughs. Her punchlines are mighty this season, and she's made ME laugh more often, I think, than I've made her laugh this year. She is gracious, extremely sharing, incisive, cunning, tough and tender at once.

If you're visiting Bristol for the first time this weekend, make a particular point of spending time with the Queen and her Court. Mary Kababik has got to be one of the hardest-working, if not THE hardest-working, Queens in the Renaissance Faire Business, and she will share her time and glory with you. If you're a long-time Faire fan and have already visited many times this season, come behold Her Grace -- she's full of surprises, every single day, and keeps her Privy Councillors, her Favorites, and her Court on their toes with her vibrance, lightning wit and fierce fiery Tudor blood.

Have no doubt that Mary Kababik is one of the hardest-working women in show business. But if you engage her in close conversation, you'll also know that there's no one kinder, more gracious, and more sincere in encountering a Faire's guests. Come get some! Happy Natal Day on September 7, Your Majesty!

13 Languages Until "Bad Monkey" 100!

2009-08-31T10:54:00.003-05:00

Help me learn how to say "bad monkey" in 13 more languages before September 7!

A list of the languages I've already attained is here: http://badmonkeylog.blogspot.com/. If you think you have a language I haven't already got, please check this list first -- I do already have Pig Latin, thanks awfully, most kind really! But there are SO MANY I haven't got yet, and from those, I only need 13 more to make it to 100 before Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I's birthday next Monday!

Here's a list of some languages I don't yet have:

Chinese Variants:
Wu
Yue
Min Nan
Jinyu
Xian
Hakka
Gan

Arabic Variants:
Algerian
Moroccan
Saidi
Sudanese
North Levantine
Mesopotamian

Javanese
Tamil
Malayalam
Kannada
Oriya
Sunda
Eastern and Western Punjabi
North and South Azerbaijani
Bhojpuri
Maithili
Burmese
Awadhi
Yoruba
Sindhi
Uzbek
Malay
Amharic
Igbo
Nepali
Saraiki
Cebuano
Assamese
Chittagonian
Madura
Sinhala
Haryanvi
Marwari
Magahi
Chhattisgarhi
Deccan
Belarusan

There are many others I don't have as well; will try to post a bigger wish list when time presents. A list of top 100 languages by population appears at http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/help/top-100-languages-by-population.html .

Cheers for any new "bad monkeys" you can send my way!

The Porpentine Rampage!

2009-08-31T09:31:00.002-05:00

Porpentine Fascination Continues Unabated, and Sunday afternoon's excursion was a blissful delight. I found myself in Newmarket, chatting away with patrons from around the world (met even more Russian, Bulgarian, Polish and Lithuanian guests this weekend), when the Master of the Porpentine brought the crotchety critter over from the Petting Farm and Let It Run Around On Its Own, right on the grass, amidst the excited patrons! It made a beeline for one woman's leg and began immediately to nom her, which terrified me utterly, but the woman insisted that it was fine, and that her cat bites her with more ferocity, and she just sat there and let the obstreperous spiny beast chomp away at her ankles and calves, much to the horror of her very young daughter, who squealed in fear and gathered her legs up onto the bench, out of reach of the Porpentine's mighty incisors. He then turned his ire on the bench itself, chewing at it with ferocity, for he is compelled constantly to chew and chew. A large crowd amassed -- some thirty people -- all standing about wondering at the voracious chew-need of the Porpentine. And I just plopped on the ground, perfectly happy, watching people enjoy the Porpentine, and delighting in its grumpy antics myself. The Master of the Porpentine, arms clad in the Excalibur Leather bracers we'd gifted him, seized the Porpentine then and flipped him on his back on the ground, and the Porpentine APPEARED TO LIKE BEING INVERTED! He displayed his belly, seemingly happily and calmly, which surprised everyone, and the Master of the Porpentine said, "Quick, pet him now before he flips back over," and we fairly dove at the thing, all petting his soft underbelly fur and admiring his prosh giant back-feet paw pads. Eventually he righted himself, and, just as surprisingly, whirled about rapidly about ten times, just spinning like a pincushion possessed, and it made no sense at all, which is exactly what one wants on a cool bright Sunday afternoon. Then it went back to finding things to chomp, streaking toward a young lad in knee-high brown leather boots, wrapping his little arms around the calf and nomming him ferociously! The Porpentine was completely strange and delightful out in the open, and I wish Lord Leycester and Egads had been there to witness his surly rampage amongst patrons' legs.