Lifestyle
Here’s how to have the most fun at the L.A. Renaissance Faire
I decided that, just this once, I was rooting for evil to win — mainly because I liked their energy more.
The wereboar growled next to Black Pudding, a hulking vicious monster, both focused on ripping Puck and Cordelia to shreds. Oberon, an Archfey god, stood alongside them, concerned. But only one thing would decide the fate of everyone on stage: the D20, a 20-sided die.
For 45 minutes on Saturday morning, a rambunctious audience of elves, fairies, gnomes, wizards and more was transported to another land, far away from any concern for modern life, as they watched the “Dungeons & Shakespeare” live show at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire at the Santa Fe Dam Recreational Area in Irwindale.
Lynx the Sword Swallower prepares the audience for his show.
Before Saturday, I’d never attended a renaissance fair, a reenactment of the English Renaissance in the form of an immersive festival (i.e. why the Irwindale fair is based in the 16th century village of Port Deptford). Although I was not entirely new to fanciful make-’em-ups. My family had been members of the Society for Creative Anachronism, a medieval-era living history organization. We frequently dressed up to visit our local kingdom. Once, a wizard gave me a cape. Another time, I won a plague-themed frog toss.
I’d long forgotten what a blissful escape those weekends had been for a young queer kid living in rural America — until Saturday, when I looked around the fair and realized it was a diverse crowd in every sense of the word.
At the “Dungeons & Shakespeare” show, host Willy Nilly encouraged us to lean into the welcoming atmosphere we found among our fellow outcasts.
“Let’s stop worrying about whether we seem weird and make our stories amazing,” the actor, who grew up in conservative Midland, Texas, told the crowd.
And with that same energy, my wife and I trodded further into the fair in hot pursuit of merriment and wonder.
I should note: The Irwindale fair is packed full of opportunities to spend a day. It can, at times, feel overwhelming (and dusty). Here’s what we learned that will set you up for success, should you fancy a trip back in time.
Guests make their way out of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire at sunset.
1. Thou must plan thy morrow
Translation: You must plan your day.
The best way to have the perfect day?
It depends!
Before your visit, I would recommend loosely plotting out your day using the fair’s map. First, you’ll want to discern which performances you’d like to see. Each weekend’s entertainment schedule is released the prior Wednesday, although it can change due to “weather, illness or Her Majesty’s whim,” as the fair website notes.
There are 12 stages and performance areas, each with their own programming. And it’s a real range.
For example, you’ll find MooNie the Magnif’Cent, a fair staple who mixes clowning, stunts and comedy, all without speaking. Supernova the Strongwoman will dazzle the crowd with risky tricks and demolition. And Dora Viellette teaches her audience about an array of music, from medieval to folk favorites, as she plays the hurdy-gurdy (which is very fun to say aloud).
I’d recommend attending the performance you want to see the most early in the day, as the fair seems to get more crowded as the day progresses.
Similarly, if you’d like to focus the day on playing games and experiencing human-powered carnival rides, I’d recommend doing that first. We originally wanted to practice our archery skills, but because we’d waited until after noon, the line was long every time we checked. That said, I did quickly get to throw 10 javelin for $10 later in the day, and I noticed the lines for the “big swing” — aptly named — and the dragon swing were both short. Additionally, it looked like a fairly quick wait to learn from the teachers at St. Jude’s School of Fencing and the Sword Master’s Challenge, where a worker told my wife, “You look like you’d like to hit someone!” (Trust, it wasn’t me, despite my perpetually high anxiety.)
There are also additional paid activities, like having tea with the queen or imbibing via a pub crawl. And then there are the jousting competitions (more on those below).
Her majesty the queen is seen with her court.
2. The Queen doth nay require fanciful garb
Translation: Costumes are not required but very fun.
About five minutes into the fair, I realized I could entertain myself for probably the entire day by simply people watching. Entertainers and guests’ costumes alike were incredible.
Woodland fairies carrying giant daffodils or wearing hats covered in mushrooms. Knights in real armor. Every version of Merlin the wizard, spanning an expansive gender spectrum. Gnomes in tall red hats. And at least one pickle pope blessing people with herbs. You might say they were kind of a big dill. (Hold your applause.)
There are multiple themed weekends, too, including the first weekend when guests were encouraged to strut out in their best pirate garb.
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1. Stephanie Divinski looks down at her shoulder puppet. 2. Trilainna Stanton, also known as Prince Rain, of San Diego. 3. Partners Reese Pei, left, and Mariner Song are pictured. 4. Meisha Mock, left, and Aimey Beer both wear wolf masks created by Meisha.
3. Parley with the guildfolk
Translation: Talk to the townspeople.
Around the fair, you have the opportunity to interact with several guilds and performance tropes. “The most fun you’ll get at the fair is from talking to people,” my friend Matthew, who has several years of renaissance fair experience, told me. “As someone who volunteers with a guild, we aren’t just there to sit around and look pretty. Come talk to us.”
I loved watching the fae creatures of the Fantastikals frolic around, getting into mischief. I kept an eye out for Danse Macabre, whose members dance away the threat of the plague to the fair. But I was most starstruck when I met her majesty Queen Elizabeth I. (Note: The actors do not break character, even to tell a journalist their given name outside of their fair life.)
As I waited in line, I observed the diligently trained actors of the Queen’s Court. The lord high treasurer bent down and handed a gold coin to a toddler doddling around as his family waited to meet the queen. He tried to eat it, but was bested by his mother.
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1. The Fantastikals, representing nature and the elements, provide a sense of wonder and mischief. 2. Royal guard member Maria DeSilva, left, stands by Anna of Austria, the queen of Spain, and her sister Elisabeth of Austria as they read their Bibles together. 3. A maid of honor to the queen passes the time with canvas work.
“You must be quicker if you are to be successful,” Sir Thomas Heneage, the court’s gentleman usher, told him.
I asked the queen what a newbie like me should know about visiting her village.
“I would tell them that at the fair, there is all the world to be had,” she said. “And no matter what you find that will set your heart alight, you will find it here.”
(I also asked her if it was as fun as it looked to be carried around in a basket by the Yeomen of the Guard, and after a good laugh, she affirmed, “It is truly a highlight of our day.”)
The crowd cheers as the jousters charge one another during the final bout of the day.
4. Hark! What a clatter!
Translation: Prepare for shouting
But it’s the fun kind!
When the fair opens at 10 a.m., guests shout, “Open wide the gates!”
“Huzzah!” is commonly shouted out in celebration, like when you tip someone, or when your trusty javelin strikes the target (mine did not).
And “God save the queen!” is exclaimed during the parades and just about any time the queen is around.
5. By hook and crook, ready thyself for a joust
Translation: It’s essential to attend a joust.
A jousters charges toward his opponent during the final bout of the day.
Attending a joust is one of the quintessential renaissance festival experiences.
At the L.A. fair, there are generally three joust performances per day: the Deptford tournament joust, the queen’s joust and the “joust to the death.”
It’s best to arrive 45 minutes early to get a seat, as the performance space fills to capacity. You will be turned away if it is full.
And it’s competitive. Immediately after sitting down, my seatmate informed me that we were rooting for green and blue, and the other team was our mortal enemies. I hooted and hollered accordingly.
6. There is much fine belly-timber
Translation: There is so much good food.
OK, here’s a confession: I eat a vegan diet. But, I can still appreciate the wide range of food options available — including the iconic turkey leg.
After securing our marinated tofu nachos and poke bowl, my wife and I sat down among other guests. Our tablemates had purchased a litany of fried options, including scotch eggs from the Quail Inn, which also serves bacon-wrapped jalapeño peppers, cheese fritters and “whole, partially deboned quail.”
I personally regret not heading over to Scoops on Tap, where I could have ordered vegan lemon blueberry swirl and mint chip ice cream. Their spirit-infused offerings include buttery beer, mocha stout crush and drumstick stout (which is not turkey-flavored, but rather a vanilla base).
7. Pray thee pay full mind to the merchants
Translation: Take time to learn about the artisans.
Drabbits, hand-crafted and one-of-a-kind shoulder puppets, at the Imagination Adoptorium booth.
Throughout the fair, you can easily find unique and colorful birthday gifts, like dragon eggs or a buy-your-own-fairy house, that would make your nieces, nephews and little cousins quickly proclaim you their favorite relative.
Beyond that, you can speak to artisans who’ve been honing their craft, in some cases, for decades. I asked glass artist Stuart Abelman, who has regular glass-blowing demonstrations during the fair, how his artistry fits into the renaissance fair.
“They’ve been blowing glass for 5,000 years,” Abelman, whose studio is based in Van Nuys, said. “Through the Renaissance, there were incredible glass blowers at Murano, Italy, incredible glass blowers. The queen drank [out of] beautiful glassware. They were the best.”
An assortment of masks are seen in the Mischief Masks booth.
8. Fret not if the winds of fate blow you elsewhere
Translation: Don’t worry if you can’t attend this specific fair.
California has several renaissance fairs and similarly themed events throughout the year. And, for the most adventurous, there are other fairs across the country and world, including the Texas Renaissance Festival, said to be the largest in the U.S.
Fairs scheduled this year in California include: Escondido Renaissance Faire (spring event: April 25–26, May 2–3; fall event: TBD); Summer Renaissance Fantasy Faire in Idyllwild (June 13–14); Central Coast Renaissance Festival in San Luis Obispo (July 18–19); Idyllwild Renaissance Faire (Sept. 12–13); and the Northern California Renaissance Faire in Hollister (Sept. 19–Oct. 25).
I spoke to Deptford’s lord mayor, Sir Barnubus Bliss, about what’s most important to him about folks experiencing the fair closest to L.A.
The Original Renaissance Pleasure Faire
When: Saturdays and Sundays through May 17
Where: Santa Fe Dam Recreation Area, 15501 Arrow Highway, Irwindale. Note: The fair’s organizers advise you to not put the address in your GPS. It’s recommended that you take the 210, exit off Irwindale Ave (#38) and follow the signs to the fair. Upon arrival, you will pay the $15 entrance fee to the park, and then be directed to a large parking area.
Tickets: $53 for adults and children 13 or older, $28 for children 5 to 12, and free for kids 4 and younger. Although you can buy tickets at the fair, it’s logistically easier to buy them online at renfair.com.
“Every time someone comes through those doors, I always wish them a ‘Welcome home,’” he said, “because it is my understanding that no matter where you are from, no matter what your life has been, when you come within these gates, when you are within our walls, you are at home, no matter where you were beforehand.”
Nik Frey, far left, and his partner Joanna Dominguez, far right, sword fight with Bexleigh Kilker, 9, and Bexleigh’s dad Kevin, as they all wait out traffic after opening day at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire.
And I felt that as I watched adults gallivant around with childlike glee. As my wife and I left the fair, I did not find myself immediately reaching for my phone. I wanted to stay, just a while longer, in a world where seemingly everyone is welcome to be just as they are.
This story is part of Image’s April’s Thresholds issue, a tour of L.A. architecture as it’s actually experienced.
A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” We identify our cities with their landmarks, and because we identify with our cities, we identify with the landmarks too. They are us and we are them, mirroring each other through eternity. A city like New York or Chicago, with the Chrysler Building, the Bean, etc., has landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention.
The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova. Merging on the 110 South from the 10 East while the sunset burns and traffic thickens is a miracle in more ways than one, and in the spirit of compulsively performing the sign of the cross when you pass a church on the freeway, this billboard is deserving of its own acknowledgment.
It may not be the landmark L.A. asked for, but in Sayre Gomez’s painting “Vertigo,” you begin to understand why it’s the one we deserve. At the opening for “Precious Moments,” Gomez’s solo show at David Kordansky, the room was vibrating. A game of energetic ping-pong unfolded underneath the gallery’s fluorescent light, beams of identification, recollections or stabs of grief bouncing off each piece in the exhibition. People were seeing hyperspecific parts of a city they love reflected in a hyperspecific way — for better and for worse. Recognition has two edges and they both happen to be sharp. Gomez twists the knife deeper for a good cause: He wants you not just to look but to really see.
In his work exist iconic signs of beloved local establishments — like the Playpen — the blinding glint reflecting off downtown’s skyline, telephone poles regarded as totems. The line to see Gomez’s replica of L.A.’s graffiti towers, “Oceanwide Plaza,” snaked through the gallery’s courtyard. Once inside, at least three graffiti writers whose names were blasted on the replica pointed it out proudly, even gave out stickers to take home. The truth can be beautiful and it can be ugly — in this case it’s both — on the flip side showing up in the form of smog, tattered flags and an abandoned graffiti tower that starkly represents the pitfalls of capitalism and greed, a neon arrow pointing to the homelessness crisis.
Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave.
— Sayre Gomez
In the main gallery, I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side, wearing cat ears and a tiger bodysuit as flush as second skin. The model made the kind of eye contact that felt dangerous — might cause an accident if you’re not careful. “#1 Halloween Destination … FASHION NOVA,” it read. I knew her, anyone who has driven through the two main arteries of Los Angeles knows her. The black-and-white smiley motif of the Vertigo, an events space, sat right next to her face, just happy to be there, it seemed, above a painted sign that says “Ready to Party?”
The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. Something rancid about it. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined at the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks — creating their own shrunken skyline in front of the Vertigo, signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.
Even angels exist within the context of their environments. Our Fashion Nova baddie hangs off the Vertigo, a building that has used its ad space as physical clickbait and political posturing for over a decade. It’s promoting the kind of fast fashion brand that’s been regarded as a case study on the industry’s environmental impact. In the years the billboard has been up, it’s looked over dozens and dozens of car encampments like the one depicted in Gomez’s piece.
She feels dubious, yes. But no less like ours.
Julissa James: I’ve lived in L.A. for 13 years now. For me, the city and the architecture of the city is less the Frank Lloyd Wrights and Frank Gehrys — there’s that — but other landmarks that signal, “Oh, I’m home.” The Fashion Nova baddie above the Vertigo has always been that for me. Your piece is layered and there’s so much more to it than just that, but that’s the first thing I saw and was like, “Whoa. I need to talk to Sayre. We need to talk about ‘Vertigo.’”
Sayre Gomez: It’s like L.A.’s Statue of Liberty. It’s the city of anti-landmarks, you know what I mean? I mean, there’s the Hollywood sign, which I think is so telling, because it’s the remnants of a real estate venture. The city is built by real estate schemes and 100 years later we’re feeling the effects of it. You’ve got empty skyscrapers and a massive homeless catastrophe. L.A. doesn’t really have real landmarks. It has anti-landmarks.
JJ: When did the Fashion Nova billboard above the Vertigo click for you as something that felt representative of the city, or something that you wanted to depict?
SG: My studio is in Boyle Heights, so I pass that billboard multiple times a week. This is my 20th year in L.A. and that building’s always been a big mystery to me. It was empty when I moved here before this guy Shawn Farr bought it and turned it into Casa Vertigo. I think he probably makes more money on it with the ad space than anything. I know nobody who has ever been there. Very mysterious to me. So that’s what I was drawn to.
(Paul Salveson from David Kordansky Gallery)
The Vertigo has always been mysterious to me. And that whole fashion industry is mysterious to me — the kind of shmatta, American Apparel-adjacent, or maybe coming out of the wake of that. These kinds of businesses, or the representations of these businesses, how do they function and how do they flourish? Is it aboveboard? What more perfectly encapsulates that than that building? It’s this weird thing you can’t quite figure out but somehow it has a lot of money and then it’s an event space, supposedly billed as that. Clearly it’s this big ad thing, and I’m very interested in the changing dynamics of capital. The capital of yesteryear, which was based on the brick and mortar, where things are being made in a specific location, maybe on an assembly line or in a specific way, to a kind of capital that is based solely on advertising or on viewership. These beautiful buildings acting as pedestals for some kind of ad space, you know? It becomes an anti-landmark for me. Something where I’m like, “Oh, there’s that thing again.”
JJ: It’s this gorgeous Beaux Arts building …
SG: It’s a Freemason building!
JJ: When I’ve talked to some people about the Vertigo, they’re like, “the Fashion Nova building?”
SG: They always have the woman in the same pose — same pose, different clothes. If you remember before Fashion Nova, they would have these provocative ad campaigns or provocative slogans. “Twerk Miley” was up, remember that? They did a Trump one: “TRUMP NOW.” They did one for Kanye when he ran for president. The 10 and the 110 are literally the crossroads of the city, so it’s really poised to be a special building. It has a special designation because of the location.
JJ: Talk to me about the process of doing this piece. Where did it start and how did it evolve?
SG: I was cruising around that vicinity trying to see if I could get a good vantage point to take photos of Vertigo. And then I stumbled upon this car — the car that’s in the foreground of the painting. Anytime I see an encampment that has kids’ toys, things that reference back to the lives of children, it hits hard. But I like to lay it all out there. I like to make things confrontational. I want it to be difficult. The painting isn’t based on a one-to-one photo [Gomez paints from a composite rendering of images he’s taken around town], but I knew that I wanted to use that car, and I knew I wanted to get the Vertigo building, and so I started just messing around with different iterations. I could never find a good angle to take a good photo of the building, so I just went on Vertigo’s website and I was like, “I’m just using these.” I switched the sky and put a more moody, atmospheric sky in.
JJ: Which I loved, because we know that feeling — you’re merging onto the 110 and you see a beautiful sunset. The euphoria of like, “L.A. is the best city in the world.” But you know what? What I found so interesting about your piece is that it was revealing to me about myself, but also about so many of us that live in L.A. and have lived here for years and have developed a jadedness. When I saw your piece, immediately I was like, “Oh my God, the Vertigo! The Vertigo! The Vertigo!” And then I was like, “OK, wait, hold on, there’s so much more going on here.” But the fact that my eye went to that first instead of the car encampment, the kids’ toys, brought up a lot of questions about my own relationship to the city and the things that we choose to see, the things that maybe we’ve seen so much of that we subconsciously filter it out. Why was it important for you to put these two things up against each other in this way?
SG: Because the Vertigo is something everybody who lives here recognizes as central to a sort of framework of Los Angeles. And I think the encampment has become that as well. It’s connecting these integral components — something that’s more revelatory and more fun with something that’s more grave. That’s what I’m doing in my work at large. I use the sunsets and the beauty to create a dialogue, to entice people to sort of look a little bit at how things are contextualized, how things act, what’s actually happening. I don’t make things in a vacuum. I was working on this show and I was going to really push this agenda of incorporating more of my experience with my kids into the work. That’s also a double-edged sword. I wanted to interject some levity, because the work can get so dark. I wanted to bring in some iconography from their world and things that they get excited about. When you’re juxtaposing that with really stark things, it becomes darker. I want to thicken the stock a little bit. Make things a little more complex.
Phil Pritchard of the Hockey Hall of Fame works the 2019 NHL Awards at the Mandalay Bay Events Center on June 19, 2019 in Las Vegas, Nevada. (Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images)
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Paul W. Downs can’t help it that even on the weekends, his life intersects with “Hacks,” the HBO comedy he co-created and co-showruns with his wife, Lucia Aniello, and their friend Jen Statsky. (He also appears on the show as Jimmy LuSaque Jr., the besieged manager of its two stars, played by Emmy winners Jean Smart and Hannah Einbinder.) The fifth and final season of “Hacks” premiered last week, but on Downs’ days off, he often finds himself at its previous filming locations or hanging out with cast members who have become like family.
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Downs moved to Los Angeles in 2011, but soon after, he and Aniello were hired to write (and for him to act) on the über-New York show “Broad City,” keeping them away from the West Coast for years. Now the couple live in Los Feliz, which they enjoy with their young son.
“I love Los Feliz because it’s a real neighborhood with restaurants and bars, but also feels close to nature with Griffith Park,” Downs says. “Also it’s very central to my Eastside friends and Westside agents.”
And if he had to live at a local mall, like the character Ava Daniels did in the third season of “Hacks,” which would he choose?
“It would be the Americana, obviously.”
Here’s how he’d spend a perfect day in L.A.
10 a.m.: A late rise and a li’l barista
I’m sleeping in if I can, which I can’t because I have a toddler, but let’s say I can sleep ’til 10. That would be insane.
Then I’m making coffee at home. I’m making it with my 4-year-old because he likes to make my coffee now. He always wanted to help, now he really wants to do it on his own. I’m still there to supervise, but he does do a lot of it.
I do batch brew. I’m doing Verve Coffee that I’m grinding there, and then I’m brewing four cups because I need my coffee. I had a Moccamaster for a long time, but I recently got a Simply Good Coffee. There’s no plastic — it’s all glass and metal.
11 a.m.: Chocolate croissants for everyone
We’re driving to Pasadena and we’re going to [Artisanal Goods by] CAR, which is the place to get the best chocolate croissant, I think, in the world. I don’t just think in L.A., I think they’re better than Paris. I’m going there with my wife and my kid and I’m having another coffee and some pastry. We’re ordering three [chocolate croissants]. We’re not doubling up.
11:45 a.m.: The family business
We’re driving to Fair Oaks in Pasadena. There’s a place called T.L. Gurley. We shot “Hacks” there, actually. Not only in Season 1, but also full circle in Season 5. We’re going to shmay around and look at antiques. My kid is going to want to play a vintage pinball machine. We’re going to find a little piece of art for the house or what have you. It’s not necessarily that I’m on the hunt. It’s to pass the time and to have some fun. If I could do anything and have a leisurely day and take my mind off work, that’s what I’m doing.
People love to interact with my kid when he’s there. We’re really training him to appraise things at a young age. My parents are part-time dealers of antiques. My grandmother bought and sold antiques. It’s kind of a family business.
1:30 pm.: Baguettes and books
We’re driving to Larchmont and we’re getting a sandwich at Larchmont Village Wine, Spirits & Cheese. I’m doing prosciutto-mozzarella-basil on a baguette.
Then we’re going to Chevalier’s Books. What’s sad is that I’m often not looking for leisure material. I’m looking for something that I’m interested in learning more about or writing about, or that they’re turning into a show I want to audition for. But we’re also doing Little Golden Books for my son. He’s obsessed. We’re not huge on screen time, so we really encourage the book-buying.
2:30 p.m.: Cast pool party
We’re having some family fun in the pool and we’re doing that until evening. We invite people over all the time. My sister-in-law is a New Yorker, but she actually wrote last season on “The Rooster” and she’s often writing on shows in L.A., so she’s often here and she’ll have a couple friends come over. I know this sounds like a piece of PR or something, but we’ll really literally have Hannah [Einbinder] and maybe Mark Indelicato from “Hacks” come over to swim. Jen, our co-creator of “Hacks,” will come over.
6:00 p.m.: Family dinner
Sometimes we’ll order Grá to the house, which is a pizza place in Echo Park — excellent sourdough crust pizza. But if we don’t do that, an ideal evening is an early dinner at All Time on Hillhurst in Los Feliz. We’re ordering the ceviche and my son is having all of it and not sharing with anybody at the table.
8:45 p.m.: A thrilling ending to the day
After putting my kid to bed, my wife and I, in an ideal world (full disclosure: we haven’t done this in two years), we’ll watch something together that we’ve been meaning to watch. We have a long list of movies and we either want to revisit or that we haven’t seen that we need to watch.
We don’t watch a lot of comedies. It’s a dream to watch a “Black Bag” or a little espionage thriller. We really like that because it’s so different than the stuff that we’re working on in the day.
Often the things we watch are things that we admire. We like deconstructing it as fans of film and television. We do like talking about the making of it, but it’s less of a critique and more of a listing of the things we appreciated about it.
10:30 p.m.: No work tomorrow
And then it’s lovemaking ’til morning on a perfect Sunday. If it’s a perfect Sunday, there’s also a Monday that’s off.
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