Ten years ago, I would have rather been tortured in a stockade than attend a Renaissance Faire. I lumped it in the same category as Gen Con and mentally snubbed the faire-goers, whom I thought were a bunch of dorks wearing armor or puffy shirts in 90-degree weather.

Well, you won't catch me sporting a corset and chatting in an Elizabethan accent, but I have learned -- thanks to the enthusiasm of a friend and the fact my kids really dig it -- to appreciate the Bristol Renaissance Faire. These days, I lump it into the same category as Packers games and jam band concerts: a visual feast and people-watching buffet that allows me to spy on a subculture for a few hours.

And best of all, the Ren Faire allows me to eat like a queen.

Unlike the usual tired festival foods, the faire has a unique cuisine that includes whole artichokes, turkey legs and incredible garlic mushrooms. I also like the sassafras soda and the honey mead.

However, I tried the "butterfly potatoes" this year -- which are their infamous homemade potato chips -- and in my humble opinion, Café Lulu has them beat. Huzzah!

I have also grown to appreciate the shopping -- and that most of the artists and crafters are on-site. Last year, I bought a handmade broom with a long, skinny bunch of bristles from an elderly man who was wrapping them right there in his rocking chair. He told me it was a "spider broom" and made to clear cobwebs from tall corners. Not only is it a cool and unique-looking broom, but I actually use that bad boy on a weekly basis.

A couple of years ago, a faire vendor informed me that one of my favorite stones, green amber, is hard to find, and that much of the green amber that's sold is actually the more-common brown amber with a piece of green glass behind. I went home, checked the back of my green amber necklace, and sure enough, he was right.

Perhaps it's because of the time I spent in the late '80s traipsing after the Grateful Dead, but I am still a sucker for patchouli. Ren Faire is the only place I know of that sells Kamala oil, which I think is by far the best patchouli available. Also, it's quite subtle, which is nice for those folks in other states who don't wanna smell my somewhat-hippie self.

But my favorite part of the faire is watching the die-hards; the fanatics. Like the freaks who paint their fat, exposed bellies green and gold, the people dressed in costume at the faire - and those who work there like the spider lady who spends her entire shift "spinning" a massive web made from string -- are fascinating to watch.

Sure, my kids love the mud show, the person-propelled rides, the jousting, the fairies and the end-of-the-day drumming, but it's less about all that for me. As a writer type, I am always the observer who's analyzing from the outside, and I envy anyone who can really be in the moment and wholeheartedly embrace something that seems so random-- regardless of what anyone else thinks.