Later that night, I checked out Perpetual Groove at Visulite Theatre. The Savannah foursome drew the usual jam band fan base of yippies (a hybrid of yuppies and hippies, not the 60s cultural revolutionaries of the same name) who tend to fill out the middle section of the club with their self-conscious head-bobbing and swaying. The dance area yielded an eclectic mix of the really drunk Trustafarians complete with fists shaking in the air, and dread heads who had obviously skipped "shower day" last week; all in all, a typical Visulite scene, although the crowd didn't generate half the energy the band did. An impressive sound system channeled the music evenly throughout the club so the up-fronters weren't blown away by the speakers while the people hangin' at the bar in the back could actually hear the lyrics when there were some. The light show that accompanied the music made me wish I'd come to the show with more than a cheap beer buzz but it was appreciated nonetheless. And of course, no show would be complete without the gratuitous jackass requesting "Freebird" at the top of his lungs in between songs. Funny how he always thinks he's witty and original.
With the gorgeous weather on Sunday and no Panthers home game (which, most importantly, translates to no tailgating), I opted for the second most socially acceptable event to drink at on Sundays -- the Carolina Renaissance Festival. Jousting, turkey legs, medieval crafts, costumes, performers, blah, blah, blah. Expecting to be the only person over 20 without a toddler attached to my side, I was pleasantly surprised by the number of workers (other than alcohol vendors) enlisted to keep the kidults entertained. Raunchy attractions like "Vegetable Justice" had sexual innuendos and insults flying over children's heads, with parents not knowing whether to laugh or hurl a tomato. At $5 for 6 tomatoes, I decided I could throw vegetables at home for free. When I saw the promotions to "get Bobmatized" at the Ded Bob Sho, I thought it was a bit much for the marketers to highlight a skeleton puppet show. After a chance meeting with a flower garland vendor who happened to be Bob's girlfriend (the only person there who's truly been "Bobmatized"), I decided to see what the guy was all about. At first I thought he seemed funny because I was two glasses deep in Chardonnay, but the skeletal dummy and his faceless human sidekick (the real Bob, who used to be the Vegetable guy) held their own. He won my heart when he told a woman in the crowd that he'd be on her "like Old Navy on white trash," although a collective gasp gushed from two-thirds of the visibly offended audience. I sat in smug satisfaction. Later, after several bone/penis puns, I enjoyed watching squirming parents with their clueless kids who had ignored the warnings of the show's vulgarity. Guardians of glue-eaters, pay attention, just in case you didn't learn this from watching Crank Yankers: puppets, like the rest of the fest, are not just for families.