The Big Damn Long Con Writeup
Sep. 6th, 2004 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
squeequegor, All Con and No Sleep Makes Stealthmuffin something something...
Whoo. What a weekend. I've had a great time. I've also probably destroyed a good number of my brain cells and lost at least 10 SAN.
At the end of it, I'm left with this weird feeling that I didn't do enough. Given that this can be empirically disproven, I started thinking about why this is. There's a passage in Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men that describes this sort of reaction admirably, but if I see another Pratchett quote I think my head may implode, so I'll paraphrase. Because there is so damn much stuff to do, if I choose to do something, I am automatically not doing any of the other incredibly cool things. So of course I've missed out on stuff. I'd have to be more bionic than![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wavyarms to not miss out on stuff.
This is a very, very long writeup, so I've broken it down a bit. Bear in mind that I'm still a bit woogy at the moment, even with a hot shower, so my impressions are more than a little confused.
The opening ceremonies consist of a lot of speeches and thank-yous and jokes I don't get. Oh well; I get some that others don't. The four guests of honor are a bunch of dapper gentlemen, three with beards, three with white hair (not the same three).
In other cons I have often had a weird reaction to mingling/meeting people/seeing people I know. It's not any better here; I tend to want to talk to people, but then don't want to be a limpet and attach myself to someone who'd rather not have me around, so I tend to push away from conversations that might otherwise be cool because I believe myself not cool enough. Not sure if that makes sense.
I go to a panel on plot holes and how to either find them, fix them, plan so they don't occur, or, if all else fails, deal with them. The next panel, discussing elves and glamour, rapidly shifts to a discussion of what makes a cool person cool (is it just that you see what they want you to see? Or is it relative? Or both?) and a series of Neil Gaiman anecdotes, especially from Terry Pratchett. I try to make a comment and, as usual, stammer and rephrase my way through it. Oh well; they got the gist of it.
I visitanu3bis and balsamicdragon in the gaming rooms and tentatively agree to help out with the Harry Potter children's LARP on Sunday, especially when I find that the role of McGonagall is open. I also go to the newsletter office and offer to help. Can we say "overcommitting newbie?" The Connie Willis reading is packed, and she reads from her next novel, All Clear. The image of Mr. Dunworthy in a Hawaiian shirt will stay with me for some time. Fan Eye for the Mundane Guy is less interesting; there's no mundane guy to dress up, just the five experts discussing what fan couture, culture, grooming, dress, and food consists of. (Cats are apparently considered an accessory.)
First Night gets started with the Terry on Trial thing, in which Pratchett is accused of doing lots of nasty things like not stopping at a trilogy and having Casanunda bother Nanny. (I'm having trouble writing about First Night because I wrote it once already for the newsletter; most of my writeups were a bit twee, but serviceable, and I'm shocked that none were heavily cut for space.)sigerson shows up in her gorgeous beggar queen outfit, and we hang out for the evening, at one point talking to the Agony Aunts (sigerson even managed to wheedle a 'dollar' from Mr. Boggis of the Thieves' Guild) and meeting the TAFF "exchange fan," a really nice guy from Dublin with a great accent. After joining in the Very Secret Diaries dramatic reading -- she's Gollum, I'm Boromir -- we head home.
I arrive Friday and, when I stop by the newsletter office, write up my impressions of First Night for them. It's great. I agree to do the Hugos and Pratchett's Guest of Honor speech, as I'm already planning on going to both. See above re: overcommitting.
Panels for today include mental floss (how to cope with creative stress &/or block) and the character of Death in fantasy, after which I manage to stammer out a question to Terry about whether this century's liking for an individual, personal Death is a result of the faceless, awful deaths of WWI. He agrees a bit. Man, he's nice -- people kept swamping him with questions and books to be signed, and he never snapped once. I felt kind of sorry and tried not to bother him from here on out, with the exception of the official autographing session and the Sunday incident, which wasn't my doing entirely.
I stop near home on my way to the Viable Paradise cookout and pick up a watermelon. This was not a good move, in hindsight. Melons are heavy. I stagger to the cookout and offer up the melon to the knife. I don't know if it was ever used. I mingle with past VPers and those who'll be at the workshop with me.thomascantor arrives, and I mingle less awkwardly. We talk to W, who's here with her friend A, who'll be a classmate of mine in October. They're both really cool. W, A, and their friend S (also cool) give me a lift back to Worldcon, and I get them lost. But we make it back in time for the Discworld Casting Couch panel, and the suggestions range from perfect to cringeworthy. I stop by sigerson to see how her game went, then go up to watch the first episode of Firefly with A, W, and S. I didn't know a space western could work. I think I'm in love.
I've read that there comes a point in one's time at a con when "you suddenly realize all your friends hate you, you're having an awful time, you've made a fool of yourself in every conversation you've been in so far, and you should never have come to the convention." That's a sign that you need a nap. Unfortunately, if you don't have crash space, that can be a problem -- and if you're a hyper-guilty twit who stupidly signed up for doing too much, then you might convince yourself that you don't have time for a nap.
I skip out on the Neil Gaiman reading to get a little more time at home in the morning. I should have taken more time; more sleep would have helped. Terry's speech is great. I toldthomascantor that Terry speaks like he writes, which is a bit too sweeping but will give you an idea of how quick his wit is. And he's not just funny, but interesting. I never knew that some idiot had made artificial silk out of arsenic -- but even more so, the tale he made of that incident was absolutely beautiful.
sigerson finds me after the speech and we agree to meet once I've written it up. She gives me my necessary accessory for the Harry Potter LARP: a pointy hat. A really great pointy hat that she made in 90 minutes. And wire-rimmed spectacles. Squeak! I got a great twin.
I go to a couple of panels, one on Bad Con Advice for Newbies ("Don't worry about hall costumes with protruding things. If they don't get out of your way, it's because they just don't get your art.") Then I get in line for Terry Pratchett autographs...and the line's about 150 people. Not a chance he'll get to us by 6, but they will give out "place vouchers" to those still in line at 6 so that they can go to the front of the line next time. So I figure I'll stay. The folks near me in line are a couple of folksingers -- they sing for us a few times, including a pair of Bert and Ernie duets that I remember from when I was very small -- and the woman who played Susan Sto Helit at Terry on Trial . She's quieter, but we have a good Discworld-related conversation and some about costuming.
The line progresses...and 6 passes...and progresses...and now I'm worried, because I'd planned to meetthomascantor for dinner. I could draw this out for dramatic effect, but suffice it to say that while I did get Terry's autograph and got to burble at him for a moment, I missed thomascantor entirely. I've never wanted a cell phone more. I melt down pretty badly.
I barely pull myself together to go to the Hugos, since I said I would, and try to avoid anyone I know, since I'm in that stage where kind words just make me fracture more. Not good at all. The Hugos are all right; they're an award ceremony, so they're a bit dull at heart, but they do their best. I write them up for the newsletter -- very well, I think -- and go home, home, home.
Everything's better after sleep. I say goodbye to thomascantor -- he's out of town this week -- and head to the bus stop in full Professor McGonagall costume. Hat, glasses, skirt, severe expression, and all. As I'm unwrapping my bagel, I get asked what's going on. I tell him there's a convention in town. He laughs and says "Hah, so you're some kind of scary witch, huh? Scary witches eat, like, breakfast?"
"They do when they're hungry," I say. With another hour of sleep, I'd have had a better rejoinder.
I get complimented on my costume several times and can't resist showing off a little. And then as I'm standing in front of the ladies' room, talking to someone, Terry Pratchett comes out of the men's room, stares at me, and says, "That's very good." Or similar -- the high-pitched noise that went off in my head may have garbled my memory. I hasten to explain that I'm not attempting to pose as Granny Weatherwax, as I have heels on, and she'd never wear heels. But I get a smile from him. That's really cool.
I go to the exotic mythologies panel, in which a friend of mine and thomascantor's, a native of India, points out how loaded the very title of the panel is. We talk a little afterwards, and she advises me to talk to the editors a little so that they have a face to go with the name. This may have backfired for me; I went up to the editor of Weird Tales and thanked him for the kind rejection letters -- then kicked myself when I heard how that sounded. I didn't mean it as a kind of snarky complaint, honestly! Crud.
Because the Potter LARP begins setup at two, I get in line for Connie Willis' autograph way early (it's also at two). She's a very nice person, and didn't mind my burbling. I scamper over to the LARP and help set up. Most of us NPCs are teachers, and once the students are sorted we teach them a quick class -- but there's something strange going on, and the teachers wander back and forth in the back of the classroom, stage whispering about the very dangerous door -- and what's behind it -- and the new Dark Arts teacher, who has an unfortunate effect on those who see her face. It goes so well. The kids are laughing, shouting, singing, and I get to ham it up big time. All of us do. And when it's done and Hogwarts is saved, the kids all got to ask us questions. And many of them kept asking "Snape" and "Hagrid" questions about the books. Yeah getting into the story!
I am then able to switch my skirt for pants. Yeah pants!
Some mingling, dinner, and then the masquerade. It starts late and goes very damn late, and I stay for most of it. Silly stealthmuffin. I see the woman from the autograph line in an absolutely gorgeous hall costume of Sarah from Labyrinth, and W is up on stage in her own Susan Sto Helit costume, for which she wins an award!
Highlights of the Masquerade include: a remote-controlled Luggage, complete with lots and lots of little pink feet; the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, Prof. R.J. Gumby; a really cute little kid in a fairy dress; and a skit involving Tom Jones loose in Ankh-Morpork. I had "It's Not Unusual" stuck in my head for an hour afterwards. The intermission show is the One-Man Star Wars. All three movies. Oh, my god. He was hilarious. I want to see his one-man LOTR.
After the awards I congratulate W, and she, A, and I talk all the way back to their room, and then we talk some more, with the now-awake S. I stay way too late, and they offer me crash space. This one aspect of cons I'm really not used to; the generosity of people I barely know. I could really grow to love it.
Morning's way too bright. A, being way too generous again, loans me a spare pair of socks (had been wearing the tights from the costume before) in the knowledge she'll get them back at Viable Paradise. It's a slow morning, and everyone seems to have the early morning stares. I eventually go to the Serious Side of Pratchett panel, but about halfway through I think I've overdosed on Discworld. It may be a while before I can read it again; my brain is currently full. I run into the TAFF exchange guy, who gives me a hug and says he hopes he'll see me in the bar. I say something noncommittal -- I'd love to talk to him more, but there's an 8 in 10 chance that I won't even make it through the next two panels.
The panel called "The Bodice Fights Back! Costuming Disasters" is more about masquerade stuff, but there are some strange anecdotes, one involving a Tesla coil. The "How do you know when you're dead?" panel is packed, perhaps because nobody is currently sure that they're not. The ritual sacrifice of Larry Niven is ordained for after the panel (he keeps talking about how you can be sure you're dead if Hollywood starts to film your books). Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, and Connie Willis talk a lot, and even though I'm exhausted, they're good, and they keep me not only awake but interested. The moderator plugs a movie I want to see: Shaun of the Dead. It's a good way to end; I'm skipping the closing ceremonies in favor of sleep. I say goodbye to W, S, and A, and head home.
Halfway to the bus stop I find a brilliant orchid flower on the ground. I carry it home.
Whoo. What a weekend. I've had a great time. I've also probably destroyed a good number of my brain cells and lost at least 10 SAN.
At the end of it, I'm left with this weird feeling that I didn't do enough. Given that this can be empirically disproven, I started thinking about why this is. There's a passage in Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men that describes this sort of reaction admirably, but if I see another Pratchett quote I think my head may implode, so I'll paraphrase. Because there is so damn much stuff to do, if I choose to do something, I am automatically not doing any of the other incredibly cool things. So of course I've missed out on stuff. I'd have to be more bionic than
wavyarms to not miss out on stuff.This is a very, very long writeup, so I've broken it down a bit. Bear in mind that I'm still a bit woogy at the moment, even with a hot shower, so my impressions are more than a little confused.
The opening ceremonies consist of a lot of speeches and thank-yous and jokes I don't get. Oh well; I get some that others don't. The four guests of honor are a bunch of dapper gentlemen, three with beards, three with white hair (not the same three).
In other cons I have often had a weird reaction to mingling/meeting people/seeing people I know. It's not any better here; I tend to want to talk to people, but then don't want to be a limpet and attach myself to someone who'd rather not have me around, so I tend to push away from conversations that might otherwise be cool because I believe myself not cool enough. Not sure if that makes sense.
I go to a panel on plot holes and how to either find them, fix them, plan so they don't occur, or, if all else fails, deal with them. The next panel, discussing elves and glamour, rapidly shifts to a discussion of what makes a cool person cool (is it just that you see what they want you to see? Or is it relative? Or both?) and a series of Neil Gaiman anecdotes, especially from Terry Pratchett. I try to make a comment and, as usual, stammer and rephrase my way through it. Oh well; they got the gist of it.
I visit
anu3bis and balsamicdragon in the gaming rooms and tentatively agree to help out with the Harry Potter children's LARP on Sunday, especially when I find that the role of McGonagall is open. I also go to the newsletter office and offer to help. Can we say "overcommitting newbie?" The Connie Willis reading is packed, and she reads from her next novel, All Clear. The image of Mr. Dunworthy in a Hawaiian shirt will stay with me for some time. Fan Eye for the Mundane Guy is less interesting; there's no mundane guy to dress up, just the five experts discussing what fan couture, culture, grooming, dress, and food consists of. (Cats are apparently considered an accessory.)First Night gets started with the Terry on Trial thing, in which Pratchett is accused of doing lots of nasty things like not stopping at a trilogy and having Casanunda bother Nanny. (I'm having trouble writing about First Night because I wrote it once already for the newsletter; most of my writeups were a bit twee, but serviceable, and I'm shocked that none were heavily cut for space.)
sigerson shows up in her gorgeous beggar queen outfit, and we hang out for the evening, at one point talking to the Agony Aunts (sigerson even managed to wheedle a 'dollar' from Mr. Boggis of the Thieves' Guild) and meeting the TAFF "exchange fan," a really nice guy from Dublin with a great accent. After joining in the Very Secret Diaries dramatic reading -- she's Gollum, I'm Boromir -- we head home.I arrive Friday and, when I stop by the newsletter office, write up my impressions of First Night for them. It's great. I agree to do the Hugos and Pratchett's Guest of Honor speech, as I'm already planning on going to both. See above re: overcommitting.
Panels for today include mental floss (how to cope with creative stress &/or block) and the character of Death in fantasy, after which I manage to stammer out a question to Terry about whether this century's liking for an individual, personal Death is a result of the faceless, awful deaths of WWI. He agrees a bit. Man, he's nice -- people kept swamping him with questions and books to be signed, and he never snapped once. I felt kind of sorry and tried not to bother him from here on out, with the exception of the official autographing session and the Sunday incident, which wasn't my doing entirely.
I stop near home on my way to the Viable Paradise cookout and pick up a watermelon. This was not a good move, in hindsight. Melons are heavy. I stagger to the cookout and offer up the melon to the knife. I don't know if it was ever used. I mingle with past VPers and those who'll be at the workshop with me.
thomascantor arrives, and I mingle less awkwardly. We talk to W, who's here with her friend A, who'll be a classmate of mine in October. They're both really cool. W, A, and their friend S (also cool) give me a lift back to Worldcon, and I get them lost. But we make it back in time for the Discworld Casting Couch panel, and the suggestions range from perfect to cringeworthy. I stop by sigerson to see how her game went, then go up to watch the first episode of Firefly with A, W, and S. I didn't know a space western could work. I think I'm in love. I've read that there comes a point in one's time at a con when "you suddenly realize all your friends hate you, you're having an awful time, you've made a fool of yourself in every conversation you've been in so far, and you should never have come to the convention." That's a sign that you need a nap. Unfortunately, if you don't have crash space, that can be a problem -- and if you're a hyper-guilty twit who stupidly signed up for doing too much, then you might convince yourself that you don't have time for a nap.
I skip out on the Neil Gaiman reading to get a little more time at home in the morning. I should have taken more time; more sleep would have helped. Terry's speech is great. I told
thomascantor that Terry speaks like he writes, which is a bit too sweeping but will give you an idea of how quick his wit is. And he's not just funny, but interesting. I never knew that some idiot had made artificial silk out of arsenic -- but even more so, the tale he made of that incident was absolutely beautiful. sigerson finds me after the speech and we agree to meet once I've written it up. She gives me my necessary accessory for the Harry Potter LARP: a pointy hat. A really great pointy hat that she made in 90 minutes. And wire-rimmed spectacles. Squeak! I got a great twin.
I go to a couple of panels, one on Bad Con Advice for Newbies ("Don't worry about hall costumes with protruding things. If they don't get out of your way, it's because they just don't get your art.") Then I get in line for Terry Pratchett autographs...and the line's about 150 people. Not a chance he'll get to us by 6, but they will give out "place vouchers" to those still in line at 6 so that they can go to the front of the line next time. So I figure I'll stay. The folks near me in line are a couple of folksingers -- they sing for us a few times, including a pair of Bert and Ernie duets that I remember from when I was very small -- and the woman who played Susan Sto Helit at Terry on Trial . She's quieter, but we have a good Discworld-related conversation and some about costuming.
The line progresses...and 6 passes...and progresses...and now I'm worried, because I'd planned to meet
thomascantor for dinner. I could draw this out for dramatic effect, but suffice it to say that while I did get Terry's autograph and got to burble at him for a moment, I missed thomascantor entirely. I've never wanted a cell phone more. I melt down pretty badly.I barely pull myself together to go to the Hugos, since I said I would, and try to avoid anyone I know, since I'm in that stage where kind words just make me fracture more. Not good at all. The Hugos are all right; they're an award ceremony, so they're a bit dull at heart, but they do their best. I write them up for the newsletter -- very well, I think -- and go home, home, home.
Everything's better after sleep. I say goodbye to thomascantor -- he's out of town this week -- and head to the bus stop in full Professor McGonagall costume. Hat, glasses, skirt, severe expression, and all. As I'm unwrapping my bagel, I get asked what's going on. I tell him there's a convention in town. He laughs and says "Hah, so you're some kind of scary witch, huh? Scary witches eat, like, breakfast?"
"They do when they're hungry," I say. With another hour of sleep, I'd have had a better rejoinder.
I get complimented on my costume several times and can't resist showing off a little. And then as I'm standing in front of the ladies' room, talking to someone, Terry Pratchett comes out of the men's room, stares at me, and says, "That's very good." Or similar -- the high-pitched noise that went off in my head may have garbled my memory. I hasten to explain that I'm not attempting to pose as Granny Weatherwax, as I have heels on, and she'd never wear heels. But I get a smile from him. That's really cool.
I go to the exotic mythologies panel, in which a friend of mine and thomascantor's, a native of India, points out how loaded the very title of the panel is. We talk a little afterwards, and she advises me to talk to the editors a little so that they have a face to go with the name. This may have backfired for me; I went up to the editor of Weird Tales and thanked him for the kind rejection letters -- then kicked myself when I heard how that sounded. I didn't mean it as a kind of snarky complaint, honestly! Crud.
Because the Potter LARP begins setup at two, I get in line for Connie Willis' autograph way early (it's also at two). She's a very nice person, and didn't mind my burbling. I scamper over to the LARP and help set up. Most of us NPCs are teachers, and once the students are sorted we teach them a quick class -- but there's something strange going on, and the teachers wander back and forth in the back of the classroom, stage whispering about the very dangerous door -- and what's behind it -- and the new Dark Arts teacher, who has an unfortunate effect on those who see her face. It goes so well. The kids are laughing, shouting, singing, and I get to ham it up big time. All of us do. And when it's done and Hogwarts is saved, the kids all got to ask us questions. And many of them kept asking "Snape" and "Hagrid" questions about the books. Yeah getting into the story!
I am then able to switch my skirt for pants. Yeah pants!
Some mingling, dinner, and then the masquerade. It starts late and goes very damn late, and I stay for most of it. Silly stealthmuffin. I see the woman from the autograph line in an absolutely gorgeous hall costume of Sarah from Labyrinth, and W is up on stage in her own Susan Sto Helit costume, for which she wins an award!
Highlights of the Masquerade include: a remote-controlled Luggage, complete with lots and lots of little pink feet; the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, Prof. R.J. Gumby; a really cute little kid in a fairy dress; and a skit involving Tom Jones loose in Ankh-Morpork. I had "It's Not Unusual" stuck in my head for an hour afterwards. The intermission show is the One-Man Star Wars. All three movies. Oh, my god. He was hilarious. I want to see his one-man LOTR.
After the awards I congratulate W, and she, A, and I talk all the way back to their room, and then we talk some more, with the now-awake S. I stay way too late, and they offer me crash space. This one aspect of cons I'm really not used to; the generosity of people I barely know. I could really grow to love it.
Morning's way too bright. A, being way too generous again, loans me a spare pair of socks (had been wearing the tights from the costume before) in the knowledge she'll get them back at Viable Paradise. It's a slow morning, and everyone seems to have the early morning stares. I eventually go to the Serious Side of Pratchett panel, but about halfway through I think I've overdosed on Discworld. It may be a while before I can read it again; my brain is currently full. I run into the TAFF exchange guy, who gives me a hug and says he hopes he'll see me in the bar. I say something noncommittal -- I'd love to talk to him more, but there's an 8 in 10 chance that I won't even make it through the next two panels.
The panel called "The Bodice Fights Back! Costuming Disasters" is more about masquerade stuff, but there are some strange anecdotes, one involving a Tesla coil. The "How do you know when you're dead?" panel is packed, perhaps because nobody is currently sure that they're not. The ritual sacrifice of Larry Niven is ordained for after the panel (he keeps talking about how you can be sure you're dead if Hollywood starts to film your books). Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, and Connie Willis talk a lot, and even though I'm exhausted, they're good, and they keep me not only awake but interested. The moderator plugs a movie I want to see: Shaun of the Dead. It's a good way to end; I'm skipping the closing ceremonies in favor of sleep. I say goodbye to W, S, and A, and head home.
Halfway to the bus stop I find a brilliant orchid flower on the ground. I carry it home.
