here they are, the photos from my trip to Toronto and pics taken while at Torcon. As you look through them, you’ll see:
- What must be the worlds most impressive trailer park entrance
- A very, very fast car
- People who write so well , they’ve been given their own rocket ships
- Dear, dear friends
- An exercise in agoraphobia
- A tower of chocolate
- And a bunch of other things that illustrate why I love fandom.
By the way, I’m not going to Albacon. I’ll be in NYC seeing “Wicked“. Fair trade. By the way – as you look through the photos, if you recognize yourself, or recognize someone else, and I either have you mis-identified or un-identified, let me know and I’ll rectify the situation.
Yes, at Torcon, there was a very, very, long
masquerade. In the middle of the masque, there was a fashion show of All Canadian costumes. Can you guess which one is me?
The rest of my photos will be posted tomorrow, as I separate the gold from the dross. Quick note, I will need help identifying some of the folks in my photos.
Sorry, the photos are currently missing in action.
Well, let’s see. The last time I chatted with you it was late Saturday night and I’d just posted the Hugo results and then dived off into the evening’s parties.
Amongst the other news that I didn’t report is that Seattle won the bid for NasFIC in 2005 and Los Angeles (Anaheim) won the bid for Worldcon in 2006. I’ve never been to a con in Seattle, but I’m itching to go to the Emerald City. L.A? What’s to say? The L.A. crew really knows how to run a good con. Join Now!
A few weeks ago I volunteered to take part in a Fashion Show, slated to be part of the Masquerade. I had no idea what they would end up putting me into. After the fashion show was moved to the end, then to the middle, then to the beginning, then dropped, then moved back to the middle, I finally got into costume and made my masquerade debut. I’ll spend the rest of the evening formatting the photos. I think you’ll be surprised.
Monday was quiet. I played with an Aibo. The goth woman who owned it was almost as robotic as her “pet”. It was a little freaky. More later.
In general, when the pocket program for the convention doesn’t show up until Friday afternoon (someone keep me honest, it was late Friday, wasn’t it?), you get the feeling that precise military like organization probably isn’t going to be a hallmark of the convention. When the pocket program reads more like a work of fiction, that amorphous feeling begins to gel. When the souvenir books don’t show up until Saturday Morning, that feeling solidifies into crystal clarity. So, what’s a fan to do? Scour the halls for the daily program updates. Hang out with fellow fans. Visit places like the CN tower. Meet more fans. Really, the focus of my convention experience transmuted from attending panels to just hanging out and chatting.
I’ve never been a filker, but I think I might give it a try. I don’t know the rules of the sub-culture, so I don’t know if it’s kosher to belt out fannish songs by pros, but I happen to have Glass Hammer’s “The King’s Beer” and “The Old Troll” memorized.
I now know that masquerades are not for me, there’s a bit too much drama for my taste. Hall costuming just might be up my alley. Does anyone know of East coast conventions that have judging for hall costumes?
My next convention will probably be Albacon in Albany, NY, just up I-90.
It’s late. I have to go to bed. I’ll post the pics tomorrow.
After a day of deep, meaningful and damned fun discussions on everything Fannish, I found myself in a state of neural overload. I checked into the Space Cadet central, where a comely young thing convinced me that I needed a brain scan. She handed me a sip of something minty, and a mad doctor scanned my brain. It seems as thought my brain is full of giant monsters, rampaging through London. I’m not surprised.
I decided to first try and drown my inner demon in a martini. That didn’t work, so I decided to dance my monster into oblivion. Belly Dancers and Demon Princes whirled in colorful chaos, while under the watchful eye of rocket powered Mounties and the Harlequin of Death. My inner monster was nonplussed. The exorcism didn’t work, so we came to an accommodation. I would take to parties.
There I met a Centauri holding what he called a cat (it had been declared to be so by Emperor Vir). Twin starship pilots steadies me on my course through the hallways
At some point in the evening, Lex Luthor hand me a glass of something he called a “Blue Nebula“, which prompted more dancing (The Time Warp! Paradise by the Dashboard Light!) until the wee hours of the morning. Sleep finally beckoned, the Gorgo in my brain was tuckered out. But I have the sneaky suspicion that it will re-awaken sometime this evening.
Well, not really, but this is the first time I’ve had time to sit down and write an entry. Today has been packed with entertainment and mental stimulation. Ernest discussions about genetically engineering pets, the privatization of space, the misbehavior of the colossus to the north (that’s US), the next big things in computing, the race to claim the X-Prize and on, and on. I even shook the hand of Brian Feeney, the head of Canada’s X-Prize effort, the da Vinci Project.
More pics later, as there have not been many hall costumes, but this evening’s dance’s theme is “Show us your fantasy”. I’ll make sure the camera batteries are charged.
Next stop, dinner at the CN tower, then martinis!
Well, I’m off. Ahead of me lay some hundreds of miles of open road, a city I’ve never been to, people I’ve never met and friends from far away.
You know, something just struck me. If I was in a different frame of mind, if I was from some other slightly different time and place, I’d be heading south instead of north. What makes a person a Worldcon (or NASFiC) person instead of a Dracon*Con person? It seems in 1995 the two collided when Worldcon was in Scotland. Another thought… How much larger would either be if one of them be if one (the newer one?) shifted slightly in the calendar?
Perhaps I’ll make the trip down South, but for now, I’m out the door. Chat with you in about 15 hours.
“Marlin! Why haven’t more of your entries been about Science Fiction?”
Hush, child. I’ll get there. Just a couple of days more and you’ll have more of me gushing about the convention than you can stand. Until then, however, I’m thoroughly entranced by the lure of the open road. Plus, some of my favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone revolve around road trips that go awry. I know better than to fall prey to any diner fortune telling machines.
I will, however, willingly give myself over to the long distant echoes of Coopers, Lotus, BRMs, Chaparrals, and the like. Hopefully out of the corners of my eyes I’ll espy the fleeting shades of Jim Hall, Mark Donahue, Jacky Ickx… Yes, I know they’re still around, but surely the alchemical combination of blood, gasoline, sweat, motor oil, tears and adrenaline they’ve poured into can invoke their presence. Did Steve McQueen ever race at this place?
By some stroke of genius, some uncanny alignment of the stars, the kindly old ladies at the AAA have the midpoint of my drive going through Watkins Glen N.Y. I stared at the map in disbelief, and then danced around the house in joy. Lunch at the Glen. I’m still grinning.