Sincerity - The Intro
On the train to Can*Con, a science fiction convention held in Ottawa, I met fellow author Timothy Carter (Evil, Epoch and The Cupid Wars, among others). He told me that his publisher had decided to take three of his titles out of print. What a terrible way to start a con I hadn't even arrived at yet! Timothy is not only a smart and funny writer, but he wears a mean fedora. A mean fedora, I tell you! I hope he has luck finding another publisher to take up his books soon, because he deserves it.
Then, I thought: That wasn't very funny. So: nyuhingnyuhayariddenflibben!
What? It worked for Jerry Lewis!
I'm Still Trying To Figure Out Which Moral...
According to the con Web site, it was being held at the Best Western Ottawa-Kanata. However, when I caught a cab at the Via Rail station, the cabbie insisted that there was no Best Western hotel in Kanata. I hadn't written down the street address (NOTE TO SELF: in future, always write down the hotel street address), but I did have the hotel phone number. So, in a fit of not knowing what he was getting himself into, the cabbie gave me his cell phone and suggested I talk to somebody at the hotel.
Me. I have never used a cell phone in my life. To say that my first try didn't go well is an understatement; I hope calls to Tuktoyaktuk aren't that expensive. We finally worked it out, though: the hotel was actually in Bell Corners. But, it was called the Best Western Ottawa-Kanata.
It was a moral victory.
All Your Stereotypical Ideas About The Nation's Capital In Two Photographs
Fortunately, Chlorine Burns Out The Receptors In Your Nose, So, After A While, You Stop Noticing It
Panels at the con were held in three different rooms, two divided out of the main ballroom and one next to the pool. The one next to the pool smelled of chlorine. And, I thought: This smells just like the dealer's room at SFContario! [It is also close to a hotel pool.] It's like they wanted me to feel at home!
I Believe It Was Descartes Who First Explored The Mind/Mouth Dichotomy (Although It May Have Been Moe Howard)
So, this is how things work for me.
I asked S. M. Carriere if I could get a photograph of her table. I didn't have any purpose in mind; I just photograph as many things as I can at cons and find a use for as many as I can when I get home and am writing about my experience. S. M. graciously agreed. After I had taken a couple of photos, she asked if she could take a photograph of me.
Now, you know how your brain and your mouth have an agreement to work together to minimize inane utterances? And, sometimes, your mouth starts working, but your brain is momentarily distracted by a shiny object and leaves the mouth to fend for itself? And, if you're really unlucky, your brain returns its attention to your mouth just as it is finishing up its solo pronouncement, much to your brain's horror? Well, that's sort of what happened when I responded: "Why would you want a picture of me at your table?"
S. M. pointed out that it would make more sense if she could get a picture of me at my table. We all had a good laugh as I slunk over to my table, my brain cursing shiny objects and vowing to work harder at coordinating speech with my mouth in the future.
I'm Not A Hero, I Just Admire Them On TV
So, this is how things also work for me.
A volunteer enters the dealers' room with an adorable little girl - she's maybe six or seven years old - wrapped in a towel. She had just been swimming at the hotel pool, and she was having trouble breathing due to her asthma. She didn't have any medication on her. The volunteer asked if anybody had an inhaler.
And, of course, the room being dominated by writers, three quarters of us volunteered ours.
POSTSCRIPT: Since I had the table closest to the door, the girl used my puffer. When I asked the volunteer a couple of hours later how the child was, she said that the child was fine. Okay, so it's not exactly House, M.D., but we all do what we can, right?
And, My Colon Thanks Them For The Effort
Astonishingly, the hospitality suite at the con had fresh fruit. And, hot dogs. But, they had fruit. And, salt and vinegar chips. But, fruit. And peanut butter, chocolate chip and homemade oatmeal cookies. Fruuuuuiiiiittt!
Hey - they tried.
Split Finger Soup?
What do you serve a Klingon for dinner? Yeah, I know the joke has an obvious punchline, but I lost three fingers learning it, so cut me some slack, okay?
Sincerity - The Extro
I like small science fiction conventions; I find that they have a much warmer, more intimate vibe than big cons. At Can*Con, for example, a programmer actually asked me if I had enjoyed being on a panel he had put me on. A programmer. Asked me. About how I felt about a panel he had put me on. When does that ever happen in real life?!
I got to spend some time with cool friends and hopefully made some new ones. Can*Con was a really good time.
Nyuhingnyuhayariddenflibben!
