There’s A Joke About Banner Years In Here Somewhere…
Unlike previous years, I did not purchase a table of my own at the science fiction convention Ad Astra – I was there to represent SFCanada, an organization of Canadian speculative fiction professionals. As such, one of my main duties was to hang the banner over the table. Over the weekend, I tried a number of different looks.
Vanilla
Your basic scotch tape on the wall affair. Not too exciting, but it gets the job done. At least, until the first night, when it falls down.
Casual
Sometimes, hanging on a wall is too much work, and a banner just wants to lie down on the floor and prop itself up against a table, you know? (Kids: don’t try this unless it’s your own table you’re propping yourself up on.)
Kinky
Clamps and twine threaded through grommets – that’s how you put a banner up and really make it stay! Because, let’s be honest, most banners are subs that are just looking for somebody to take control of them!
Uhh…can we just call the weekend a learning experience and leave it at that?
Oh, I’m Smooth!
For a few seconds, I shared an elevator with Rob Sawyer. The first thing that came to my mind to say was: “Haven’t seen you at First Thursday [a monthly meeting of science fiction fans in Toronto] for a while.” So, naturally, the words escaped my brain through my mouth.
Sawyer responded, “Actually, I was there last night. And, I don’t recall seeing you there.” That was the first meeting I had missed in months because, of course, I was preparing for Ad Astra.
Yes, I certainly know how to make friends and influence people!
Don’t Feel You Need To Answer That Question
Is it creepy that three of the four people on the Veronica Mars panel were middle aged men?
More About Me Than You Needed To Know – This Should Really Be A Blog
The night before the con, I gave myself a paper cut folding SFCanada pamphlets for the table. Don’t laugh! – it stung for hours!
I’m nothing if not sensitive.
Oh, it gets better. Putting up the SFCanada banner, I managed to impale my finger on an Xacto knife. Because I’m on blood-thinners for a heart condition, the wound bled for the better part of an hour (and the worse part of 20 minutes). The beauty of it was that t happened before the con even officially started!
I’m nothing if not efficient.
If You See A Torrent Of Blood, Don’t Panic
It’s Just The Cut On My Finger Not Healing As Fast As I Would Like
Somewhere in the hotel an old, framed photograph of a spec fic convention held here in the 1920s is hanging on the wall. If I appear to be in the photograph, I don’t want to know!
Is It Bad Etiquette To Debate The Writer Guest Of Honou – Oops, Too Late
In the Con Suite, somebody was pontificating about American politics. I tried to stay away from that discussion, really, I did. I mean, I really am old enough to know better. Unfortunately, owing to a lack of sleep and…other complex factors, no doubt, my mouth engaged him with only passing reference to my brain. (Yes, it seemed to be doing a lot of that over the weekend.) In the middle of the half hour…discussion would be too dignified a description – let’s go with pair of nested monologues – I noticed that he was the Writer Guest of Honour. Oh, dear.
I was singularly unimpressed with his rhetoric. He cherry-picked facts. He refused to acknowledge unpleasant truths about the behaviour of his side. He accused my side of doing exactly the same things I was accusing his side of doing. He was arrogant and dismissive. He twisted my arguments.
And, I’m sure he felt that I was exactly the same.
The United States of America is fucked.
Bas Cuisine Has Never Been So Flavoursome!
I had my first encounter with the culinary genius of the walking taco at Ad Astra. They are made of ground beef and fixings (lettuce, salsa and/or sour cream) in a bag of Doritos. I know, eh? I was surprised by just how tasty they were, too.
The Obligatory Earnest Paragraph
I spent Ad Astra hanging out with cool people, many of whom I don’t get to see that often and some of whom I had only just met. I was on interesting panels that seemed to engage their audiences. I represented a pretty stellar organization. And, I bought more books than I could afford (but fewer than my con average, so I’d like to think that that somehow puts me ahead).
All in all, there were worse ways to spend a weekend. It’s not like I lost a limb or anything!
No. I. Do. Not. Ac-cept. Cre-dit. Cards!
“Ex-ter-mi-nate! Ex-ter-mi-nate!” the Dalek cried.
“Uhh, yeah,” the Yuppie replied. “I’d love to help you with your extermination project. Really, I would. Only I’m late for a meeting, and the boss is going to kill me, and I can’t afford to lose this job because how am I going to pay for Michael’s private school if I do, and if he doesn’t stay in school, it will kill his chances of getting a -“
“SHUT! UP!” the Dalek responded. “SHUT! UP! SHUT! UP! SHUT! UP!”
“There’s no need to be rude,” the Yuppie scolded the death machine.
“Give. Me. Your. Wa-let,” the Dalek demanded.
“I’m sorry?”
“Give. Me. Your. Wa-let!” the Dalek’s demand got more shrill. “In-ter-ste-lar dom-i-nance is ex-pen-sive!”
Yes, science fiction conventions really are fun.