punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,
punkwalrus
punkwalrus

Evecon 20

Hard to believe that Evecon 20 has come and gone. My first con (that I paid for) was Evecon 2, 18 years ago. The first con ever was Balticon earlier that year, but I didn't pay, and the guy who took me abandoned me under the stairs with Star Trek Filkers. I was so traumatized that when offered free "Buckaroo Banzai" promotional stuff, I said, "Who? No way." That thumping sound is me kicking myself. I saw some of that "free crap" like head banners and buttons go for $50 on Ebay. My head was too fat to wear one, anyway...

But enough about my fat head, how about Evecon? Well, despite royally making a mess of things for Evecon programming, it went off pretty well, and Cheryl did not kill me. Thankfully, and gratefully, Kory Kaese will be doing programming for next Castlecon, so I am back to "Here are my panels, put them in nice slots... ahhhhh..." In fact, after Katsucon 9, all cons will be like that for me. I refuse to do any convention work that requires a lot of my home time for the next few years because I will be writing and trying to get published. But more on that later.

I had a good time at Evecon, and like most of the time, I met some people I knew existed, but never got to really know. I won't give their names, but two people really impacted me. The first was a girl who was not only older than I thought, but in 1987, she got shot in the head "by accident" by an ex-boyfriend. I had always assumed she had Cerebral Palsy, because she walked with a pronounced limp, and had one hand that seemed to work a lot less than the other. I have a few friends with CP, and discussed it with them at length, so I assumed... wrong. Well, it turns out that she did not have CP, but that was the side effect of being shot in the head. The moment she told me that, I had an insta-second of "Oh, fudge, I just committed a major social faux pas," to a Harry Potter like feeling of, "She is the girl who lived. She must be alive for a good reason." I mean, not everyone can claim such a head wound and live to tell about it and still have all their mental facilities about them. I felt in awe. The second was a man I have known for... a long time, over ten years at least. He had one of those jobs that, well, if you live in this area, you know that a lot of people have jobs they just can't talk about. "I work for the government," is about all you'll get, and if you demand to know more, you will get an icy stare. Well, I found out what he did, and what he went through. I listened with rapt attention about how we worked for the CIA, helped found the DEA, and lived through a POW experience in 'Nam. I don't think he wants his experience public, so I will just say what he lived through dug deep at my bones. I liked and respected him before, but now I really knew a lot about him.

I also spent a lot of the con exhausted, as I am healing from the December Sickness of Doom (like that title?). Since I lost so much blood internally, and my digestive processes can't quite get all the food I eat until it heals, I am tired most of the time. The doctor says I should get better by mid-January, and already, as I type this, I am not as exhausted as I have been. I have also lost a lot of weight, about 20 pounds, according to the scale. My pants feel very loose. People were very nice to me, and fed me a lot of chocolate, which helped.

I didn't have a room. Our normal dogsitter (a good friend) was really depressed because of the season, and so backed out on us at the last moment (which we're not holding against her). This left us with no one to sit our dog, and even though our pals Dan and April were staying at the house for the convention, they also worked long hours, and our dogs had to go sometime. So we'd go to the con at 10am, go back home at 5pm, come back, and party until 12 or 1am. This worked out okay, but I still missed not having a room at the con. I wished I could bring the dogs to the con, but noooooooo! Hotels and doggies don't mix. I think people who think dogs are messy are fat old bald white men who never had a pet other than some trophy horse or prize hound or something. That's my crackpot theory, and I am sticking to it.

Memories from the con: Peeps! Flashy blinky thingees. Being told by a merchant on Sunday, "Yes! Now I broke even!" Acid Rock Bands. Kites. Dan's hilarious radio ads. Good restaurant food.

This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000003.html
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 0 comments