(After two weeks of forgetting to do this, then remembering, then forgetting again, I am finally getting around to writing the convention report that I was totally going to write the day after we got back. )
2:00 PM : My roommates and good friends Joe Devoy, Julian Castle, and I, our meager worldly possessions stowed in the trunk of Joe’s car, embark upon the long and dangerous journey to far-flung and exotic Burnaby with our hearts filled with optimism and hope for our new (three day) lives in this strange new land.
3:36 PM : Hardened but heartened by our journey, our hardy troupe arrives at the Accent Inn at Burnaby, and does all the little unpacking and sorting things necessary to settle in to our temporary domicile. The room is distinctly “motel” and seems like the sort of place a vacationer in the great travel boom of the 50’s might have stayed, microwave aside. I feel quite comfortable there. We are quite amused by the little touches of personality, though, such as a “do not disturb” sign that reads “Don’t even think about coming in here!” and a rather well dressed rubber ducky in the bathroom. He made bath time oh so fun!
4:20 PM : We arrive at the convention hotel, which is not the Accent Inn but the Executive Inn. (Next year, we will know to book our room earlier). After negotiating strange Burnaby roads and even stranger Burnaby parking, the free shuttle bus from the Accent Inn to the Executive is starting to look more attractive.
4:50 PM : The pre-convention hurdles have finally all been cleared. Made the road trip, got settled into our motel style hotel, drove the fix strange blocks to the Executive Inn, got registered as an official convention going creature, and now I can catch my breath, browse the convention swag, and say hi to some of my furry friends as they go by. We’re off to a great start!
6:35 PM : My first panel – Introduction to 3D Printing, as hosted by Loial of OtterSoft.ca . A very interesting introduction to 3D printing (formerly known as “rapid prototyping”) in general, and Loial’s own 3D printer, designed and built himself, in particular. The real show-stopping moment was when he showed us all how his printer was so fast and accurate that it could even print while sitting on its side. Amazing!
7:45 PM : Our beloved editrix Felicity Walker, while not a convention attendee, has graciously decided to drive all the way from Richmond to Burnaby to have dinner with Joe, Julian, and I at the ABC Country Kitchen restaurant next to the Accent Inn. Good food and great conversation with friends. Life is truly good.
10:00 PM : I attend my second ever “Eye of Argon” reading. For those unfamiliar with this crime against prose, “Eye of Argon” is a Conan-style fantasy novella published way back in 1970 which is considered by many to be one of the worst written anythings ever. It is a juggernaut of literary horror, an absolute monolith of malapropisms, terrible imagery, bizarre word choices, appalling sentence structure, scatter-shot spelling, and logic that would melt an android’s brain into twitching, sparking slag. It is not just bad, it’s legendarily bad, the sort of bad that cannot come from mere incompetence alone but which can only rise from a kind of perverse anti-talent that drives people to continue when all sense and reasons would tell them that they have no idea what they are doing and should really stop and have a bit of a nap.
The readings, therefore, are freaking hilarious events. The rule is simple. People are seated in a circle and take turns reading the story aloud. You turn ends when you laugh, or when you have read for five minutes. Not many people make it to the five minute mark. I made it within fifteen seconds but the darn thing wrung a derisive “heh” out of me at the last moment.
Obviously, what with all the laughing and the inevitable digressions into existential crisis caused by wondering just what the hell is going on and what on God’s green Earth the author was thinking, it takes a long time to get through all of it, and when you do, you really feel like you have had the same sort of shared terrible experience that turns men into soldiers in times of war.
1:00 AM: I do something entirely out of character and go to the ballroom while the dance music is blaring. I do this to support my friend Graham Mitchell, who is doing his very first ever DJ gig as his alias DJ Silvermink. Normally, I shun anything even remotely resembling a dance club like the Amish shun buttons. Dance clubs are not good environments for those of us who do not like loud noises and crowding and whose charms are largely based around personality and verbal skills.
But I figured, what the heck, it is good to do things outside of your comfort zone sometimes just to stretch yourself a little bit. And I wanted to show support for my friend Silvermink.
And you know, it was not that bad. I didn’t dance (when I dance, people are reminded of the hippos from Fantasia, so no thanks), but I relaxed and enjoyed the groove for a while.
But then, at about 35 minutes in, I suddenly just got up and left. I don’t even recall making the decision. I just left, as though I had reached some saturation point and left entirely by reflex, like a lemming obeying a sudden urge to migrate.
This does not reflect on Silvermink’s DJ skills in any way, though. I just do not like dance music. The priorities of people who want to dance are not those of people who want to just listen to the music, and I find all that oontz oontz and repetition just too damn boring to keep my interest.
2:00 AM : Joe, Julian and I regroup and head back to our cozy room at the Accent Inn for a well earned good night’s sleep.