Journal Jack William Bell's Journal: Penguicon, Warren MI, Sunday May 4 2003 7
Dateline Grand Rapids......
The con is over and I am home after a three-plus hour drive. I am dealing with a serious sleep deficit after fifty-five straight hours of geekly goodness with a total of nine hours of sacktime. But it has been a lot of fun.
I will pick up the story from where I left off last night (at Midnight). Once again the room parties were a little disappointing. Many of them were already winding down by the time I showed up, except for the 'Purity Test'. And I would rather gnaw off my own arm than hang around that.
So I ended up in the smoking con suite talking with some computer geeks that had just discovered it. (Note to anyone thinking of creating something like Penguicon - those computer geeks who aren't already involved in fandom have no idea about things like con suites, masquerades, dealer's room, volunteering and so on. You have to tell them.) There I discovered yet another area of congruence between the two communities: They share a similar response to someone who comes up with a good idea. There I was ranting on about how, if there was just [good idea] Open Source software we could actually break the Microsoft clamp on office tools. Everyone agreed that I was right. I had hit the nail on the head! We really need to have [good idea]! So, when was I starting the SourceForge project and what was I going to call it?
Uh, well actually I was hoping . . . Never mind...
So I snuck out with my tail between my legs and went to the non-smoking con suite, where I found Jim and much beer. One guy was running around with a handheld breathalizer and I barely registered as unable to drive, despite all the scotch and beer. Proof that I really do know how to pace it I guess. Several people there registered the max it would show (1.9). The funny thing was that the ambient air was a 0.08 inside, but 0.0 outside the con suite!
Finally Jim and I decided we were too tired to continue (and besides the sun would be coming up soon). So Jim left for the room while I finished my beer and followed. And, of course, I didn't make it back to the room right then. Instead I found Jim in deep conversation with two guys I had a nodding acquaintance with and two attractive women with them. Next thing I know we have a hall party going and are sitting on the floor yakking for over an hour. One of the women turned out to be just along, not attached (if you know what I mean) and her and Jim seemed to hit it off. But that always happens with Jim; at every con there is some attractive female with whom he has some kind of instant bond -- like an oxygen radical combining with a hydrocarbon. (One of these days that bond is going to crystallize and Jim will be sending out the wedding invitations.)
Finally the sun really was threatening to come up and everyone decided they needed to head off home or to their rooms. I was so tired I don't remember actually going to bed.
A few short hours later I was out of bed again with my back hurting. So I ended up surfing the web, checking email (the con WiFi network again) and getting ready to head back out to the con. Jim and I grabbed something to eat and I went to my last panel 'Toolmakers and Appliancers' where we talked about computers as appliances, Morlocks and Eloi, the Simputer, alternate display technologies and Jakob Nielson. Then up to the con suite and over to the green room and back to the hotel room to start packing.
I managed to snag a luggage cart and got everything to the truck in one trip (I take lots of crap to cons). Then I checked out and made my last trip through the dealers room (I never buy anything until the last day of the con). By then closing ceremonies were about done and the con was officially over, so I took my Martin (not the backpacker guitar, the grown up one) to the con suite for the dead dog party. There I sat and talked for a while until Jim had to leave. So we hugged and he hit the road.
After that I started playing, mostly just screwing around but playing a few real songs. Finally I started fooling around with a fairly hot riff, just improvising, and I looked up to see Eric Raymond looking at me with his head cocked like a dog not sure what it is hearing. Somewhat alarmed I stopped playing and said "Is something wrong?"
"I don't really have time, but... Just a minute!" And he left. A moment later he reappeared with a flute case and assembled a standard flute. "Go ahead and play."
"Uh? What?"
"Anything. Jazz, blues, folk. Whatever."
"I don't think I am in tune with you."
"Just play."
"Uh... OK."
So I started playing something that would work well with a flute -- a folksy thing in A minor. But it didn't seem to work this time. I stopped playing and looked around. Everyone in the room was watching us. Oh oh.
So screw it! I started playing the same thing I had played earlier; a hot riff in E with a strange rhythmic element and no structure (I make it up as I go along). And suddenly it clicked! Eric was right with me the whole time, catching every change and riffing along or improvising on his own. We played until my fingers hurt and stopped with a flourish. There was applause and then Eric was shaking my hand. Right after that he had to leave. For me it was a hell of way to bring a great weekend to a close!
bonds (Score:1)
Re:bonds (Score:2)
Re:Great report! (Score:2)
Re:Great report! (Score:1)
Re:Great report! (Score:2)
No, that is why I volunteer. Others may not be so giving of themselves.
Re:Great report! (Score:2)