“Thanks so much for yelling at me in the registration
line. I was giving ‘fandom’ one last
try. I’m done now, thanks to that little
incident. You can have it to yourself.” --anonymous handwritten note found on a table
the last day of the convention
You Can Take the Fan Out of the Con, but You Can’t Take the Outlaw
Out of the Fan
Prelude, November 2008: On the 40th
anniversary of the birth of radio station KZAP, a gala party was held at the
Cosmo Club in downtown Sacramento. Many disc jockeys showed up, including Gordo,
one of the best from KZAP’s 70s era.
Gordo had the quintessential radio voice: deep, sensuous, hypnotic. His love and knowledge of music was
unparalleled and he was a champion of all kinds of new music, including punk
and new wave, which he regularly introduced on his late evening shifts. In the 90s he moved to Astoria, where Donna
and I visited him in 2005; he was the perfect host, giving us a grand tour of
the city, including his guitar shop, the Columbia River Coffee Roasters
(“Coffee that Floats the Arts”) and the community radio station where he dj’d. For his visit to the KZAP anniversary, he and
his girl friend were staying at the Hilton Hotel a few miles from
downtown. The day after the anniversary
party, we went to the Hilton for the first time to visit him and pick up some Columbia
River Thundermuck! Coffee he had brought for us. He was staying on the 12th floor;
we had a great view and a grand time hanging out in his room. Four years later he passed away, and the
Hilton was the last time we saw him. He
was a generous, compassionate, lovely man, and he is missed.
July 4th, 2013, 2:00 PM: Happy Jack, Donna CF and I
arrive at the Sacramento Hilton Hotel, Westercon registration room. It’s the first con we’ve been to in over 30
years, and the first that we have paid to attend. Registration goes smoothly, and we quickly
find a table outside the room and begin to strategize our plans. It’s a pretty big circular table and another
con attendee comes over and sits down.
I’d guess she’s in her late sixties and she begins talking to us in that
fannish sort of way, friendly but peculiar.
She brings up filk singing. Those
of you who have been reading my posts will know that I have no love for filk
music, which as I remember it is putting “fannish” lyrics to already existing
music, usually for comic effect. Except
that it’s never funny and rarely musical.
I let her know in no uncertain terms exactly how much I loathe the whole
thing, am tell her I’m appalled there is a room that will be featuring this abomination
almost 24/7 for the length of the con.
She eyes me with contempt and tells me I shouldn’t be so close minded,
that perhaps things have changed in the last THIRTY YEARS, and that much
filking today is completely original and highly musical. I fling a few crafty bon mots, and the three
of us leave, off to our first panel.
What I don’t find out till
later is that this woman is Lynn Gold, a very well known and awarding winning
fan who runs the official Filk Room at this convention. I am reminded that perhaps I should keep my
ancient opinions to myself, expecially if they tend toward the
blasphemous.
4:30 PM, Becoming a Professional Writer or Artist
Panel: Panelist Cliff Winnig, who is
a writer and musician (a sitar player who studied with Ali Akbar Khan, he will
also play a short set the following day), comments that one way to “get
noticed” at conventions is to be a panelist, which he did many times before he
became a “professional”. Shortly
thereafter, Happy Jack raises a hand and asks the entire panel: “Now that
you’ve established a complete lack of credentials to be on a panel, why should
we believe or listen to anything you say?”
Now those of you who may know HJ will realize that this was asked with a
high degree of humor, but unfortunately none of the panelists made that
interpretation. The convivial atmosphere
of the room took an immediate twist, and there was a noticeable physical
bristling among the four panelists.
There erupted a low hubbub amongst the 60 audience members, all craning
for a look at who would ask such a question.
The panelists began, one by one, “defending” what Mr. Winnig had said,
and HJ tried to explain what he had actually meant. Eventually, Writer Guest of Honor Kelly
Eskridge defused the building outrage, and the panel resumed its course. When it was over, Jack talked to the
panelists and it seemed a rapprochement had been achieved.
5:45 PM, Reading
by Writer Guests of Honor Nicola Griffith and Kelly Eskridge (who are
a couple): Outstanding essay co-written by
Kelly and Nicola about being a couple who also are both writers: honest,
compassionate, loving, and inspiring, a beautiful reading by the both of
them. Unfortunately, there was a
nitwittish decision to hold this right next to the large hall where loud, noisy
events were staged, and some the reading was obscured by what sounded like a
buffoonish sci-fi recreation of TV’s Match Game. One mark against the organizers. Also, NO MICROPHONES at the reading; that
makes two marks.
 |
| Nicola and Kelley |
7:00 PM, Hotel Bar: Time for dinner and drinks. The bar is packed, mainly with con
attendees. We get about halfway through
our dinner, when Mr. Winnig and another man take a table a little ways across
the space from us. HJ’s back is to them,
I am facing them, and DCF is sitting sideways between HJ and me. I immediately “alert” DCF and HJ that Mr.
Winnig has arrived. HJ winces, still
feeling a little guilty about the near brouhaha a few hours before. He quickly glances back and asks us which one
he is. DCF tells him “it’s the guy in
the blue shirt”. A few minutes go by and
HJ announces he is going over to the table and apologize again. I chuckle, thinking in the first place
there’s no real reason to do that, and in the second place that HJ is kidding
and is actually going to the restroom.
But in fact, HJ is dead serious, gets up, turns and walks over to their
table. Unfortunately, BOTH men have on
blue shirts: Mr. Winnig’s is more of a dress shirt and his friend’s is a
t-shirt. HJ evidently sees the blue T
first, for some reason forgets exactly what Winnig looks like, thinks the
t-shirted guy is Mr. Winnig, and starts apologizing to the wrong man! From where I’m sitting, with HJ’s back to me,
I can see the complete befuddlement and consternation on this guy’s face,
slightly fearful and grasping at what the meaning of this could be, with HJ’s
six and a half foot frame looming above him, stark bald head and chiseled
features coming out of nowhere with words that have no relation to any reality
he currently comprehends. I glance over
at Mr. Winnig and after a few moments, he seems to “grok” the situation and
tries to let HJ know that HE is the person who was on the earlier panel, NOT
the man sitting across from him. After a
couple of minutes more, HJ returns to our table. The situation seems to have degenerated into
an incoherent quagmire. And I suppose
the tears of hilarity streaming down my face are not helping matters.
9:00 PM, 12th
Floor: The con organizers have a
“hospitality” suite up here, where food and (non-alcoholic) drink are always
available for attendees. There are also
several other rooms along the hallway that will eventually open for
parties. DCF and I realize that this was
where we had last seen Gordo, and his spirit permeates the area. A fireworks display is scheduled to start at
nearby Cal-Expo, where the state fair will begin in another week, and these
rooms facing in that direction are perfect for a viewing. We grab some space in the suite and wait, but
as 9:30 approaches, so does a flood of fans, all with the
same idea. Now keep in mind that fans,
as a group, can be physically large and somewhat hygiene challenged. Add to that a fairly high number of
wheelchairs and other physical transport conveyances, and you may see why we
began to want to find another place to view the patriotic celebration. DCF sent me out to try and “break in” to a
party room whose doors were still shut.
I went into the hall, but couldn’t bring myself to barge in; after my
brush with the filk organizer, I wanted no more trouble. Almost immediately after I went into the
hall, DCF and HJ joined me, and we began walking down the hall, looking for a
possible other room to watch the show.
The rooms were shut tight,
people evidently not wanting a replay of what was happening in the Hospitality
Suite. And then at the very end of the
hall, we saw a door that was shut, but that had its “lock bar” on the outside,
making it possible to walk in. With 9:30
minutes away, HJ decided to do just that, a move that might bring dire
consequences as we had no idea who or what was inside. As he moved towards the door, DCF cried out,
“Ask them if Gordo is in there!” Jack
got the message, knocked on the door, pushing it a little, and said, “Is Gordo
there? We’re looking for Gordo!” A male voice from inside said, “There’s no
one named Gordo in here!” Jack’s reply:
“Well, can we come in and watch the fireworks?”
After the fireworks, we
stopped by one of the parties, but the “margaritas” they gave us just weren’t
up to HJ’s standards and we left, pouring the contents away as soon as
possible. Call us lightweights, but it
was almost 11:00 and we were exhausted. Three more days to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment