... or ... Long night's journey into day
My Minicon experience yesterday was what is all about for me. It was a near-perfect day
My first duty was to get some Mardi Gras beads from my dear friend, Elise. (Who also needed to be affirmed, as I traditionally do, with the exclamation, "Nice tits!") Wearing my black Dilbert polo shirt, the beads were set off nicely and sent me bouncing about the con so see how preparations for the "When Wierds Collide" party were going. After a brief errand to deliver a book from one author to another, and a round of chatting with random friends in various spots around the con, I found preparations going quite well in the main con suite.
There were peeps on sticks in abundance. I helped get the state fair pickles on their sticks and, in a fit of inspired or demented frenzy, made grenadine on stick. (Well, it was, honestly, more like sticks on grenadine, but hey, anything to make them more appealing for folks to take away.)
As the evening drew near, I zipped off home to pick up Ericka so that she might enjoy the night's festivities as well. Shortly after we arrived, she was descended upon by friends and festooned with decoration, including her own personal helium-filled rocket. I tended bar for most of the party, mixing and serving blog, the traditional fruity cocktail of Minicon that is the reason we have so much grenadine. Jim Young stopped by and told how the recipe was truly that of his mother and father who served it at the Christmas parties they threw at their restaurant. He verified that the original recipe read literally, "Vodka to taste," and revealed that blog goes very well with shrimp cocktail.
After taking Ericka home (she got to see Greg Cotten's rocket on the way out; a cool site indeed), I returned to help clean up after the party and move on to partying of my own. After a brief foray to the suite of friends of mine, makers of high-potency drinks and geeks of the first water, I settled into the music circle in the upstairs consuite. This is the first year I've joined on my own; while I've borrowed drums in years past, this time I brought my own: a bodhran that was gift from friends that honeymooned in Ireland.
I had a fabulous time. As musicians were fading in the wee hours of the morning I thought, and quipped, "You can't quit now, my ritalin is just kicking in!" It was one of those things you want to go on forever but must finish, as all things do. If you are lucky, as we were early this morning, they end with grace and beauty.
(I was a bit nervous about bringing my drum to the circle. I have great respect for my musician friends and admiration of their talent and hope only to enhance the full experience while enjoying myself. Steven Brust did tell on bodhran joke; there are legions of them and bodhran players are notorious. That, however, was the only feedback. Since, in my estimation, Steve both knows me well enough and is a big enough asshole to tell me directly to pipe down or get lost, I took this as a sign that I wasn't horribly detrimental. I'll be asking for more feedback from friends today.)
After the music party broke up, I wandered around the floor, chatting with various folks until they, too, went off to bed. In the end, I hooked up with Erik Baker and Corwin Brust who mentioned they were going to take guest of honor Leslie Fish to breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I recommended we try Al's Breakfast in Dinkytown and offered to provide transport. Well, Al's was closed, but we ended up at the New French Cafe where we had a lovely breakfast. I dropped the three of them at the hotel and made my, now sleepy, way home, arriving about 7:30 a.m.
It was a full day. A good day. A day for memories and stories.