Con Stuff
The con was absolutely wonderful - both for seeing people like ellen_kushner and Delia, yuki_onna and her posse, matociquala, who dropped by for Saturday with ashacat and hung out at the bar introducing people to each other and discussing Marlowe literary porn, both good and bad - and for the knowledge and experience that people could share and offer.
Overall, the panels were hit or miss (though the beginnings and endings one was brilliant, not in the least because it had an incredibly persuasive China Mieville, and an insightful Delia Sherman), I wound up taking notes, but lethargy is still preventing me from typing them up. The readings and kaffeclatches were wonderful, though, and the smaller presentations were very insightful.
This being my first full Readercon, I was completely unintiated into such mysteries as the Meet the Pros party and the Kirk Poland Bad Prose Competition. I was a bit wary of the former, for it had all the opportunity to turn into one of those events I go to when I go to a bio conference where you get your two glasses of complementary wine and get out while the getting's good or you'll be dragged into conversation that is all small-talk and nothing useful. Thankfully, this was not the case - we collected first lines, some of them readily identifiable (yuki_onna's was really impossible to mistake :), and then hung around talking about Shakespeare with Delia and trying to fix Ellen's laptop (which continued to vex her for most of the con).
The latter was extremely funny, and led into ellen_kushner taking out her guitar in the Green Room and enchanting everyone with the sound of her voice. Which proceeded to lure other people in, and pretty soon people were passing the guitar around and doing a cappella and it was wonderful. A whole lot of Richard Thompson, some sea chanties, and as has been remarked elsewhere, a beautiful rendition of "Wild Mountain Thyme." Then lareinenoire and fuyu_no_fuhei managed to recall "Queen of Argyle" and it's still stuck in my head! Ended the night on the Beatles, which is really the best way to end.
Sunday was a bit frantic because I was running A/V for three sessions, one of which was the first thing in the morning, and had to check out of the hotel, pack up stuff, buy books that were being held for me (the hotel's ATM was on the fritz and most dealers only took cash), and all that jazz. Plus, you might remember there was a World Cup final on?
Still, it all turned out alright in the end, and after we came home and chilled for a bit, we caught a late showing of PotC:DMC. I found it quite nicely paralleling Empire Strikes Back in story structure, which makes a whole lot of sense.
Oh, and I found the Beeswing lyrics!
I was nineteen when I came to town
They called it the summer of love
They were burning babies, burning flags
The Hawks against the Doves
I took a job in the steamie
Down on Caldrum Street
I fell in love with a laundry girl
Was working next to me
Chorus
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said, as long as there's no price on love I'll stay
And you wouldn't want me any other way
Brownhair zig zag round her face
And a look of half surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights
There was animal in her eyes
She said young man, O can't you see
I'm not the factory kind
If you don't take me out of here
I'll surely lose my mind
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said, as long as there's no price on love I'll stay
And you wouldn't want me any other way
We busked around the market towns
And picked fruit down in Kent
And we could tinker lamps and pots
And knives wherever we went
And I said that we might settle down
Get a few acres dug
Fire burning in the hearth
And babies on the rug
She said O man, you foolish man
That surely sounds like hell
You might be lord of half the world
You'll not own me as well
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine a breathe of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said, as long as there's no price on love I'll stay
And you wouldn't want me any other way
We was camping down the Gower one time
The work was pretty good
She thought we shouldn't wait for the frost
And I thought maybe we should
We were drinking more in those days
And tempers reached a pitch
Like a fool I let her run
With the rambling itch
D
last I hear she's sleeping out
Back on the Darby beat
White horse in her hip pocket
And a wolfhound at her feet
And they say she even married once
A man named Romany Brown
But even a gypsy caravan
Was too much settling down
And they say her flower is faded now
Hard weather and hard booze
But maybe that's just the price you pay
For the chains you refuse
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
And I miss her more than words could ever say
If I could just taste, All of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Then I wouldn't want her any other way
Overall, the panels were hit or miss (though the beginnings and endings one was brilliant, not in the least because it had an incredibly persuasive China Mieville, and an insightful Delia Sherman), I wound up taking notes, but lethargy is still preventing me from typing them up. The readings and kaffeclatches were wonderful, though, and the smaller presentations were very insightful.
This being my first full Readercon, I was completely unintiated into such mysteries as the Meet the Pros party and the Kirk Poland Bad Prose Competition. I was a bit wary of the former, for it had all the opportunity to turn into one of those events I go to when I go to a bio conference where you get your two glasses of complementary wine and get out while the getting's good or you'll be dragged into conversation that is all small-talk and nothing useful. Thankfully, this was not the case - we collected first lines, some of them readily identifiable (yuki_onna's was really impossible to mistake :), and then hung around talking about Shakespeare with Delia and trying to fix Ellen's laptop (which continued to vex her for most of the con).
The latter was extremely funny, and led into ellen_kushner taking out her guitar in the Green Room and enchanting everyone with the sound of her voice. Which proceeded to lure other people in, and pretty soon people were passing the guitar around and doing a cappella and it was wonderful. A whole lot of Richard Thompson, some sea chanties, and as has been remarked elsewhere, a beautiful rendition of "Wild Mountain Thyme." Then lareinenoire and fuyu_no_fuhei managed to recall "Queen of Argyle" and it's still stuck in my head! Ended the night on the Beatles, which is really the best way to end.
Sunday was a bit frantic because I was running A/V for three sessions, one of which was the first thing in the morning, and had to check out of the hotel, pack up stuff, buy books that were being held for me (the hotel's ATM was on the fritz and most dealers only took cash), and all that jazz. Plus, you might remember there was a World Cup final on?
Still, it all turned out alright in the end, and after we came home and chilled for a bit, we caught a late showing of PotC:DMC. I found it quite nicely paralleling Empire Strikes Back in story structure, which makes a whole lot of sense.
Oh, and I found the Beeswing lyrics!
I was nineteen when I came to town
They called it the summer of love
They were burning babies, burning flags
The Hawks against the Doves
I took a job in the steamie
Down on Caldrum Street
I fell in love with a laundry girl
Was working next to me
Chorus
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said, as long as there's no price on love I'll stay
And you wouldn't want me any other way
Brownhair zig zag round her face
And a look of half surprise
Like a fox caught in the headlights
There was animal in her eyes
She said young man, O can't you see
I'm not the factory kind
If you don't take me out of here
I'll surely lose my mind
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said, as long as there's no price on love I'll stay
And you wouldn't want me any other way
We busked around the market towns
And picked fruit down in Kent
And we could tinker lamps and pots
And knives wherever we went
And I said that we might settle down
Get a few acres dug
Fire burning in the hearth
And babies on the rug
She said O man, you foolish man
That surely sounds like hell
You might be lord of half the world
You'll not own me as well
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine a breathe of wind might blow her away
She was a lost child, she was running wild
She said, as long as there's no price on love I'll stay
And you wouldn't want me any other way
We was camping down the Gower one time
The work was pretty good
She thought we shouldn't wait for the frost
And I thought maybe we should
We were drinking more in those days
And tempers reached a pitch
Like a fool I let her run
With the rambling itch
D
last I hear she's sleeping out
Back on the Darby beat
White horse in her hip pocket
And a wolfhound at her feet
And they say she even married once
A man named Romany Brown
But even a gypsy caravan
Was too much settling down
And they say her flower is faded now
Hard weather and hard booze
But maybe that's just the price you pay
For the chains you refuse
She was a rare thing, fine as a Beeswing
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
And I miss her more than words could ever say
If I could just taste, All of her wildness now
If I could hold her in my arms today
Then I wouldn't want her any other way