Swancon 36 / Natcon 50 Report C
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The Iron Brain competition and the Masquerade were the two Swancon events I was looking forward to the most, particularly in terms of potential participation.
Iron Brain
I lost my Iron Brain crown, but gained a fez and the contents of a test tube. I was allowed to sit, but had to sit on the stage which was disconcertingly high. Still, nice to tread the boards ever so lightly.
While huge thanks must go to the organiser delicious_irony and helper discordia13, I was a little disappointed to find that at least one of the readings was the same as last year, and much of the rest were an exercise in verbalising language fragments. "Reading the typos" is the most challenging part of Iron Brain, but not the most entertaining. I'd have preferred more ridiculous content rather than that which was mechanically unsound. It's not possible to do the actions if the content makes no actual sense. I like doing the actions, although the audience could see exactly where I drew my lines.
That said, Jar Jar Bink's nether regions haunt me still.
The aforementioned test tube contained some deadly cocktail of caffeine and alcohol and provided many giggles. I apologise to everyone with whom I attempted to communicate for the rest of that evening. Fortunately the effects lasted only about 4 hours, during which I drank water until I sloshed, and then I was able to sleep. In that interval there may have been a few drunken tweets and offone'sFacebook updates. All in the interests in science of course.
Also useful in the interests of science, on my way to my room I passed a balcony suspended some 3 (or possibly 4) floors above the level below. In my inebriated state I looked over the balcony with far worse 3D vision than usual, and felt the urge to step onto the carpet below, because it seemed interesting and realy quite close. The part of my brain still nominally awake remembered gravity but then promptly decided that I would float and land safely. Yes, I believed I could fly. Fortunately I had enough brain left actually functioning to be horrified by the concept (not the fall, but the dumbass ideas), which wrenched me away from the edge and safely into my room.
That was interesting, and provided yet another insight into the stupid behaviour of (usually) others. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Masquerade
I was missing an important element of my Masquerade preparations this year: Husband was not with me to help me dress, talk me down, and take the traditional hotel room costume photos. I thought I'd cleverly dealt with the worse aspect of nerves this year by making a costume that covered me quite thoroughly from head to toe. But I completely forgot to put my Happy Face on, nor was I prepared to be anything but lost in a crowd of friendly and similarly clad fen.
So down the lift I went, passing through numbers of 'danes on my way to the Ballroom foyer where I believed that Things Were Happening. I did not pass unnoticed; people most definitely craned around in their seats to get a look at me as I went past. Thus the embarrassment hit me. It got worse as I arrived to find almost no-one else in costume, and certainly no-one in light-scattering all-over silver. It seemed to take a very long time for anyone in costume to arrive. Once I had a few familiar faces around to talk to I was happier, but still deeply adverse to the idea of getting my picture taken.
Still, I tried to suck up the courage to get past the RedBlue carpet. I didn't want the costume to go completely unrecorded after all, and I was interested to see how the photographers would deal with all the reflecting light. The carpet also seemed to form some kind of gauntlet to get closer to the ballroom. I was pretty much in irrational panic mode by this time, and so the discovery of TV cameras and the invitation to be interviewed hit me hard. It mattered not at all that the crew was from the tiny crappy local station; I shrank from the attention in terror, and avoided them like the plague. When fellow con-goers politely asked if they could take my picture, I actually said no.
I get a version of this panic at every masquerade, but I never ever remember it afterwards, probably because the night usually ends up being lots of fun. Perhaps it's like childbirth, but with more tinsel and feathers.
Eventually the doors opened to blessed darkness and Husband arrived for my protection and the night started to look up. I danced a little, but I find I can only dance to music that quite literally moves me. If the song is wrong I can't move a toe. I had placed an advance request for "Play That Funky Music White Guy" and when the lovely ladnewsdropped the needle I was out on the floor like a shot, doing things for which my body is not equipped. I went off like a frog in a sock, and nearly fell over more than a few times. Praise be for nearby seating, and Husband's prison-trained catching abilities.
We stayed long enough to hear the prize announcements, deservedly won by all. I was by no means feeling competitive this year and by skipping the RedBlue carpet had possibly forfeited entry into the judging. If there were rules I never saw them.
The room was done up nicely, and the children were entertained with large balloons. The adults did their thing with glow sticks; I heartily approve. It was not impossible to talk over the music; I heartily approve.
Back up in my room to recover, Husband felt obliged to ask if it was time to call an ambulance, but I eventually remembered how to breathe. I was actually pretty pleased with my condition, because I felt I'd honestly exerted myself for the first time in a long time. The fear was long gone, but I *hope* I remember it for next time so I can prepare myself better. I was a wreck.
[ Previous | Next ]
The Iron Brain competition and the Masquerade were the two Swancon events I was looking forward to the most, particularly in terms of potential participation.
Iron Brain
I lost my Iron Brain crown, but gained a fez and the contents of a test tube. I was allowed to sit, but had to sit on the stage which was disconcertingly high. Still, nice to tread the boards ever so lightly.
While huge thanks must go to the organiser delicious_irony and helper discordia13, I was a little disappointed to find that at least one of the readings was the same as last year, and much of the rest were an exercise in verbalising language fragments. "Reading the typos" is the most challenging part of Iron Brain, but not the most entertaining. I'd have preferred more ridiculous content rather than that which was mechanically unsound. It's not possible to do the actions if the content makes no actual sense. I like doing the actions, although the audience could see exactly where I drew my lines.
That said, Jar Jar Bink's nether regions haunt me still.
The aforementioned test tube contained some deadly cocktail of caffeine and alcohol and provided many giggles. I apologise to everyone with whom I attempted to communicate for the rest of that evening. Fortunately the effects lasted only about 4 hours, during which I drank water until I sloshed, and then I was able to sleep. In that interval there may have been a few drunken tweets and offone'sFacebook updates. All in the interests in science of course.
Also useful in the interests of science, on my way to my room I passed a balcony suspended some 3 (or possibly 4) floors above the level below. In my inebriated state I looked over the balcony with far worse 3D vision than usual, and felt the urge to step onto the carpet below, because it seemed interesting and realy quite close. The part of my brain still nominally awake remembered gravity but then promptly decided that I would float and land safely. Yes, I believed I could fly. Fortunately I had enough brain left actually functioning to be horrified by the concept (not the fall, but the dumbass ideas), which wrenched me away from the edge and safely into my room.
That was interesting, and provided yet another insight into the stupid behaviour of (usually) others. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Masquerade
I was missing an important element of my Masquerade preparations this year: Husband was not with me to help me dress, talk me down, and take the traditional hotel room costume photos. I thought I'd cleverly dealt with the worse aspect of nerves this year by making a costume that covered me quite thoroughly from head to toe. But I completely forgot to put my Happy Face on, nor was I prepared to be anything but lost in a crowd of friendly and similarly clad fen.
So down the lift I went, passing through numbers of 'danes on my way to the Ballroom foyer where I believed that Things Were Happening. I did not pass unnoticed; people most definitely craned around in their seats to get a look at me as I went past. Thus the embarrassment hit me. It got worse as I arrived to find almost no-one else in costume, and certainly no-one in light-scattering all-over silver. It seemed to take a very long time for anyone in costume to arrive. Once I had a few familiar faces around to talk to I was happier, but still deeply adverse to the idea of getting my picture taken.
Still, I tried to suck up the courage to get past the RedBlue carpet. I didn't want the costume to go completely unrecorded after all, and I was interested to see how the photographers would deal with all the reflecting light. The carpet also seemed to form some kind of gauntlet to get closer to the ballroom. I was pretty much in irrational panic mode by this time, and so the discovery of TV cameras and the invitation to be interviewed hit me hard. It mattered not at all that the crew was from the tiny crappy local station; I shrank from the attention in terror, and avoided them like the plague. When fellow con-goers politely asked if they could take my picture, I actually said no.
I get a version of this panic at every masquerade, but I never ever remember it afterwards, probably because the night usually ends up being lots of fun. Perhaps it's like childbirth, but with more tinsel and feathers.
Eventually the doors opened to blessed darkness and Husband arrived for my protection and the night started to look up. I danced a little, but I find I can only dance to music that quite literally moves me. If the song is wrong I can't move a toe. I had placed an advance request for "Play That Funky Music White Guy" and when the lovely ladnewsdropped the needle I was out on the floor like a shot, doing things for which my body is not equipped. I went off like a frog in a sock, and nearly fell over more than a few times. Praise be for nearby seating, and Husband's prison-trained catching abilities.
We stayed long enough to hear the prize announcements, deservedly won by all. I was by no means feeling competitive this year and by skipping the RedBlue carpet had possibly forfeited entry into the judging. If there were rules I never saw them.
The room was done up nicely, and the children were entertained with large balloons. The adults did their thing with glow sticks; I heartily approve. It was not impossible to talk over the music; I heartily approve.
Back up in my room to recover, Husband felt obliged to ask if it was time to call an ambulance, but I eventually remembered how to breathe. I was actually pretty pleased with my condition, because I felt I'd honestly exerted myself for the first time in a long time. The fear was long gone, but I *hope* I remember it for next time so I can prepare myself better. I was a wreck.