Rug rage, part IX

Movie theater lobby, Eden Prairie, MN.

Fried ice cream

One of Mexico's finest exports.

Booth truth

According to Fritzie, the hotel carpets I complain about are loudly patterned so spills and stains don't show. Apparently the same is true of booth upholstery in Mexican restaurants.

MISSING CHILD ALERT

Go here to http://my10kidfamily.blogspot.com/2005/09/god-help-us.html#comments, read the post, and keep your eyes peeled. This child and his family need your help.

UPDATE: The missing boy is home safe now.

Pumpkins. Yes.

Santa on a giraffe? NO!

What did I just say?

Seriously. No.

Again, no.

Equal-opportunity obnoxiousness.

NO!

Christmas displays in September? Shame on you, Saks!

Pickle & Blackbird

Brought to you by my wacky subconscious.

First of all, let me level with you here. Work has been tense and busy in recent days, which is why you haven’t heard much from me lately. The tension part should get resolved in a couple weeks. As for whether I’m still busy after that, well, we’ll see.

Anyway, back to Pickle & Blackbird. I dreamed in the wee hours of the morning that I was auditioning nightclub acts. Couldn’t tell you why, except that the nightclub needed some entertainment, I guess. Where’s Desi Arnaz when you need him?

I saw several mediocre performers, but I was really impressed by the jazz duet Pickle & Blackbird. Their elaborate costumes, not their music, caught my attention. The female singer was a huge, sponge-rubber Vlasic Kosher Dill. Not just any pickle, but a Vlasic Kosher Dill. The male keyboardist was covered from head to toe in black feathers, a few of which drifted quietly to the stage anytime he moved. I was just about to sign them when I woke up.

A giant pickle? A giant blackbird? Where on earth did I get those visions? I didn’t even eat any pizza before bed.

If you were a lounge act, what would you be? I think I’d be a Reader’s Digest comedian — just stand at the mike and read the jokes out of RD and see if anybody laughed.

Today around the world: September 28 is Confucius' Birthday in Taiwan.

So Much Better

Put on your waterproof eyewear, folks. I’m about to gush. (And don't forget, you can scroll down to see some really bad low-rez photos of the people I'm talking about.)

Later I’ll tell you how nice it was to have an excellent traveling companion in AnnaK, to meet several equaintances in person, to geek out posting pictures as I took them and to have Jeff Thacher join me at it. But right now, I’m going to tell you about this amazing new band I’ve discovered. It’s called New Rockapella.

I did not see a Rockapella show on Friday night. I saw a New Rockapella show. So much new. So much hot. So much stripy. So much shiny. So much joy. So much — I finally have to admit it — better. I’ve fallen in love all over again.

So much new.
When I saw Rockapella back in April, I was worried that they — and I — might be getting bored with their material. Friday’s show didn’t just lay those fears to rest, it slapped them out of the ballpark. We heard at least five as yet unrecorded songs at this show, most of them fresh originals from the suddenly geyser-like Leonard pen. I was so gobsmacked I forgot to even chew my gum. However, we did not hear the new George showpiece Baby Girl, which they’d done the night before, and which Harley assures me is well worth waiting for.

One song, Make Love Last, received its debut performance in the second encore. And I was there! Scott gave the usual disclaimer about how a new song isn’t always great the first time out and can turn into “a bloody train wreck for the front row,” and in fact called offstage for a tarp to cover his hapless victims. (He also made a Gallagher reference I’m surprised so many people got. Not you? Look it up.) But it was not a train wreck. It was fantastic. Note-perfect. They knew it, too. None of them could disguise their pride and pleasure in the rapturous reception the song received. That one needs to go straight into the regular lineup and onto the new CD.

Yes, new CD. I’ve decided we’re having one, and soon. I’m taking a Field of Dreams approach: If you envision it, they will record it. Everybody throw your mojo at this, now. You’ll thank me later.

So much hot.
Somebody keep a tally of how many times I use the word “hot” in reference to this concert. Somebody who can count really high. I’m talking about the dance moves now, the ones I used to hate. The dance steps no longer look grafted on from some other act. They are now a fully integrated part of the New Rockapella show. They’re slick and sassy, and that’s nice. What’s hot, though, is that the band now owns those moves with a swaggering confidence they just didn’t have before. Absolute self-assurance is what makes George so hot as an individual — try to look into his eyes without blushing if you don’t believe me — and it’s what makes New Rockapella new. NRP aren’t just the best singers in the biz any more, they’re the best movers and shakers, too.

And by the way, all that aerobic activity has the fellas looking mighty fit.

So much stripy.
Kevin Wright shall henceforth be known as Zoot Suit Riot in honor of the ensemble he was sporting Friday night. It wasn’t enough that he wore the pants and half-buttoned vest of a boldly pinstriped suit, nor that the vest had not just a silk back, but a burnt-orange silk back that managed to clash with every single lighting cue. Oh no. He put an even more widely striped shirt under there. Cripes, who dresses this guy, Scott Leonard?

The difference is, this time it worked. It was almost hot. It’s that confidence thing. When you know you’re the baddest cat in the alley, you strut, and when you strut, damned if you don’t look like the baddest cat in the alley. Rrrowr, Zoot.

Not to be outdone, John and George both wore striped shirts as well, albeit with quieter pants. Scott, of course, wore the blue striped shirt with a suit made from some sort of shiny blue stuff that looked more like a Corvette paint job than fabric, and that neither matched the shirt nor needed to.

Jeff, the nonconformist, wore grey and black and looked damn good doing it.

So much shiny.
Scott’s suit. Scott’s songwriting. Kevin’s realization that he is, in fact, one of the most gifted performers around. John’s jazz trumpet of a voice. George’s finessing of a vocal part that could easily get boring and repetitive. Jeff’s evolving vp solo, which involves a spectrum of sounds and buzzes that lift it beyond drumming into a mini-Stomp show all his own. Even the slow numbers sizzle. The entire show has been buffed to a high sheen, and I appreciate it.

Let’s talk about Scott’s new songs for a sec. I don’t know squat about songwriting, but I can tell you this: They’re damn good. They’re flashy, they’re catchy, they’re 100% C.S. Leonard at play. You will babble incoherently when you hear them, kind of like I’m doing right now.

So much joy.
It used to be that Rockapella danced because they had to. Now, they dance because they’re bursting with joy and cannot keep still. Hell, I thought Jeff was going to wear his pants out from the inside. They grin and clap each other on the back after a particularly good number, which is often. They gush so much sincere praise for one another that they laud each other into aw-shucks embarrassment. They’re excited to show us what they can do because they know we’ll love it just as much as they do. And that’s a lot.

And Scott. Scott is absolutely on fire. He has never been dull to watch, but these days you can almost see the sparks fly. He’s being challenged in a way he hasn’t since Sean left the group and could not be happier. He sets the energy standard high, and the others are right there with him. Yeah, they’re all limp noodles by m&g time. But smiley ones.

A telling moment: At the very end of the very last encore, as the audience screamed and clapped and begged for more, Scott gestured to his band and said, “Rockapella!” And one of the other guys corrected him. “New Rockapella.” It’s not just words, it’s a whole new mindset.

So much better.
All right, I admit it. New Rockapella is better than Rockapella Classic.
Not just different, not just hipper, not just more visually interesting, but outright better.

You’ll notice I’ve talked a lot about Rockapella here, when usually I say George did this, Kevin said that, Jeff did blah blah blah. That’s because they’re not just five talented guys together on a stage any more, they’re a unit. Together, they are greater than the sum of their parts. I’m beginning to think there’s nothing they can’t do.

All right, just thinking about that high-impact concert has worn me out. More later.

BEST! CONCERT! EVER!

After-concert nosh

Culver's was closed, so we settled for Wendy's. Mmm, fries.

Teh Jeff

Jeff autographed this digital photo on my Treo screen and posted it to the blog himself. Personal favorite.

Brian, the new road manager

SUPER nice guy. This trip is clearly running him ragged, but he made time to chat with fans after the show anyway. We like this guy.

More autograph table

I sat behind this lummox

He is a total fangirl. Squealing, jumping out of his seat, clawing the air, and making, of all things, rock 'n roll devil horns . . . and he SCREAMED "ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE JAMBOREE!" when the guys were setting up an encore. Anyone who actually says the word "jamboree" out loud in public is, well, a little silly. And then he ended up in front of us during part of the m&g and told Anna her Conan button bracelet was weird. Uh, dude? You're living in a big glass house there.

Autograph table

Sly devil. I'd love to know what he's thinking.

Jeff

Man of action.

Kevin & John

Worst photographer ever. Yet they still look good! Sweet and sweeter.

I had Kevin autograph a similar version of this shot on the Treo but managed to not save it somehow. Kicking self.

Scott

Normally I'd blame the blur on Scott's always being in motion, but this time it was my fault. I had too much stuff in my hands and was trying to keep the line moving. He's signing my DME case.

George

HOT. Period.

Scott looks like he just said something he shouldn't have.

They're LATE!

so bored I'm taking pix of the theater ceiling. Does that look like a face to you? and a booger?

The stage is set

Anna's friend Andrew, who met us there, got in before us and held seats dead center, about eight rows back. We could not have picked a more perfect spot. Thanks, Andrew!

If you look at front row center, there are three people leaning their heads together talking. That's Lisa in brown, Greg in red, and Colleen in aqua.

The evening's program

Opening act: Redefined, same as last year's Madison show. I hope they've tightened up their set, or I'm heading to the bathroom.

Update: OK, they were better than last year.

One more Pella peep

Jessica, again in bad light. GRR!

Pella peeps

Krik, Mo, Colleen, Greg, Lisa, Brendaly
(bad lighting, sorry)

THE shirt

Anna is dressed for concert-going success.

View out lobby windows

U of WI @ Madison. Very pretty campus.

General admission seating

Doors open in 20 minutes. The natives are getting restless.

This is not our room.

The Rockapella roadtrip has begun!

Checked into our hotel, entered our room -- and found a pair of khakis neatly folded on the bed. D'OH! Returned to the desk, got reassigned. Much better.

Note about notes

Heading east to see Rockapella today. Huzzah! If there's decent signal strength in Madison, I might even try to post a couple notes or lousy photos. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until Saturday or Sunday to hear how much I enjoyed it. Ciao!

Hi, tech!

Brought to you by our good friend the Internet.

My celebration of technology continues with two groovy web sites that will blow the speakers right off your computer. The first is Dictionaraoke, where you can choose a song and then listen to talking dictionaries from around the world belt out the lyrics. Click & grin.

The second is Pandora, which draws upon its vast music database to create a "radio" station that caters specifically to your tastes. You tell it the name of a band or a song that you like and it goes and finds similar music for you. I told Pandora I like Rockapella, and it returned not only the expected Nylons, Bobs, and House Jacks, but also Toxic Audio, Petra Hayden, and Bjork. Click on the album cover art of a song Pandora offers you to see if you can buy it from iTunes, and to help the program grow by teaching it why you liked or disliked a certain selection. Totally cool. You can try 10 hours' worth of the service for free or subscribe for unlimited use. I forked over $36 for a year's worth of expanding my horizons. Check it out!

P.S. Make sure your speakers are tuned on.

I've become obsolete

I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later: my job is now being done by a machine. There's an online gizmo that generates band names all by itself. Click the link beneath the picture box to go try it out.

Anybody want to hire a blogger? Plenty of experience, no training necessary. Have mobile electronic device, will travel.

Your Band Name is:

The Puffy Uncle

Band Name Generator

Dave Has a Giraffe

Brought to you by this & that.

Sorry about the blogging hiatus there. It's been an irksome few days at the office, mainly because I'm not psychic and therefore cannot always figure out what certain people want. Apparently I am also supposed to divine afterward that I did not figure it out, whether I receive actual notification of that fact or not. Yeah, that's a toughie — but consultation with my peers has assured me that I'm not the only one in this boat, which is nice to know. I'm working to correct the problem and would appreciate any ESP mojo you can send me.

Anyway. Since I work in an office environment, I get to go to lots of meetings. Some of those involve conference calls, and sometimes the connection on those calls is less than crystal clear. This is how I came to hear the non sequitur, "Dave has a giraffe." Say what? I thought a giraffe sounded pretty interesting, if a bit off the subject, but it turns out Dave does not have a giraffe, he has a draft of the project memo. Too bad. I'd love to see him fit a giraffe into a cubicle. And is it possible to paper train a giraffe?

Oh, this reminds me of a joke that's perfect for the first-grader in your life. Ready? Here goes:

What's green and hangs from trees?

Giraffe snot!

ANYway. A bad conference call connection also explains why I once thought someone had said "turd" during a meeting. My mental "Inappropriate!" alarm went off good and loud — until I realized the caller was saying she had toured a facility. That was a relief (so to speak).

Today around the world: September 19 is Talk Like a Pirate Day in the U.S. Arrrrrrrrr you playing? If you haven't wasted enough time online already today, go read the Pirate Guys' blog.

Shoo

Dropped something. Bent to retrieve it. Noticed that I'm wearing two seriously unmatched sneakers. OOPS! Time to change the light bulb over the shoe pile.

Neighbor Nadene and the Cleaning Machine

Please enjoy this time-tested classic from the BND archives, originally posted 9/13/02 (which happened to be a Friday the 13th).

Brought to you by my neighbor Nadene and her cleaning machine.

Pros

• suction power
  
• water-washed air
  
• ethylene glycol (I think Mother Media has a great-aunt by that name.)
  
• silvery hi-tech grooviness
  
• the gift of meat

Cons

• that funny smell
  
• the dirty truth
  
• parts is parts
  
• pyramids is pyramids
  
• the price of purity

Summary

The 1950s are alive and well in the southern suburbs of the Media Metropolis. On Wednesday night, a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesperson came to Sensational Acres to demonstrate the latest in carpet cleaning technology.

A few weeks ago, I found in my mailbox a coupon entitling me to 5 lbs of free hamburger patties, or 5 lbs of free brats, or a free 12-pack of Pepsi or Coke. All I had to do was call the number on the flyer. Intrigued, I called. There would, of course, be a catch of some kind, but I've been trying to improve the protein level in my diet, and 5 lbs of free burgers seemed like a good place to start.

The catch was this: The person who delivered my gift would also ask for my opinion on a stain-removing appliance she was demonstrating. Right away, I knew that "opinion" was code for "agreement to purchase." Still, I figured it wouldn't take me long to just say no and go slap a patty on the George Foreman grill. We scheduled a showing for 6:00 Wednesday.

Well, 6:00 and then 7:00 came and went, leaving me to wonder, Where's the beef? I had to settle for vegetarian nachos for dinner. Finally at 8:00 the cats grew very interested in the front door. There on the porch stood Nadene. My cozy living room quickly got smaller as she unloaded a purse, a duffel bag, a rectangular box the size of a small suitcase and a cubical box about a yard on each side. Let the demo begin! And it did, after a second trip to the car for the Power Nozzle box, about the size of a bass guitar case, and a third trip later for the shampooing unit.

I should have counted the number of times Nadene used the words "filth" and "homemakers" in her presentation. June Cleaver was obviously the target audience, and the spiel-writers assumed that June had at least an hour and a half to devote to hearing it. That's how long it took, and Nadene wasn't just faffing about. She was constantly reading to me from laminated pages in her three-ring binder, fishing shiny new attachments out of the big box (4.5 end attachments, 3 hose-tubes) and turning the uber-vac on and off as she put each through its paces.

The product is one nifty multi-tool, let me tell you. The central suction unit squats over a water-filled base of clear plastic, the same kind from which football helmets are made. FILTH is inhaled through the front end and trapped by the water, which obligingly turns a disgusting grey, and only water-washed air issues from the back end. If you attach the hose, horsehair brush, crevice tool or Power Nozzle, you can use the unit as a conventional, albeit genetically superior, vacuum cleaner. However, if you just set it naked in the middle of the room and turn it on, it will still suck up your FILTHY atmosphere, scrub it, and eject nothing but pure clean goodness.

If you want to disinfect the air, too, you squirt a shot of green ethylene glycol into the water tank. If you don't want your house to end up smelling like a dentist's office, you also squirt in a hefty shot of fragrance, choosing among gardenia, mulberry, violet, vanilla and others. I chose violet. It came out much too strong and left my living room smelling like a dentist's sachet pillow for what little remained of the evening.

Then the actual carpet-vacuuming demonstration began, and with it the horror of confronting the FILTH in my home!! Inserting a scrap of white cloth between hose and nozzle to act as a filter, Nadene attacked a one-foot-square section of my carpet. In seconds she had sucked up a hairball the size of a hedgehog, along with about a pound of dirt and sand. I was properly disgusted, but Nadene confided that she'd seen much worse even in houses without pets. A couple more variations on this maneuver would have been enough to sell me on the vac . . .

. . . until she flipped to the laminated price page. This thing costs more than $1667 by itself and over $2000 when you add the Power Nozzle — which is sold separately, even though (or perhaps because!) it's the attachment you'd use most. Well, OK, since Nadene and I were friends by that time, she called her supervisor (at 9:15 p.m.), who authorized her to lower the price to $1668, essentially giving me the Power Nozzle for free. What a value! AND, if I was willing to Act Now and give her my old vacuum cleaner as a trade-in, she was also empowered to throw in the shampooing unit — which I must say did a dandy job of taking a very old stain out of a chair cushion.

Oh, and did I mention the incentives? Had I been willing to write down the names of just 10 of my friends and relatives, making them eligible to enter a drawing for a $100 shopping spree at the mall of their choice, I could have entered my own name to win a $500 shopping spree. And Nadene would have gotten $500, too, if I won. I'm sure those names wouldn't have been used for nefarious advertising purposes or anything, but you can all thank me right now for not writing any down. A pound of pistachios will do.

Also, if I found the price of the product beyond my means and didn't want to enter into a $66/month financing agreement (no interest for 90 days!), I might be granted the Rare Opportunity to work off my purchase by becoming a Nadene myself. Me, entering the homes of perfect strangers to tout the virtues of a vacuum cleaner that doubles as an air freshener? That idea was about as appealing as the gruesome swill in the vac's water chamber.

It was an interesting evening. Poor Nadene left empty-handed (except for the purse, duffel bag, rectangular box, cubical box, Power Nozzle box, shampooing unit, and three-ring binder). I, however, now have a small patch of really clean carpet and a partially cleansed chair cushion in my dental-violet-scented living room.

Oh yeah, and a box of burgers in the freezer.

A Very Good Year

Brought to you by CNE.

I can't believe it's been a year — one whole year since the Cutest Niece Ever took a break from angel duty to join us here on earth. She is simply the berries.

In my role as doting Aunt, I could (and do) go on at length about how fantastic this kid is. Smart, talented, busy, smiley, and bald, she's doing more learning in every waking moment than I've done in the last dozen years. Her accomplishments to date include giggling, patting the kitty, eating her vegetables, reading/chewing books, splashing in water, crawling fast, nearly walking, juggling knickknacks — with limited success, according to her mother, my Sister-san — climbing the shoe rack, and occasionally saying "Uh oh," especially while watching the Vikings.

In the coming year, she'll be walking, talking, dressing herself (probably with more fashion flair than her poor aunt has), feeding herself, drawing, and testing the rules. She'll begin to share toys with other kids and might even be ready for a big-girl bed. By this time next year, I imagine she'll have mastered her mother's computer and her father's tools as well. I can't wait to see how it all turns out.

Grandmother Media is heading west for her share of birthday cake and icing kisses later this week. Me, I'll have to wait a bit for mine. But CNE is getting all my love long distance just the same.

Click here for the lyrics to You Are the New Day, the perfect song for a perfect soul. The King’s Singers arrangement is the best; click here for an mp3 sample.

Photos today? NO. Just imagine the cutest little girl you've ever seen. Now double that, and you've got CNE.

Today around the world: September 13 is my niece’s birthday.

Kelly and the Farters

Brought to you by the nifty city of Atlanta.

First order of business: head over to Johnny's place to see more Dragon*Con photos! Johnny is my Treo buddy from the Masquerade line. He got more and better pictures than I did, including some of the costume parade through the streets of Atlanta and the Masquerade — and the lovely shirtless boy with the saber on his head. Go see, and tell him I sent you.

And now, down to the serious part. Wouldn't want you to think I spent the entire Labor Day weekend geeking out at the con.

When you hang around with teachers, as I did while in Atlanta, you learn a few things whether you want to or not. Thanks to Kelly, Jennifer, and Cathy for giving me an education. Here are a few of the things I picked up. And no, they do not include the lovely shirtless boy with the sword on his head, which is too bad, because it's a really nice saber.

• Atlanta is the home of the original Krispy Kreme donut shop. Secret ingredient: crack. Yes, they really are that addictive. I hadn't thought so until I tried one two fresh and warm straight out of the grease. The evil Krispy Kreme people will grab one from beneath its shower of liquid sugar glaze and press it into your hand, smiling and murmuring, as do dealers the world over, "Try one. Free." Evil! Avoid the "HOT NOW" sign.

  
  

• Atlanta is also home to things that are a little more helpful, like CNN headquarters. We took a backstage tour that began with a pass through a metal detector (which I failed due to change in my pockets), followed by a ride up the world's longest freestanding escalator, which rises some eight stories into the stratosphere. From on high, we prowled catwalks overlooking news gatherers, writers, copyeditors, producers, camera operators, and even some on-air anchors bustling about their jobs. There's a mini-studio where you can try your hand at reading news copy from a TelePrompTer or forecasting the weather in front of a giant green screen, with the actual map added behind you through computer magic.
  Tip: If your tour guide happens to be from New Orleans, don't pick the week of Hurricane Katrina to ask what he thinks of the government's handling of communications among disaster response agencies.

  
  

• Centennial Olympic Park is right across the street from CNN. Hostess Jennifer volunteered at the Atlanta Olympics, the Games where a bomb went off and the wrong man was accused. Remember? There's a fountain in that park that kids can play in, dodging jets of water as they erupt from the ground. Looks like fun, but we didn't stick around to test our agility.

  
  

• Coca-Cola comes from Atlanta — one more reason to love the city. Whenever I asked a waiter, "Can I get a Coke?" the answer was always yes. None of that "Is Pepsi okay?" nonsense. No, Pepsi is not okay! Why do you think I asked for Coke? Coke is it. I drank plenty while I was there, AND Kelly drove me past the home of Coke's big cheese. Nice.

  
  

• The big NO sign hanging above an Atlanta street is not there for passengers to read aloud to annoy the driver. It indicates that you should not drive in that lane because it's a turn lane.

  
  

• Some high school students have behavioral disorders such as socialization problems and anger management issues, and others have . . . how can I put this delicately? Okay, I can't, but Kelly has a student with flatulence management issues. The . . . issues . . . worsen when the student is under pressure, like when he suffers from test anxiety. While auditory impact usually is not a problem, olfactory impact is, and Kelly has had to issue cans of air freshener to the afflicted student's classmates to deploy in times of need. Many young people might feel embarrassed by such a condition, but Kelly's student does not. In fact, he has been seen waving the fallout away from his seat during high-volume incidents. (No photo available.)

  
  

All right, that's all the time we have for today. Tomorrow: I solve Case of the Hideous Hotel Carpeting. Okay, somebody else (Tania) solves it. But I report it.

Photos today? YES, if you follow instructions. Johnny's place, I said.

Today around the world: September 12 is National Day in the Cape Verde Islands.

Gong Trooper

Brought to you by Dragon*Con 2005.

Sorry about the delay in bringing you the next chapter in the D*C saga. Having a job really cuts into my blogging time.

Anyway, I promised to expose — ahem — the exhibitionism that fuels the con. You'll have to take my word for it, since I didn't take any photos of the nearly naked; pale wenches overflowing their bustiers just aren't my thing. But they must be somebody's, because there sure were plenty of them. Seriously, everywhere you turn at a con, any con, there's at least one extraordinarily zaftig woman threatening to explode from the corset that's got her girlz jammed up under her chin. The phenomenon is so prevalent, my little gang started calling them nuclear corsets because of the danger of fallout. Maybe I'm just jealous because I would have the opposite problem if I ever donned such a garment, but egad! It's only funny until someone loses an eye.

On the other end of the spectrum are the women whose proportions are more prime time but whose clothing is strictly after-hours. Police Tape Girl, for instance. While I've never met her, Police Tape Girl is a legend in D*C circles for showing up dressed only in strategically placed bands of police tape. Jennifer also spotted Ace Bandage Girl wearing just a few strips of elastic bandage. Since the bandage blended well with her skin tone, from just a few feet away she looked completely nude. She had quite a lot of trouble crossing the hotel lobby because guys in kilts kept asking her to pose for pictures.

Incidentally, Jennifer, a high school teacher, also spotted a former student of hers. A senior this year, the young lady was attired in the revealing slave outfit Princess Leia wore while a prisoner of Jabba the Hutt. At her age, she was one of the few able to pull that one off attractively.

To my dismay, there's not nearly as much beefcake as cheesecake on display. I saw a couple loinclothed barbarians waving their clubs around (not as dirty as it sounds), but they were always on the move, never stopping long enough for me to snap a picture. And a couple shirtless harem boy types showed up in the Masquerade. They, along with the Gong Trooper, were the highlights of the show.

Let's talk a bit about the Masquerade. The Masquerade is the big costume contest of the convention. Some of the programming sub-tracks have their own costume competitions; we attended the Star Wars contest, which was briskly run and fun to watch, and the Miss Klingon Empire beauty pageant, which was not. The Miss Klingon thing was a great idea maimed by poor execution — great costumes, but I think one introduction and one 30-60 second display of warrior-woman talent is plenty. You don't need to have a 3-minute intro, followed by a 5-minute talent performance, followed by a personality segment, followed by I don't know what because we got up and left to seek strong drink. I mean, a blogger can only listen to so many Klingon drinking songs, sung in the original Klingon, before wanting to put the idea into action, you know?

During a couple of the lamer Klingon talent skits, I heard audience members chanting, "Trooper! Trooper!" but did not know what that meant. Now I do. Back to the Masquerade.

During the grand Masquerade, in addition to (and sometimes instead of) prancing across the stage and posing in character, the exhibitionist instict resurfaces and each of the entrants performs a skit. All 40 of them. Some of them begin with a musical or spoken introduction lasting as long as a full minute, followed by whatever strutting and fretting the entrant and his/her friends have cobbled together. A few of these are well done and entertaining, but many aren't. The only nod to quality control is the Star Wars storm trooper who will, if an act sucks enough, come out and escort the culprit offstage, sort of like a sci-fi Gong Show. Fortunately for Kelly, Jennifer and me, the young people sitting behind us at the Masquerade were smart and witty, and their heckling of the contestants easily outshone anything that happened on the stage.

Which is not to say that there weren't any good costumes. The costumes were fantastic; those I captured in photos represent only about 1% of the crop, so scroll around and check them out. Personal favorites included the Matrix lady, Ash from Evil Dead II/Army of Darkness, the enormous and shiny space marines, the spectral dragon rider (who won Best in Show), the aforementioned harem boys, and the entire Island of Misfit Toys. Sci-fi? No. But still terribly cool.

The show was interesting, but long. If it hadn't been for the hecklers and the Gong Trooper, I don't think we would have stayed for the whole thing. Kelly's emergency cocktail run during intermission saved the day. Next time, I think we'll plan ahead better: fill hip flasks, stand in line sipping and showing strangers our Treos (again, not as dirty as it sounds), THEN watch the Masquerade. It really is worth seeing — as long as you don't see too clearly.

Today around the world: September 10 is St. George's Caye Day in Belize.

Stripey Man

10 points to the first person who can explain this to me.

Yawn

Heading home on the train, tired but happy after a long day at the office and a pleasant T'ai Chi class. Kelly just called to tell me that if you Google Walden Macnair, yesterday's BND post is among the top 5 hits. Schweet! I knew blogging would make me famous.

More Dragon*Con droppings tomorrow.

Disco Deatheaters

Brought to you by Dragon*Con 2005.

As you've probably guessed by now, I spent this past weekend in Atlanta hanging out with Kelly and Jennifer and attending Dragon*Con. WOO! D*C is the granddaddy of all sci-fi/fantasy conventions, 20 times the size of the ones I attend here at home. We're talking about 30,000 to 40,000 attendees, not just a few hundred, with everything on a correspondingly grander scale. Including blogging — I posted more than three dozen photos, plus a few text-only notes, live from the convention. Not that I’m a huge geek or anything.

D*C is actually several smaller cons in one. For instance, there's a whole programming track devoted to Star Trek. That's a mini-con right there, complete with its own panel discussions, actor Q&As (the Cavalcade of Stars!), autograph sessions, and a Miss Klingon Empire beauty pageant. There's also a Star Wars track with its own costume contest, a Harry Potter track, a Buffy the Vampire Slayer track, a comic book/graphic novel track, a writers' track, a Wheel of Time track, and a role-playing game track that occupied the entire Grand Hall, a room the size of at least one football field, all by itself — just to name just a few. You get a little bit of all of that at local cons, so in that sense, D*C presented nothing I hadn't seen before. There was just more of everything, and the sheer stimulation of it all was enough to send us staggering home after spending a few hours at the con Saturday and Sunday.

The big difference for me was the people. Still dorky, still playing dress-up in middle age and beyond, still overflowing their bustiers/corsets and kilts — but unlike the locals, they talked to me. They talked to me! This is huge! I've attended about half a dozen cons in Minnesota by now, but I spoke to more fellow fans in the first 2 hours at D*C than in all others combined. This, more than anything else, made the whole experience otherworldly for me. I've heard out-of-towners say they go to cons for the fan camaraderie and have wondered what the heck they were talking about, but now I finally get it. Examples (and you can scroll down to see photos of these people):

• The Blue Wizard. On Saturday, we found no available tables in the food court, so Kelly, Jennifer and I set our Chik-Fil-A loot on top of a trash station and stood there to eat. The Blue Wizard, finding himself in the same predicament, asked if he could share our space. Sure. Jennifer noted that the staff he was carrying looked like Gandalf's (Lord of the Rings), and the Blue Wizard spent the rest of the meal explaining to us how he'd removed the pink-hued marble at the top and replaced it with a blue one to make it more like Sauromon's — duh — and to match his robes and Mickey Mouse-from-Fantasia hat, of course. He also introduced us to the stuffed blue dragon perched on his shoulder, its tail curled around his neck. It was a new addition to the ensemble, and one of which Blue was very proud.

  
  This whole friendly, earnest conversation blew me away. (That, and the fact that Blue looks disturbingly like a VP from my former workplace.) In Minnesota, we would all have bolted our food in silence, eyes downcast, and scurried away from the scene as quickly as possible. In Atlanta, we were all buddies, at least for a few minutes. And it didn't hurt a bit.

  
  

• While we chowed and chatted with the Blue Wizard, we spotted a Babylon 5 fan sporting the trademark peacock hairdo of a character called a Centauri and carrying a stuffed goose. Curious, Blue hailed him, and he swanned over to hold court for a few minutes. When I asked if I could touch his elaborately starched coiffure, he glared down his nose at me as if I'd offered to polish his light saber in public, and I realized he was, and intended to stay, fully in character.

  
  Speaking in a broad Centaurian accent, he explained to us that his hairdresser had added lighter streaks to his wig in recent years to correspond with the greying of his own hair, and that the goose he was carrying was not in fact a goose but a cat, since his confused emperor had decreed it so. If the emperor says it's a cat, it's a cat, and never mind the beak or the long neck (ringed with spiked leather collars to dissuade people from grabbing it). Mr. Centauri soon took his leave of us, and as we left the food court, we heard him delivering the exact same speech to another group of lucky diners.

  
  After this incident, I was emboldened to chat up and photograph anyone who looked interesting. Everyone I asked seemed happy to pose. They had, after all, worked hard on their costumes and were ready to show them off. Some of them even smiled at me. It was weird. Not Minnesota nice; real nice.

  
  

• Walden and Rowan approached us outside a conference room in which a Harry Potter discussion was scheduled. We'd all just missed getting admitted to the overfilled room. The man in the kilt was not fazed, however. He proclaimed that we'd just have our own discussion right there. Since he was (A) blocking our exit from the area and (B) carrying a sharp hand axe in his belt, we agreed.

  
  "Guess who I am," the guy invited. Er . . . athletic shoes and socks (indicative of Muggleness?), black leather kilt/belt/axe combo (Highlander?), obligatory buzz-and-beard hairstyle for kilted gents (Bald Eye for the Kilt Guy?), black T-shirt with Army Special Forces logo on left breast (some kind of space commando?), white hand towel (definite Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference), real tattoo of the Dark Mark (definite Harry Potter devotion!), and name tag reading "Walden Macnair" (who's that?). Uh . . . we got nuthin'.

  
  Undeterred by our befuddlement, Walden proceeded to expound some HP-related theories. About this time, his ladyfriend Rowan ("That's my magical name") joined us. He encouraged her to tell us about the fanfic(s) she had written featuring Walden Macnair, which, with a giggle and a simper, she did. Rowan had taken a shine to the fictional Macnair, whoever he was, and had written a story or stories that painted him as quite the he-man. When she met a real man who was enough of a Real Man to match her conception of Macnair, she knew he was the One, and they've been together ever since.

  
  Rowan has also written at least one fanfic in which the magical worlds of Harry Potter and disco music collide. Highlights include Tom Riddle/Voldemort as a swingin' disco daddy and Snape as a hopeless square. The title is "Disco Deatheaters," and I'm going to read it if I can ever find it online.

  
  Editor's note: Jennifer and I, despite being pretty thorough readers, could not figure out who Macnair was. To the Internet! Turns out Walden Macnair got a few lines in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He's the executioner hired to whack Hagrid's hippogriff Buckbeak, but his efforts were thwarted by those meddling kids.

Well, that's all the time we have for today, but by no means all the Dragon*Con goodies. Further highlights to come, including getting in touch with your inner game master and your outer exhibitionist, and what happens when Star Wars meets The Gong Show.

Photos today? YES! Tons! Get scrollin'!

Today around the world: September 7 is Xuedun (Shoton) Festivals in Tibet.

Badge of courage

The con was fun, but two days was enough stimulation for us. And I'll never attend a Masquerade without a hip flask again.

I'm a tourist

Took the backstage tour of the CNN studios. Very interesting!

Fountain in Olympic Park

Centennial Olympic Park

Downtown Atlanta. Very cool.

CNN HQ

Hangin' out

Parkers are at a family breakfast this morning, so I have their spacious back yard to myself. That's a fountain in the midde. Cool! Beautiful day. Not sure what we're doing later. Maybe Stone Mountain.

Masquerade madness

While D*C's costume skits are at least as lame as MarsCon's, the heckling is of a much higher quality.

DCTV

Dragon*Con TV keeps the crowd entertained before the Masquerade. Sci-fi-themed joke commercials, news clips & skits. Surprisingly good stuff.

Rug rage III

Line em up

The line for the masquerade stretched outside and all the way around the block. This had better be good.

Disco knows no bounds

Trek party in Ten Forward

ACK!

A knight who says NI!

Oops.

There were problems with stoppers blocking fire lanes.

Sonic the Hedgehog

Klingon vampire . . . I guess.

This is a strategy game of some kind

Gamer McKalf holds school

Jennifer now knows her d12 from a hole in the ground.