Is it wrong to write “meh” in capital letters? Is it possible to be passionately unenthusiastic? Yet so it is.
Ginny Fleming, T. Lee Harris and I, representing the Southern Indiana Writers Group, had a table at Fandom Fest Multi-Genre Convention this past weekend. The table was a financial bust, especially after we paid the parking (don’t ask), but it was an unparalleled spot for people-watching. If “people” is the word I want. There was a goodly number of demons, dolls, vampires, zombies, aliens, and evil clowns, as well.
We were part of the literary track, organized by the superhuman Stephen Zimmer. In spite of the meeting rooms assigned by the hotel being far from the rest of the activities, and in spite of the hotel forbidding the convention to post helpful signage, interested attendees and almost all of the panelists found the panels they were looking for.
Because we were working the table, we weren’t able to go to any panels we weren’t actually on. Based on the quality of our fellow panelists and the quality of the people we knew were on other panels, this was our loss. Next year, we think we’ll not have a table, so we can get the benefit of the literary track’s wisdom. Good bunch of folks!
There were many celebrities, including Bruce Campbell, Peter Davison, Corey Feldman, John Rhys Davies, and Sean Astin. I only glimpsed Davison and Davies. They were both very handsome.
Speaking of handsome, we got to talk to a honkin’ gorgeous young actor named Christopher Emerson. Watch out for this one: He’s going places!
Gorgeous ink abounded. Several people let me take pictures of their body art. They were kind and pitied me when I confessed I have none. I will always have none. If I ever got drunk enough to sit through the pain of getting a tattoo, I know I’d never get drunk enough to sit through having it refreshed when it started to fade and blur. And, considering the rate at which I pick up weight, I’d start out with a rosebud and end up with a chrysanthemum.
I understand there was a Body Art Show. Next year, Imma try to wangle permission to attend, or a ticket, or the sekrit nokk, or however people get into the closed show.
There were lots of cultish T-shirts, too, which was fun when I was in on the reference. Saw a guy in a Trogdor shirt. I was like, “Trogdor! Da BURNINATOR!” Saw a guy in a shirt with a picture of a lime and a picture of half a coconut and an arrow from the lime to the coconut.
Speaking of Cobb, I’m posting today at Fatal Foodies on the subject of Cobb Salad, upon which we subsisted this weekend.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: If you’ve written or are writing something, what would your fans’ T-shirts say or depict?