Current mood:	must work in 7 hrs...
Current music:	www.kawaii-radio.net, some of that japanese stuff

WeetaPieCon 2006, Friday night fun
Ah. WeetaPieCon, clearly Green Bay’s social event of the year, has come and gone, so ‘tis the season for con reports.

Last year I attended about half of the con events and was pleasantly surprised how damn much fun it was. I knew about 4 attendees out of however many hundreds Weetabix was having in town, and was a little intimidated…but it ended up being way more enjoyable than I thought. Despite being a complete stranger, you all made me feel welcome (plus I had a car). So I put in for vacation Friday of the con weekend and was looking forward to it in all its glory.

I got to the hotel just in time to catch the sleigh ride bus because I forget how long it takes to cross town when it’s not the dead of night and I was busy tying bottles of liquor to tags with the fuzziest yarn I’ve ever owned. Now, it wasn’t *that* fuzzy, but considering I had to go into the craft store (not feeling too tough despite my steel-toed work boots) and ask, “So, where’s your yarn section?” like I was trying to find the pipe fittings at a hardware store.

(BTW, I know where every major hardware store in town keeps their pipe fittings but that’s got nothing to do with making “improvised firearms”. I swear, Officer, it’s true!)

Needless to say, after threading 35 bits of yarn through the tags I had a little bit of a furball going. My crocheting grandmother would have been proud, but not because I bought 35 miniature bottles of liquor at the grocery store (Dude at counter: I hope that’s not all for tonight. Me: *grin*), mind you.

Anyway, I dove onto the bus with my cold-weather gear and sack of liquor just as the driver was pulling away from the hotel. This was my first clue it was gonna be an action-hero kind of weekend. Once on the bus, I was happy to see we were well-stocked with antifreeze and happier to recognize a lot of people. I found the bus ride out to Greenleaf very informative (our tour guide Mo has apparently picked up quite a bit of local history in her few months here—even things that I’ve not heard after 25 years in town). I was sort of surprised to hear someone say “you have a lot of sky here!”, but I suppose it’s true. During my limited time in “real” cities (Philly and the Chicago suburbs), I know I got kind of tired of buildings all the time.

By my recollection we must have killed off close to two bottles of Dr. M’s before the sleigh ride. After showing off my mad Swiss Army knife skillz on the bus, I was responsible for combining the two wounded soldiers into one dead one and one bottle less than half full. This one didn’t make it back alive, either, I’m happy to report.

I’m honestly a little surprised that no one batted an eye when I got all geared up in my snowblowing outfit, what with the insulated overalls and everything, but apparently some of you think we must dress like this all the time. Or you figure maybe *I* dress like that all the time. This kind of reaction is what makes the attention whore in me do things like moon photobooths. So you pretty much brought it on yourselves.

Oh yeah, dressing up for the cold. It’s a good thing I was all geared up, because during the game of Telephone on our sleigh, I had to stand up and walk over to Kari to hear her. I didn’t realize that apparently the message was, “Boy, it would be a shame if you fell off this sleigh.” Typing is pretty lousy for conveying context, so just imagine if she said that just after telling me, “Nice sleigh we’ve got here.” Anyhow, the last thing I was expecting was to have her goons give me a healthy shove; pretty quick I was rolling along in the snow with the horses speeding away in the distance. I could have sworn I heard some maniacal laughter too, but maybe that was the liquor talking. At any rate, I was somehow able to catch up to the sleigh again at a brisk walk, and we finished the game of Telephone (real message: Weetabix is a sexy bitch! Or something like that; it should have been the message if it wasn’t.)

If I may interject, the Internet is truly a wonderful thing. It’s amazing that I can listen to streaming radio of a Korean pop star who made it big in Japan by singing songs in English, but it’s even better that I can hang out with cool people from across the country (and international, too—thanks for representing, Mare!).

Back to the sleigh ride. I was a little disappointed that they sent a couple amateurs to build the fire, but it was still nice to get out and mingle. And talk about saber-toothed house cats, of which my dad apparently *doesn’t* have the only one (the Sciences had one too). This was also the only time I burned anything all weekend, for those of you who assume I have no control when around fire.

The rest of the sleigh ride was enjoyable; I didn’t think I’d end up chatting about Dance Dance Revolution with Jen, but surprises never cease. I still recommend playing after a couple beers, but when you add a welding helmet then that’s just over the top.

Back at the ranch (which I can actually say in context for once) we had a pretty good feed set out for us. Esteban’s parents outdid themselves again; I haven’t had booyah that good in a long time (ever?), and the pineapple fluff really *was* as promised. If I knew the recipe was put down on paper, as opposed to burned into June’s memory so she’d take it to the grave, I’d have to break into her place to steal it under cover of darkness, maybe with some ninja-style smoke grenades. Or knock and ask her for it.

Esteban’s folks are actually wonderful people. The first time I ever met them, I puked a bunch of Weetabix’s world-renowned wop into their landscaping and June was nice enough to drive me home. And Esteban’s dad (I’m not sure if I’m allowed to address him by his real name or use his code name) was kind enough to explain how you can use maggots to clean out a shrapnel wound.

On the way back, I was a little bummed that apparently no one thought I was capable of outrunning the Illinois fuzz. I mean, you’re right (if you’d seen the piece of junk I drove while I lived in Illinois, you’d know why) but I was a little hurt all the same. Desperate to prove myself, I saw no choice but to risk life and death (or 4.5 minutes of embarrassment in front of a bunch of relative strangers) and sing.

Anyway, once I was able to guide the bus driver between the hotel and the bar (at no less than 50 mph, of course) I headed over to face my demise. You see, I once had a pretty good singing voice. I was accepted into the select chorus of my high school, I had great range, and I could follow a tune like nothing. Unfortunately, when my voice changed I was left with plenty of volume but crummy range and an extra hour in my schedule that fall.

Anyway, Mikey’s was a lot of fun and I thought I might have a chance to avoid my fate. The karaoke book said the DJ didn’t want tips (so don’t slip him a $20), but apparently he was willing to take flat-out bribes (which must start at $50) because Amber and her other friend and that Bon Jovi wanna-be dude (look, man, if I wanna hear crappy hair rock from the 80’s, there are at least three radio stations in town that play it!) sang about four times each. I was also getting pretty intimidated, because for every uninspired performance by Bob (the guy in the cowboy hat who was on two-second tape delay), there were three other people who pretty much rocked the mike. I forget what everyone sang, other than the karaoke-off and Biensoul’s East Coast version of the West Coast flava. I am really, really sorry about this…I was just kidding before when I said you were too easy on me!

Other highlights included standing in a line next to Sarah, Allison, and Rachel. Eric was so kind to point out that our initials spelled out the scourge of the Far East two years ago: SARS. How sweet! At least I was able to remember their names. Speaking of names, I am pretty happy that I think I had almost everyone figured out by the end of the weekend…although I never did catch what Fredlet’s actual name was. I’m always a little bit afraid of mis-addressing someone to their face, so if I referred to you as, “Hey, you!” or something it’s because I probably wasn’t sure. *shame*

I guess in the grand scheme it’s not important if I know someone’s real name or have to resort to their diary name; I’m not sure if Mo is actually Mo either. If I was supposed to know her real name, she’d have told me. Hm, maybe she’s a secret agent or something…

I also met X-plicity, the person I was once accused of Internet stalking and didn’t get slapped or handed a restraining order, which was cool.

Anyway, my name eventually got called and I went up and sang. I’ve never really been afraid of speaking in public or drawing a lot of attention, but normally I don’t seek out such opportunities. That, coupled with my aforementioned not-awesome singing skills, means I don’t normally do karaoke. The last few times I tried singing a couple Rush tunes (because I know them pretty well and am a fan) but that went lousy because Geddy Lee squeals like a girl, and I can’t anymore. Weetabix seemed pleasantly surprised that I had chosen not to go that route (which made two of us). However, not being up on all the karaoke standards (see above comment about all classic rock in this town, all the time), I picked another 70’s guitar piece. I always forget how damn long those guitar solos are. Anyway, I either sang it well (or well enough considering it was midnight) or was at least amusing, so I was able to return to the crowd with my dignity mostly intact.

Eventually the night wound down and people started trickling out of the bar. Mo tallied up all the stickers that we had accumulated during our mingling and somehow I won. Apparently the competitive spirit I have provided the impetus to bug everyone in the joint. I mean, not slip a listening device onto, although that could have been interesting in a really creepy big-brother kind of way. Little did I realize that I would get such a fabulous prize the next evening…

Speaking of competitive spirit, I will finish the Saturday portion of the con report tomorrow evening if I survive my “water” skiing event at Joel’s. I was edged out for the last water ski run of the year by about 15 minutes last fall, but assuming there’s enough snow in the field next to his house I’ll be pulled behind a snowmobile wearing a swimsuit and a stocking hat (and probably mittens so my hands don’t get cold). It’s stupid as hell, but I’ll be the first one out for 2006!

I’ve also got to be in for work at 6 am and surprise! I’m tired after this weekend. Lastly, I know I’ll drone on about this much for Saturday and that will take another hour. It’s a good thing I don’t have an editor or I’d get an ass-whupping. I apologize if this report is too Scotty-centric, but I’m a lot more familiar with my own thoughts than anyone else’s (my ESP wasn’t at it’s prime this weekend). Not having written many (meaning hardly any) blog entries, I do not have the balance between writing a story, telling a narrative, and just flat-out stroking my ego down. I will try to include some hyperlinks to other relevant blogs if I can figure it out; I’m writing in the Word Processor Of Choice (no hyperlinks) so I have a local copy…I got scared when I heard tales of other blog hosts exploding. If I can make a tiny, tiny (blatant) plug, my friend Jason (not The Jason) has a hosting site and he’s happy to have bloggers/web diarists…plus he’s got backup software, and he knows how to use it.

All the best!
Scotty G