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Potlatch impressions
Mar. 2nd, 2008 09:34 amThe Hotel Deca is by far the best hotel that Potlatch has ever been held in (well, at least in my admittedly limited experience), and one of the best convention set ups I've ever seen, if only because of the spectacular views from the consuite in the presidential suite on the top floor (the sixteenth). The patio circling the suite provides one astounding panorama of the city after another. Yesterday afternoon we watched rain storms drift over Bellevue across Lake Washington to the east and over Queen Anne across Lake Union to the west. At one point I sat in a circle in the late afternoon sun with my co-editors and Deb Notkin, Elise Matthesen, Spike, Alan Bostick, Carrie Root, and others who drifted in and out, and it was just a glorious, peaceful moment of communal pleasure. John D. Berry stepped out of the consuite and into the sunshine in his gleaming white shirt and pants, and I accused him of looking like Gandalf. "You shall not pass!" he thundered, with a big John D. Berry grin on his face.
Earlier the undercapitalized co-editor and I visited the Blue Moon to discuss slipstream fiction and conservative politics, and in the men's room a drunk young man (part of a group that was drinking shots at the bar at that early hour) asked me why part of the wall hadn't been painted over like the rest. I looked and saw that the unpainted square read "42". I said, "Well, I don't know, but that's the punchline to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." He gave me a double take. "I should really read that book! It's a book, right?"
"Amongst other things," I agreed.
"I need to read a book," he said as he stumbled out the door.
I donated the freebie copy of the Jay Lake book in my convention packet to the Blue Moon's itinerant library. Maybe that fellow will find it there some day.
I had many great conversations with many great people at the convention over the course of the day, including a few of my Friends here. It was particularly great to see a number of people that I haven't seen in ages -- not just those from California, but also from Olympia, Bremerton (Paghat the Rat Girl, hurrah!), and Bellingham. It was wonderful to gather with the tribe again and tell jokes about prime numbers. That's also the first Vanguard I've been to in over a year.
As I walked home through Wallingford at 1:30am (R. Twidner thought we were breaking up the party pretty early), I discovered quite a bit of night life standing outside the clubs along 45th smoking. One young guy looked me up and down as I approached, held out his hand, and said, "Guantanamo!" I laughed and shook his hand as I passed by. "Guantanamo?" I heard one of his friends say behind me. "Is that what it looks like now?" I was dressed in my Lenin look, so I'm not sure what the guy meant. Did he think I looked like the Gestapo? Ah, the historical ignorance of young people! Getting their authoritarians all mixed up, harrumph.
Earlier the undercapitalized co-editor and I visited the Blue Moon to discuss slipstream fiction and conservative politics, and in the men's room a drunk young man (part of a group that was drinking shots at the bar at that early hour) asked me why part of the wall hadn't been painted over like the rest. I looked and saw that the unpainted square read "42". I said, "Well, I don't know, but that's the punchline to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." He gave me a double take. "I should really read that book! It's a book, right?"
"Amongst other things," I agreed.
"I need to read a book," he said as he stumbled out the door.
I donated the freebie copy of the Jay Lake book in my convention packet to the Blue Moon's itinerant library. Maybe that fellow will find it there some day.
I had many great conversations with many great people at the convention over the course of the day, including a few of my Friends here. It was particularly great to see a number of people that I haven't seen in ages -- not just those from California, but also from Olympia, Bremerton (Paghat the Rat Girl, hurrah!), and Bellingham. It was wonderful to gather with the tribe again and tell jokes about prime numbers. That's also the first Vanguard I've been to in over a year.
As I walked home through Wallingford at 1:30am (R. Twidner thought we were breaking up the party pretty early), I discovered quite a bit of night life standing outside the clubs along 45th smoking. One young guy looked me up and down as I approached, held out his hand, and said, "Guantanamo!" I laughed and shook his hand as I passed by. "Guantanamo?" I heard one of his friends say behind me. "Is that what it looks like now?" I was dressed in my Lenin look, so I'm not sure what the guy meant. Did he think I looked like the Gestapo? Ah, the historical ignorance of young people! Getting their authoritarians all mixed up, harrumph.
