Of sex and science fiction

I attended a local science fiction convention last weekend. It was interesting to observe the way that the fans seemed to be split into two groups: (1) those who were interested in the readings and panels presented by the scheduled guests, and (2) those who were interested in the insular, self-referential world of "fandom". The latter seemed to be in the majority at this particular convention, and seemed to have little interest in the Guests of Honor other than the "Fan Guest of Honor", who apparently had quite a fan club of women he had slept with.

The Fan Masquerade was entertaining, as such things usually are. Several young and female fans took advantage of the opportunity to wear scandalously scanty outfits in an environment where they were relatively unlikely to get arrested or accosted. So did some male fans, not all of whom were young. My lingering tendencies toward puritanism kept me from inspecting the young lovelies' costumes in very great detail. I was intrigued by the construction details of one guy's costume. He had built a complicated but sturdy set of "hooves" to wear with a classical-era faun outfit. It included not just hooves, but ski-boots mounted to a set of metal fittings, and surrounded by fake fur, that mimicked the distinctive, backward-bending shape of a deer's lower leg. It was mechanically inventive, but clearly difficult to wear. He was visibly relieved to take them off and pass them around for people to examine. One daring soul tried them on and promptly toppled to the floor several times before managing to stagger about the room, wobbling his arms for balance.

I scavenged among the gewgaws and knicknacks of the dealers room and found some things worth rescuing and taking home. Most notably, I was able to fill out the set of Lord Dunsany's tales of Jorkens, and get all but one of the collected William Hope Hodgson volumes that Night Shade Books has released. Someone I didn't know pressed upon me a gift of an audio CD of recorded pulp-era SF & fantasy stories that he swore were public domain. I also rescued some other knicknacks which will probably become gifts to other people at some point. (Beware!)

There is a small collection of convention photos on Flickr. None of them feature me, although I was just out of frame to the left of one of them. Perhaps someone with extrasensory perception will be able to detect my unseen presence.

Unfortunately, being unseen was all too common a feeling. There aren't very many things more fundamentally lonely than wandering around aimlessly among crowds of people who all know each other but don't know you! I did get to meet up briefly with the Lethal Librarian and the Librarian Avenger, though.

Amusing anecdote: One of the room parties on Saturday evening featured something called "Elvin Toast". It's a variation on old-style toasting customs, in which everyone in the room offers a series of toasts to their favorite god, favorite goddess, "dearly departed", hope for the future, and greatest boast. This gave me the perfect excuse to bellow out, "To Hel with you all!". In a friendly way, of course.

I enjoyed the con. It was worth the price of admission. But I don't think I'd ever want to be a professional Fan-with-a-capital-F like some of the folks I met.