Day Five: Sunday 5th May 2013Up at 6pm. I ate the cold sandwich from last night and decided it was time I tried to make a cup of tea from the fixings in the room. I examined the tea-bags provided with suspicion. There was decaf - which I dismissed out of hand - and fully leaded, which at least *looked* and smelled decent enough. With some misgivings, I decided to proceed. There was no kettle only a coffee maker. Clearly you were supposed to use this for your hot water so I filled it with the requisite amount from the tap and placed my cup underneath. The device hissed and spluttered away, spitting hot water at the tea-bag until the cup was full. This was not a method I'd ever seen recommended for making even a semi-decent cup of tea, but the coup de grace was delivered when I realised no milk or cream had been provided, only powdered non-dairy creamer. Having no other alternatives I added this to the tea. The result was possibly the most disgusting cuppa I've ever tasted. After a single sip, I poured it down the toilet.
Up and out by by 8.30am, I nipped outside the hotel to take some exterior photos of it. Back in pre-digital days a roll of film would only take 36 shots and developing and printing was expensive so you tended to be both parsimonius and very selective in what you chose to photograph. Now that those costs no longer apply and a camera can hold 1000 shots you can snap away with total abandon, discarding any shots that are substandard when you come to review them later. The problem is that I have to keep reminding myself this is now the new paradigm when it comes to cameras and I still don't take as many snaps as I could and should.
Returning to the lobby I found Ulrika O'Brien and Jerry Kaufman. Ulrika gave me a flash drive containing a TV show she'd recommended and I copied this to my laptop for later viewing. As I was doing so we were joined by Robert Lichtman and Carol Carr, followed by Bryan Barrett. Then Christina Lake and Doug Bell arrived next with some startling news. "This hotel is a member of OMPA," said Doug. "Huh?" I replied. "What's OMPA?" asked someone. "Britain's first apa, now defunct," I said. "They put on OMPACON, the second Eastercon to be held in Bristol. The first was called BRISCON. Moshe Feder did a spit-take when I told him." "I can see why," chuckled Carol. "Yeah, well, I don't think anyone made the connection with a bris," I said. "I mean I can't see them *intentionally* naming our national convention for that year after a circumcision ceremony." "Never mind that," said Bryan, "what's this about the hotel being in OMPA?" "It's on the door as you come in," said Doug.
I went over and checked the various signs and logo transfers on the glass panel next to the main door and sure enough there it was: OMPA - Oregon Media Production Association. Naturally, I took a photo. They have a website for those of you interested in finding out more. When you put 'OMPA' in your search engine do not be misled by links for the Orinda Moraga Pools Association and Oficina de Marques del Principat d'Andorra. "We could hold OMPACON 2 here!" said Doug, getting carried away. The conversation turned to convention reports and I outlined my conreport writing philosophy for them. "D. West says they should be 'the truth, the whole truth, and a few lies to make it interesting'. My reports are the truth," I explained, "but *enhanced*. I give the truth a little nip & tuck, and maybe a nose job, but I never go as far as breast implants."
The Buffet Brunch was at 11.15am so we all dutifully traipsed upstairs to the restaurant, where we milled around. This was when I realised I'd left my bag - containing my laptop - in the lobby. I rushed downstairs to retrieve it. When I got back everyone was seated and at first there didn't appear to be spare places at any of the tables. Fortunately, I eventually found one next to Graham Charnock at the table occupied by Clan Charnox and others. Graham had set up his tablet to record us as we ate. Amazingly, according to viewing logs, there was actually someone online and watching the feed of us feeding. Somehow, I'd signed up for a reality TV show. Did Graham leave the feed on in their room while he and Pat were sleeping, I wondered? You might think no one would be interested in watching them slumber but in the days of the Big Brother TV show the cameras were on the housemates 24/7 and you could indeed watch them sleep if that was your thing. I don't know who would want to watch Graham sleeping, his sonorous snoring broken by the occasional loud fart, but then it's a funny old world.
As if reading my thoughts Graham turned the feed off, thus depriving our viewer of his entertainment. Good thing, too. He should have been using his computer to surf the web for porn and cat videos like a normal person. Someone pointed out that Mount St.Helens was visible from the restaurant windows and looking magnificent, and so it was. What a backdrop to our brunch an eruption would have made. I told Dan he'd missed a trick, and he promised to try and arrange one the next time a con is held in the Red Lion.
The food was pretty good and afterwards we were treated to the GoH speech. Or rather the GoH performance. Lucy read out a pirate drama she'd composed in old Norse - no, really. Ulrika O'Brien provided a 'translation', while Tami Vining and Jeanne Bowman played the parts of the pirates. Tami really got into this, whacking all around her with gusto, not just Jeanne but also those at nearby tables. It was just as well her sword was made of foam. Next came the awards. Bill Burns' mighty 'efanzines' won in the Best Website category, while my own site came in fourth. Not bad considering the competition.
I'd asked Dan to call me to the podium so that I could thank those who contributed to the fund that brought me over to CORFLU XXX. He eventually remembered to do so and I found myself standing there, looking out over the assembled members of the convention. I began with a joke but was as stilted as I always am when speaking to an audience by myself and fumbled the whole thing, despite having notes in front of me, proving to myself yet again that this is an ability I just do not have. Put me on a panel and I'm fine, but I can't fly solo. If I ever have to do so again I think I'll record it beforehand, then when I go up to the podium I can just open my laptop, turn it towards the audience, and hit 'play'. Still, while I may have fumbled things on the day, writing this trip report gives me a second chance to say what I should have then, so here goes:
"I'm not sure why those of you who contributed to the CORFLU 50 fund chose me to be its beneficiary this year, but I'm glad that you did. This is only my second time on the West Coast. My first was 29 years ago and I was 29 years old, so it's been half my lifetime between visits. That first time was my TAFF trip, and I visited LA and San Francisco. I'd always intended to include Seattle and the Pacific Northwest as part of that trip but time and circumstances and my available vacation time conspired against me. So in many ways this feels like a coda to my TAFF trip, the bit I never got to take first time around especially since once again I find myself in the US thanks to the generosity of others. To all of those who contributed to the fund I say a heartfelt 'thank you'. I've had a great time at the convention and I only hope you've enjoyed having me here half as much as I've enjoyed being here. Thank you one and all." This is what I should have said on the day. Please edit your memories of the event accordingly.
The Dead Dog Party began in the con suite shortly after the brunch concluded and it continued into the early hours of the morning with only a break for dinner. It was here, to much amusement, that Spike complained she'd lost her beaver. "Was it furry?" asked Tami Vining, wagging a crooked finger, an action the other women listening to Spike all immediately copied. "Yes," said Ulrika. "Ah then that explains it," I said, "she lost it to a Brazilian." No one laughs. It's not until we're in the corridor a little later that Ulrika finally let out a chuckle. "You're just too damn subtle," she said. I didn't think it was that subtle, but whatever.
It seems like only minutes ago since we ate but by 6.30pm a sizeable contingent of those present are ready to head out for food. John & Eve Harvey say they don't fancy going out into the sweltering heat and will eat in the restaurant instead. This sounded good to me, so soon afterward the Harveys, Nigel Rowe, and I headed upstairs. I ordered a turkey sandwich but barely touched it. I really was not very hungry. Oh well, that was tomorrow's breakfast sorted. Again. Nigel decided to take a photo of me with John and Eve to send to Avedon to let her know I was still alive, our plans to stay in touch having all come to naught. "Caption it 'Rob and two French people," I suggested. Steve & Elaine Stiles joined us and ordered food. Steve got very agitated by the waitress not seeming to know what white bread was and the failure of his increasingly detailed descriptions of same to get through to her. She assured him that whatever it was he was describing was something the hotel didn't carry. Shortly afterwards my sandwich was delivered - on white bread. Nigel decided this was the perfect time to take a photo of me with Steve and Elaine to accompany the earlier one. "Caption it 'Rob with elderly Americans'," I told him. "Hey!" protested Elaine. "OK, caption it 'Rob with honored citizens'." Elaine was suitably mollified. Clearly, they hadn't been offered the discount when eating out in Portland. Rich Coad then joined us, as did Robert Lichtman & Carol Carr. They started reminiscing about Dick & Pat Lupoff and how they went from being clean-cut Republicans to dope-smoking bohemians. "I remember being asleep on the floor at one of their parties," said Steve, "and their dog walked over me and put one of his paws right in my mouth. There's nothing quite like being woken with a dog's foot in the back of your throat." For some reason this image totally cracked me up. I laughed when Steve told the story, I laughed when I told it to others, and I laughed typing it out just now. Someone mentioned the YouTube video of me I had sent people a link to. "On seeing it Ted White commented on how white my hair had gone except for the dark blob at the rear." Carol Carr hadn't seen this so I dutifully turned my head so she could. "It's a real shame it doesn't form an image of a guy with a beard," I said, "because if it did people would proclaim it to be an image of Jesus and would come from miles around to see it. I'd then be able to say 'no, it's just a random brearded guy. For all we know it could be an image of Willie Nelson if it's anyone. You're just riddled with superstition'. And the reply would come: 'is that any way to speak to your mother?'" Returning to the con suite, we didn't have to wait long before almost everyone who had gone out for dinner also returned. I chatted to Ted and Dan about various writers and publishing. Around us people were already leaving, departing the convention. I leapt up to give Spike a goodbye hug, then Jerry and Suzle, and several others too until it was Ulrika's turn. She was travelling back to Seattle with Randy Byers and Carl Juarez and I helped carry stuff down to their car. I'd be seeing her there tomorrow, but we hugged anyway.
Back in the con suite Nigel had an app on his phone that let him take b&w photos and deliver them as a four-strip. Since the photobooth planned for the banquet brunch was a bust - it wouldn't fit in the elevator - he insisted on taking photos of all of us. Lots of good conversation followed, none of which I recall of course. I do remember it was Jay Kinney I was talking with when I took a toilet break, saying I'd be right back, which I wasn't. Sorry Jay, it's nothing personal. In my room I used the toilet, realised just how tired I was, and crashed out. It was 11.15pm when I climbed into bed. Then I started to itch. A lot. Unable to sleep, I got up and discovered I was covered in hives. So I took an anti-histamine, got dressed, and headed back out. Better to be among others than in my room trying hard not to scratch. I had no idea what my body was reacting to this time but at least it was only hives and not also lips swelling up fit to burst and my eyes swelling shut - 'the full elephant man', as I tend to think of it. The crowd in the con suite had thinned out considerably and was down to a dozen or so people. I got talking to John D Berry, Hope Liebowitz, and Geri Sullivan. We discussed volcanos, earthquakes, hurricanes, and their experiences of same. "It's odd listening to how casually you talk about this stuff, particularly as it's something I've never experienced and never will and...wait!" I said, realisation dawning, "I'm here now. I will be until wheels-up on Tuesday. There are still two days in which things could go pear-shaped on me." It was a sobering thought. Not that I needed sobering - just the opposite, in fact. A few beers might have helped take the edge off the hive itching.
By this point I was the last Brit in the room, and in fairly quick order the surviving Americans also departed. I shook hands with Ted, got a hug from Frank Lunney, and soon found myself alone with Dan and Lynn. While Lynn bustled around putting bottles and cans into plastic sacks, Dan quizzed me on the Sixth fandom fans I'd known. "You were lucky enough to know them as friends," he said, "so what were Arthur Thomson and Chuck Harris really like?" "They were like a comedy double act," I told him. "Funny individually, but funnier together. Great guys, both of them. I still miss them enormously."
"Yeah, and for a self-taught artist ATom had an amazing imagination. I wonder who inspired him? Did you ever talk to him about such things?" "No, alas." "I know that he was always very self effacing and humble in the letters I exchanged with him and disinclined to take my praise too seriously. Fandom was sure lucky to have him for as long as we did." We really were. We chatted some more, but eventually, I told Dan & Lynn I needed to leave so that they could get to bed. I got hugs from both then headed for my room. It was the first time I'd ever before been last man standing at a room party. I felt oddly proud of myself, and kinda humble.
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