BizarroCon 2016: Day Four

Sunday

As it is pretty much for everybody, BizarroCon was ending too soon, only this end had a very specific meaning for me that nobody else was likely to share. 

Once again, I was up and ready a few hours before anything scheduled. So I took myself outside and wandered and paced for a bit in the parking lots out back. I ended up revisiting and circling the property's golf course. This time it wasn't raining and it wasn't closed off. I contemplated on how lucky I was just to be there, yet again.

When I finally came back to civilization, so to speak, I found Lee Widener and Garrett Cook in the hallways. I proclaimed it a moment of déjà vu.

This time Cook and Widener spoke of a woman who goes to The Bins. I inquired what that was. Widener explained that The Bins is a place where they have all these donations in bins available for the public to sort through before the stuff goes to various stores. Great values can be found and resold on Ebay and other online merchants.

I uttered that I may wish to check that out.

Widener said that it's a cutthroat affair. I remarked upon the Black Friday similarity. He added: "And it happens every week!"

Other people and topics came and went. Lee Widener said that he was going to check out, something I figured I should also do so I wouldn't have to worry about it later. So I did, and suppose he did. In the process, Widener noticed someone's epic book acquisition, a true enthusiast of the community if there ever was won.

At breakfast I found myself sitting across from Lee Widener. Laura Lee Bahr came in and asked what my song would be, not sure how it got to this. I relented after some hesitation and did some runs like a jazz solo reminiscent of what I used to do on my clarinet, which led to some words about my clarinet days, which led to me mentioning double tonguing and circular breathing (skills I didn't achieve), and finally mentioning smearing, like in the beginning of Rhapsody in Blue (a skill I did achieve).

Then the topic switched to marimbas because I mentioned having witnessed The Andé Marimba Band somewhere along the Embarcadero (although I didn't remember the name at the time). Widener expressed some enthusiasm with this topic.

Other things of interest were heard and chewed upon, and then there was the David Barbee hug line, which I abstained from as he wasn't the one I wanted to hug. Don't get me wrong, he is a warm and compassionate man who gave a great vocal performance, I just had no appetite for lesser hugs. 

I then took care of some acquisitions at the Wine Cellar, which I planned to use for some home cooking. 

There was still more time to idle away and so I decided to encircle the fountain in front of Edgefield like a mental patient, which is sort of appropriate for Edgefield. I circled it forward, backward, side-to side, changing levels, staying on one level, faster and slower. Among the witnesses to my idiosyncratic moment, brought on by various factors, were Danger Slater and Lisa LeStrange (they were going back and forth to the parking lot with several loads). Danger inquired about my behaviors, and it was clear that it was just that time of day. I eventually offered help to Danger but it was too late.

I figured with some more time to spare that I had been an overt weirdo for too long. I jumped off then managed to drift the rest of the time before the panels away.    

All the panels were pretty solid affairs, the most notable one being the last one: The Art of the Con hosted by Ross Lockhart. Social awkwardness was one of the leading topics addressed by the panel. I found this topic to be the most important one, so much so that I wanted to gauge how the best impressions were made on different people. I came up with a question for the line, which was for them to relate who had the greatest impact on them in the history of all their conventions; I gave them an example from my own such experience as to eliminate any ambiguity or confusion. Regrettably, when asking the question I had a some vocal slip-ups, just saying. However, Brian Keene told me that he was impressed by my anecdote, and probably the question itself.

And I almost didn't get to ask it as time wound down and still Ross wasn't opening it up. Finally, after Garrett Cook sat down a few seats over from me he somehow catalyzed Ross into question procurement. I sat right next to Cook, shot my hand up, and firmly announced that I had a question ( as I felt this was a question that needed to be asked).  If my voice wasn't enough, another voice from the panel seconded, which I appreciated.   

My question brought out strong, positive emotion, moving observations and invaluable advice. My BizarroCon ended with a fine emotional climax. I also said a few select goodbyes, one of them which was particularly important to do, and equally sad.  


Anyhow, I done requested an Uber to take me down way to the airport, and right quick. There was difficulty for the Uber driver resulting in some initial challenges finding the car. Even though I was at the main loop in front, he found himself at the Ad House. As I hurried to locate the car, Nathan Carson gave me a warm acknowledgment.  

My Uber driver, currently residing in Vancouver, Washington, was a nice middle-aged man who discussed the income taxes of Oregon vs. Washington with me, hysterical passengers, non-social passengers, passengers with dogs, and one touching account of a blind passenger. 

At the airport I got through the baggage area and security with relative ease, and I made it at the perfect time to board. Incidentally, my neighbor arrived at the same time I did. How's that for happenstance?

There were streaks of rain on the windows, which fit my mood perfectly given the symbolism of rain and my love of it. Then I learned it was raining back home. Oh, the serendipity and symbolism were almost too much. I went home with newfound purpose, but not of writing, more on the order of life itself.  

Upon reaching John Wayne Airport, I overheard a young man and a woman talking about the importance of keeping a journal, so you don't forget, and I nodded in agreement as I had already been working on my own recollections from my last night and morning in New York City (and it is obviously something I do regularly). 

***

This past Wednesday morning, first thing, a significantly older co-worker asked me how it was going, and I told him I was a bit blue. Then I told him that it was one of those "I left my heart at BizarroCon sorts of things." And he gave me that look of reassurance that only a man of his years could give, and said that I was young and had plenty of time to figure these things out. 




 



 

BizarroCon 2016: Day Three

Saturday

I woke up a little before 5am. I was stressed out from my emotions the night before. It was time to work out. I had brought resistance bands so that I could get some exercise in place of the missed gym sessions, it was really good that I had them.  I did an upper body session with a little core thrown in. Major exercises performed included: pull-downs, rowing, tricep extensions, bicep curls, chest crossovers, and bodyweight exercises such as headstands and wall handstands. Core exercises included cannonballs and trunk twists.

At one point I took off my sweaty shirt because I didn't want it falling over my face when I did my headstands, but I also wanted to admire myself and give any passerby outside a chance to engage in some voyeurism.

After showering and getting coffee, I joined Lee Widener and Garrett Cook in the hallway. John Wayne Communale was also there being complimented by Garrett for his performance at the party the night before. Specifically, Garrett mentioned the use of surf guitar, which I misheard as "surge guitar" for a bit, and thought to myself, man, these people are really cutting edge. Then I asked, based on some doubt in my hearing, if Garrett said "surf guitar"? He confirmed this.  However, some jokes were made about "surge guitar."  

Garrett was also saying some stuff about seizing the means of production, and so being a contrarian called their attention to the means of consumption. Cook was like that's just our faces, but Lee Widener got a kick out of my nonsense.  

Then Constance made a welcome appearance, looking quite nice. She mentioned how her roommate had eaten skittles for dinner and snored, plus she was also sick; she was not pleased, but she was convinced she needed to stick breakfast out. 

I volunteered the opposite, the fact that I pumped bands for two hours, and she was like how do you do it? I could have said I went to bed early due to having the blues over her departure the night before, and the fact that I had no roommate to distract me, but I said, "You saw how much food I had."  Lee Widener followed up on this, so Constance bore witness to my carbohydrate-craze the night before. She also asked if I finished my tots? I reported that I had not, and she somewhat playfully said she was disappointed in me since I had been playing up my appetites the night before. 

It became pretty quiet for a while, with sparse comments, so I commented that the moment was like a low-key Mumblecore movie.  Constance left soon after, perhaps she wasn't ready for the meta observations.  

I was hoping that I may be able to pick things up with Constance over breakfast, but she had already stated her challenges that morning. She also kept saying that it was hard being a human and similar sentiments. Despite this, I managed to sit close to her; she sat across from Ross Lockhart and sat next to Ross. I was admiring Constance's raw look, complete with eyeglasses. 

We all ate in silence, but I decided to ask Ross about using a DSLR at the Wonderland Awards the prior year, and he said that he never did, he suggested that I was confusing him with Gabino, but I already knew about Gabino and his camera. Anyhow, it was all very uncomfortable.  

Constance was definitely swimming against a current of clumsiness and self-consciousness, whereas, I was thinking about how huggable and kissable she looked. It was nice but an underwhelming scene in the end. 

There was nothing to do on the schedule yet, Constance was heading to bed for a nap, so I decided to get an Uber to take me to the nearest Salvation Army so that I could get a used bag to check my liquid souvenirs from Edgefield.  

The Uber driver was a friendly woman. We talked of Portland, BizarroCon, Uber and other driving services. I got a case for less than ten dollars.

I arrived with time to spare and so I decided to sit in a rocking chair faving the Ad House and rock like a good southern gentleman. Garrett Cook showed up and lingered in my area for a long enough time that I figured I’d better converse with him. I double checked that he was a fan of surf guitar. He said yes. Then I told him about a radio program on WAIF in Cincinnati, The Rockin’ and Surfin’ Show. He expressed interest and said he’d check it out. Wait, from rocking chair to Rockin’ and Surfin’ show, how perfect was that? 

I made it to all the panels. Constance was at the horror panel, one of the only things I remember explicitly about it, and that she was absent from the rest. However, I did remember more from the Music for Bizarros panel. Nathan Carson hosted this panel and there was a focus on rock-oriented bands, and to a lesser extend jazz-oriented artists. I was thinking to myself about how they were not mentioning the acadmic modernists as well as the pre-war novelty music. At the end, when it was opened to questions, Lee admonished them for not mentioning the academic era or the pre-war music, which I expressed my appreciation to him for after the panel.

I also listened to the John Shirley reading, which was after the last panel. Nobody seemed to really be into the story, but I could have misread the audience, but I was certainly struggling to get into it. I noticed a distinctive individual who I didn't recognize seated behind me. Although androgynous in appearance, a definitely male voice came out at a certain point. I thought is this Cade Michael Quinn? I was too afraid to ask, not wanting to risk the embarrassment. I learned after the fact upon contacting Quinn that it was indeed him.       

The Wonderland Awards was another perceived opportunity to interact with Constance more. When I first saw her I saw that she dressed up especially for the night, as some do, and I found her to be quite beautiful. However, she wasn't bringing me into her fold and I had bad vibes from the idea of trying to join her table. I also didn't want to have another frustratingly non-communicative experience like at breakfast. I figured that it would be better to play it cool and sit somewhere I was less invested in, so I sat at a table with Lee Widener. Eventually Andrew Goldfarb joined us.

There were also dolls I found it hard to appreciate.

The Wonderland Awards went to nice choices, but I wasn't invested in any one of them. Then there was the Ultimate Bizarro Showdown. I don't think that it gets better every year like many claim, I thought the one from my first year was the overall best. However, I would say that Gabino's performance of a Werner Herzog-inspired existentialist/nihilist type responding to a woman's attempts to sexually arouse him was the best ever. It was simply magical. He needed to win!

Afterwards I made myself to the Ad House for the party. I encountered one of the writers who I'd met earlier. Things were going pretty slowly, so we decided to get some drinks and give the party a chance to begin. I also said that I didn't feel lubed up enough for the party. He covered both our drinks, mine was the Terminator Stout shake, which he referred to as high-maintenance. Then we headed to the house while speaking about the differences between San Jose and Berkeley. It didn't take us long to part ways. 

Constance and William were sticking together for a good portion of the night again. They left and then returned. At one point, I opened the door for them and Perkins and Constance alternatively engaged me. Constance spoke more about her sickness and gave us Emergen-C packets just in case. 

Constance marveled at all the stuff that was going on at one point. I, being a contrarian and also feeling underwhelmed, called attention to all that was not going on. She asked me what should be going on (as a reference to my feelings and wishes that the rest of BizarroCon become a long bonding period with Constance, which is highly selfish and unrealistic fantasy). Instead, I randomly stated that Goro could walk in. At first she didn't know the reference, but I reminded her that he was a Mortal Kombat character, and eventually she sort of got it. She mentioned that she was a button-masher. I said that my brothers are gamers, so they probably knew the term. By deflecting my real meaning, I sort of got more of what I wanted anyways. 

Eventually, Constance went elsewhere and Chrissy Horchhheimer joined William and I. Chrissy spoke of the Portland riots causing her to miss multiple buses from multiple bus lines (I couldn't help but think to myself: bus people!), among other frustrations. She also spoke of healthcare and Trump and other serious stuff. Then the subject of hula-hooping came up. Chrissy said she was like a hula-hoop master and that she'd been given an industrial hula-hoop at one point and that she rocked it.  

Then I mentioned the idea of hula-hooping while riding a mechanical bull. They said it would take a strong core. I said it would also take strong legs and started pantomiming the act for them, which resulted in some laughs. I suggested maybe I found my thing for the next Ultimate Bizarro Showdown.

William gave me a bit of an arm around the shoulder, which I was obviously underwhelmed by. He was looking for more enthusiasm on my part, so I opened my arms for a hug, clasped my arms around him and lifted him up. This resulted in some increased blood circulation, which satisfied both our need for enthusiasm from me.

Constance was still around, but there was to be no further moments between us that night. I found G. Arthur Brown outside having a conversation with Carlton Mellick III about Russian and Chinese films and the strict government regulations on their respective film industries.  

At one point, G. Arthur Brown was trying to remember a certain Chinese film. He saw Erix Hendrixon approach and asked him, and Eric didn't know.  He then turned to me and asked me if I knew, I said, "If I knew, I would have told you minutes ago." I then suggested that it be looked up online, if it wasn't cheating. Brown said he didn't have a smartphone. So I took my phone out and looked it up. It was The Butcher, The Chef, and The Swordsman, I suddenly felt all my eavesdropping pay off. G. Arthur Brown then shifted the conversation toward me and eighties movies, Carlton soon took off.  We spoke of Warlock, Friday the 13th, and Phantasm among others. 

We soon parted ways and I headed for bed.

BizarroCon 2016: Day Two

Friday

This will be far less detailed, particularly for the earlier parts of the day, than my last post on BizarroCon.

I woke up earlier than necessary as usual. I needed some face moisturizer, so I bought some at the gift shop, but it turned out not as sensitive as hoped. I also wandered a bit before my first workshop.

The Art of Writing Realistic Dialogue with Molly Tanzer.  Incidentally, Thunderbolt Girly Face was in this one. Why does a super powered queen of racing hearts and love-addled minds fill the need to enroll in workshops? Your guess is as good as mine?
Anyhow, I had a question about the challenge of writing historical and regional dialogue. Tanzer eased my mind when she asserted that writing a modernized, natural sounding dialogue will serve the story better than slavish dedication.  

Tanzer had us partner up and do dialogue exercises that involved impromptu dialogue based on prompts and memory. When it was my turn to generate dialogue, I imbued mine with amnesia, partially because I felt it was unique, but partially because I didn't want to have try to keep an expanding amount of dialogue straight in my mind.  

It was a breakfast workshop, which meant we were all on the hook for food ordered. Molly Tanzer was appalled when the money came up about $57 short of the bill. What came next was even more bizarre. Thunderbolt Girly Face took a look at the bill and determined that it was the gratuity, which most of us weren't accounting for.  She took care of business by getting people to whip out the necessary money to settle up and then some, it was a bit of a rock star moment, in a "common decency"/everywoman sort of way. Where does one such as the awesome and fierce Thunderbolt Girly Face get off by stooping to the concerns of ordinary mortals?

The next workshop was Writing Visually with Brian Keene. This one was all about writing that creates vivid pictures in the readers' minds, which so often is achieved, ironically, by being sure to write about non-visual senses. By the end of the workshop I distilled his lesson down to "less words, more detail and purpose." He gave us an exercise in which the others were underwhelmed with my work. By the end of the workshop, we got a chance to rework our scenes given what we may have learned. The second time around my scene was met with much enthusiasm, including that of Keene himself.

After some free time just wandering and drifting, I headed to the readings. Specifically, I wanted to hear my friend, Charles Austin Muir, who, unfortunately, started early, making my arrival during a point in which he had already started.  However, it was the readings by Jeff Burk and Brendan Vidito that stood out.  

After the readings, I had a late lunch. Specifically, I got one of the pizzas. Then I drifted for a longer time until the Eraserhead Press party was set to begin. 

This party is always one of the highlights because Carlton Mellick III always gives a performance worthy of the Ultimate Bizarro Showdown and this one was no exception.  However, David Barbee also gave a riotous performance based on his book Bacon Fried Bastard. They were all good.  

The other highlight of the night was more personal, which involved a fair amount of attention from both WP and Thunderbolt Girly Face. They were pretty tight throughout the weekend. They invited me to join them at The Power Station. Or rather I was compelled to. Before I could go with them I was under the dreadful compulsion to stay dutifully for the rest of the acts. I regretted not going with them from the beginning and getting a fuller experience of what turned out to be the most distinct part of the whole weekend for me. Of course, it wasn’t really my regret but that of the black magic.

When I did arrive at The Power Station, I informed the host that I wanted a table for one.  However, after scanning the place, I saw Thunderbolt Girly Face and WP smiling at me and welcoming me over. Duh, you were invited bozo, I thought to myself. I informed the host that I was joining them instead. 

I awed them with my order of both the large truffle fries and cajun tots. Carbohydrate-criticism was in the air, but of course I'm the guy with the body, I'm the guy who puts in all the hours in the gym and in the pool, so I didn't give a shit. Thunderbolt Girl Face did not have the power to undo years of working out! 

I told them about the diet my dad was on, the ketogenic diet, which is high fat, moderate protein, very limited and strictly controlled carbs. WP told me he was also on that diet, which gave me a kick.

After the carbo-shock had passed, what followed was a three-way conversation, much of it between me and Thunderbolt Girly Face touching upon TV shows, new and old, such as Flipper and Black Mirror. She had a neat family story about Flipper but I will leave that for her to tell. Leave it to Thunderbolt Girly Face to work in those endearing childhood references. We also spoke lightly of politics and of fears of heights, including that of flying. 

Thunderbolt Girly Face is such a great listener. After all, a great sorceress must listen carefully to best work her magic. The best example of this is when the subject of shoplifting came up and so I decided to get anecdotal with this one. I told her that I had stolen toilet paper and paper towels from campus bathrooms while in college to save money, and there wasn't an ounce of judgment in her face or voice. I know, you’re all screaming at me not to fall for this, but I did. 

NOW BEGINS THE SOAP OPERA, READER BEWARE.  Translation: Major Bro Code Violation.

I wanted this to go on for hours, but it ended all too soon when WP and Thunderbolt Girly Face had to take off for the airport to pick up Laura Lee Bahr who was Thunderbolt Girly Face's roommate for the weekend. Does Laura know the real nature of her roommate? Who can say?   

It was ridiculous how sad I was to see them go, particularly Thunderbolt Girly Face. I was all fucked up that night. I finished my truffle fries and boxed the tots, but never finished them. 

And so followed another avalanche of frenzied feelings made possible by the one and only Thunderbolt Girly Face. I went back to my room in a state of incredulity with how utterly stupid I was being, how fast I'd fallen over the cliff into another whirlwind crush on someone. Yawn. I didn't go to BizarroCon to develop any emotional attachments. Who cares, it happened, get over it. I had remained free of such feelings for over a year. Oh, really? I posted on Facebook that I had a crush in which I was both stupid and silly to have. No shit. I liken the experience to a dog at the pound getting attached to a human only for that human to leave them behind except that nobody was going to kill me and that Thunderbolt Girly Face would touch base with me throughout the weekend. Wait, is that really what you want, bro?  But the mind persisted in its trance. Okay, perhaps a bit hyperbolic but the fact I can even go to this place based on a memory from a week ago suggests some deep shit.

Anyhow, I went to bed determined to get my mind at least halfway back on track.

Impressions below are from today, Thanksgiving, 2016.

Now, I don't want to paint a negative experience or to leave the reader with a negative view on the situation. I am grateful for that night at the Power Station. It was tremendous fun until it simply had to end. As it turns out, maybe things aren’t so bad. Maybe people can change, perhaps even super powered sorceresses like Thunderbolt Girl Face. She has been available since then in a friendly capacity. That does count, doesn’t it? However, fifty years from now, I want the truth of those moments, as best remembered, to be on record for edification and vicarious experience. And, of course, we all need to remember Thunderbolt Girly Face.

Hopefully, I will be laughing my ass off about this. Somebody already is, bro. 

BizarroCon 2016: Day One

THURSDAY

I was up all night packing for my departure. As always, I was full of nervous energy. I managed to watch a few of my shows (can’t remember which) and finally went to bed at 2am, allowing just two hours until wake-up time at 4am.

Dad was my ride to the airport but I had to wait an hour at our workplace, which allowed me to nap/rest for about an hour as the car sat in the quiet, dark parking lot. This is not unusual, as I always drive with him to work.  He goes in an hour-and-twenty minutes earlier, allowing me to nap. However, at the end of this rest I was embarking on my third BizarroCon.

My dad surprised me with twenty dollars of spending money before we took off. The ride was surprisingly short.

I was impressed with the whole experience of John Wayne Airport, which is as beautiful as that of Portland, and arguably Minneapolis. It really exemplifies the Southern California image. The only problem is no rail access.

Getting through security was a breeze. I had over two hours before my flight, which was by choice. I first browsed the shops looking for windbreakers. None of them were what I wanted, nor were they reasonably priced.

I then browsed the restaurants. I ultimately decided to go with Ruby’s. I had the jumbo cinnamon roll, beignets (which I dipped in coffee), their famous “spuds” (potatoes), and a bagel. I was sufficiently sated at the end of this sitting.

After stuffing myself, I decided to do some last minute route research for my photography visit to Portland’s Washington Park.

I then purchased bottled water. I made way to my boarding gate soon after.

Interestingly, I was seated next to a cute young blonde woman and her two cute children. She apologized to me for being in the children isle, but I reassured her that it shouldn’t be a problem with a subtle smirk.

Take-off had us flying over the ocean in a short amount of time, which reminded me of LAX take-offs.

I learned many things about the blonde woman and her family. I overheard that they were going to visit her mom’s farm, which apparently was in a snowy area. They had to transfer to another flight in Portland and then drive from that airport. This was all fascinating, I also overheard that she had a husband who wasn’t there for whatever reason.

The little girl’s leg often pushed into mine as she was stretching out, which bothered the mother more than me. I kind of liked it.

Additionally, the little boy made some strong eye contact with me with his big blue eyes, reminiscent of my own as a toddler.  At one point the mother was telling her daughter not to pick her nose, and told her she had to wait for tissue that they didn't have.  I had tissues and offered them up, which earned me a nice thanks and some inner satisfaction. This woman and her children were my favorite airplane neighbors to date.

Portland airport was nice and this time I was less rushed since I had caught my scheduled flight. Like Orange County, I browsed some stores, including Columbia, Nike, and others for windbreakers. All the windbreakers were rather unattractive and ranged from 80 to 120 dollars. No thanks.

I made my way to the red line train en route to downtown. My transfer point for a bus was Providence Park, and I had about 45 minutes until the next bus. At first irritated, I decided to look up local thrift shops that I may be able to walk to. Sure enough, there was a Goodwill store up Burnside, only about a 15-minute walk away.

I ended up finding a nice purple Columbia jacket for only 10 dollars!  Fuck you, Portland International.

After the bus came, my first stop was the Japanese Garden, which was still impacted by construction. Unfortunately, there was no Fall color of significance, but I managed to find some nice shots anyhow.

What stood out, though, was the show unfolding in the nearby tennis courts while I waited for the bus leaving the garden. A lewd and lascivious photo shoot was occurring in which a heavier woman was photographing a slender, jet black=haired woman with notably toned legs. This scene was turning many heads.

My next stop was Hoyt Arboretum. This was much bigger than the Japanese Garden, and with free admission. Sunlight was fading, so I had to focus on one area to hike to. I decided upon the redwoods, which included an impressive viewing deck. When I reached the redwoods, I was enveloped in a pine-scented paradise both tranquil and potentially horrifying (like in the tv show Grimm, which I understand is largely filmed in nearby Forest Park, and perhaps in Washington Park too), just the kind of vibe I was there for.

I hiked back and waited for the bus in the dark. It took a whole hour for the damn thing to arrive, but at least it did. There was a mixed race woman and her daughter in the bus, nobody else. As it turned out, we were both headed to the MAX station. Apparently, the woman didn’t know the area, so the bus driver told her to follow me. With that responsibility thrust upon me, I told him I didn’t know the area either. He pointed me in the right direction, which eliminated my doubts. The woman and her daughter followed me and we made it down to the lower level platform and waited for the train.

While waiting for about 8 minutes, the daughter said many things to me that I couldn’t decipher. Nonetheless, she was incredibly cute and sweet.

When the train came it was quite packed, both the woman and her daughter and I stood for the first few stops in the car’s center. I did my rapid/nervous clarinet fingers to alleviate some boredom, which the girl saw and decided to stop by physically seizing my hand and shutting it. Ah, such consideration.

Eventually, I made it to the transfer point for the Troutdale bus line at NE 82^nd street and I headed up to the stop, where I proceeded to walk in circles and twirl around a light pole, like I was in Singin’ in the Rain, to alleviate more boredom.

The bus ride to Edgefield was quite agreeable. At one point, a destitute looking man entered the bus with empty bottles, which he clung to his chest. When he sat down, he spent the whole time hunched over and gazing at a tiny screen on a flip-phone. This was one of the weirdest things I ever saw, and I was grateful for it.

When I checked in at the hotel, I had a peace of mind unlike my previous two visits. Finances were good and I was free to simply enjoy myself. Additionally, I had a private room to look forward to for two nights.

I got situated in my room before heading to the first night’s party. On the way, I loaded up with two coffees. At the party, a few people noted that I was double-fisted with some intrigue. Hey, I learned something, I encountered the term “double-fisted” for the first time. Good times. 

The Bizarro Raffle happened for the first time on Thursday night this year, and there weren't many prizes.

I found MP Johnson and shared my bus observation of the strange man with the cell phone, and solicited his feelings and opinions on it, if any. He asked, “What was on that screen?!” I said, “Just some text.” He replied, “Maybe that was the date of his death!”  I think we both realized he gave a cop-out response and that he wasn’t feeling the story like I hoped and imagined that he would.

That’s all I can remember before heading back to my room for the night. 

MAJOR CORRECTION

Wow, the perils of not writing things down when the memories are fresh. I was confusing the timelines of Thursday and Friday.

I visited the gift shop and bought a growler and some face wash and a stereo viewer for my iPhone.

I ate at the Black Rabbit Restaurant for the first time, which was on my Edgefield checklist. I had the restaurant to myself and I ordered the Bigeye Tuna. I also tried the Hard Cider.


The Ad House parties are sometimes hard to remember in their proper order. I'm still struggling to determine whether the following occurred on Thursday or Friday, but I'm going with Thursday. I had my first reunion of the year with William Perkins, professed fan of my blog from last year.  

Then he introduced me to Constance.

I was instantly hit by Constance's radiance and charm. Where had she been? Where had I? What a nice name, the kind of name I could shout across a room or a park, if I needed to, without hesitation.  There's both too much and not enough that I can say about her. Sentiments came flooding faster than I could process them.

Constance is the sort of girl I want to see more than once a year, much more.