BotCon '97 - Dan

This is a report of my last 52 hours. When I say "slightly embellished," I mean only slightly. Otherwise everything here is true.

I'm also not going to report too much here on what the specific events were (others are probably doing that as I type) or get into long dissertations about the convention (I'll get to that over the next few days, I hope.) This tends to be a more personal journal. Does anyone care? Beats me. Even though this isn't a "fanfic," I'd still like feedback on my writing style since I put it in story format. Just don't pick on my main character.

But before I go on, let me say that I have never attended a convention before, and I had an absolute effing blast. Thanks Glen and Jon and Karl.

Thursday night, 11pm

I make a post saying that I'll try to get some of my writings done in the next day, sort of a treat (or not) for the non-BotCon attendees. Over the next hour, as I look at how many edit marks I have and how much sleep I need to function at work the next day, I realize that there is no chance.

Friday, after work

I quickly send off an important e-mail I have, and rush off to the airport. I wonder if I'll get there in time, so, of course, the flight is delayed. The airport is also trying to re-assure us of their amazing ability to work through difficulties by only turning on the lights for a few seconds every several minutes. I curl up next to a window and use the setting sun to read up on Unix Security. I should have stuck with Newsweek; I will regret bringing such a thick volume before the weekend is up.

Friday evening, in the air

The employee at the ticket counter told me that this would be a small commuter plane. My seat is 2A, but the flight attendant asks me to, for some reason I cannot hear, take any seat behind row 3. As I get ready to sit in 3A, he repeats his request sternly. "Sorry," I mutter, and sheepishly sit down in 4A.

I have the whole row to myself, and its in front of the emergency exit, so I have more leg-room than I've ever had in a plane. After reading the instructions to operate the door in case of emergency, I consider asking if spilling my in-flight drink in my lap would count as an emergency.

I don't. All the way there, the plane is vibrating at 8.5 Hertz, alternately threatening to explode either my head or my body. But, hey, that's what you get for $183.

All the way there, I still don't believe that I really am doing this.

Friday night

As I walk through the airport, I look at everyone and ask myself "Are they here for the convention?" This continues through the hotel lobby and in the hallway to my room.

The shuttle driver asks why I am in town. I think for a moment, and then lie. "To see friends." I still fear the persecution, if you can call it that, that normally comes when I tell people I enjoy Transformers.

I decide I need a shave but left my shaving cream at home. I do a simple soap-job on my face and shave with that. All seems okay until I realize that I'm bleeding like a mother. All during BotCon it will look like some lamprey had attached itself behind my left ear.

I flip through the channels on the television before I go to bed. Oh my. Skinemax.

Saturday, 5 am

Why am I up so early? I go back to sleep.

Saturday, 6 am

Why am I up so early? I almost turn over to go back to sleep, but realize that me in a just-awoken state is a very confused beast. I exploit my current cogency and get out of bed.

The blow-dryer in the bathroom doesn't work. I consider misapplying my electrical engineering classes by opening the sucker up, but before I get too involved I realize I need to plug the thing in.

I wander around Rochester a bit, looking for a place to eat breakfast. While wandering the streets, I see someone wearing a mecha t-shirt and wonder if he's heading for the convention. I don't find a place to eat, and head for the convention center.

I still don't believe I am doing this.

Saturday, 7:45 am

The dawn.

The dawn of my seeing other collected TF fans. Personally, I only know of one other person who enjoys them as much as I do, but now I see many people gathered together. Someone asks me if this the gathering for BotCon. The bit of hesitation is less than it was with the driver. "I hope so," I respond.

I see several faces that look familiar. I incorrectly pick out one as KKC. As I look around, some of my worries are assuaged; I was a bit afraid that TF-fans would be, well, a bunch of freaks. Most people I saw were dressed relatively normal; sure, some had made Transformers-related shirts, but no one was dressed as Soundwave. The person with the mecha shirt, it turns out, -is- here. I guessed one right.

Saturday, circa 8:15 am

Peter Cullen

And boy Karl is tall.

Saturday, 9:45 am

I wait in the registration line for over an hour, but it was worth it to hear the opening ceremonies.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

That's what I realize as I see Transformers everywhere I look. Realize that this is my first BotCon, and haven't bought a Transformer in... gee, ever? To see a bunch of Scorponok's standing near the door is just so, well, cool. I think "cool" is an over-used adjective, and I will be doing a lot of over-using this weekend.

It finally hits me: yes, I am doing this.

Saturday, 10 am

I start to worry as the fans questions to Peter Cullen taper off early. As we move into the autograph session, I spot Wonko the Sane. This will be the first of several, ah, celebrity sightings over the weekend. I think of introducing myself but decide against it.

Saturday, 2 pm

I am absolutely stunned as some kid I wouldn't put over eight years old proceeds to clean up in the quiz show. He answers questions that I had no clue about. The word is mortifrying.

"Who is Hothouse?"

Saturday, 3pm

After the Wildman/Furman panel, I realize that there is an actual professionally-produced comic book. I grab a copy and head back in line to get it signed, the only signing I will attend this weekend. As I walk past I thank Furman for his work on Alpha Flight and ask if there was any bit of the Transformers in the Box robot. He blinks, then smiles and answers, "There might be," which I interpret as "No."

Saturday afternoon miscellany

I finally introduce myself to someone. He acts like I'm growing a fourth eye and I slink away.

Someone was selling a pile of ragged looking TF comics for four bucks a pop. Someone else is selling nicely looked copies bagged and boarded for a dollar. I start my TF comic collection with $15.

I pay twelve dollars for a Swindle. C'mon, finish the joke.

I finally get to see Power Surge, which I missed, and The Probe, which was the 2nd episode I saw, before I started taping them.

I continually try to find someone from the mush, but of course I don't recognize them and they don't recognize me.

Saturday, 6pm

I use the break time to grab dinner and take a swim, but not in that order. I realize that the lamp in my hotel room is like a 3-way lamp with one bulb burned out, so you have to click three timss to turn it on, except this must be a 15-way lamp. The light almost comes first from the friction at the light switch than from the bulb.

Saturday, 9pm

Oh, wow.

I try to remember a time in my life when I've had more fun that at this concert. I have attended concerts but never one in which the audience, including me, just loves everything so much. My hands start to hurt from clapping so much, but I don't stop.

Getting to hear Autobot/Decepticon battle over huge speakers itself is worth the twenty bucks. And I decide to spend twenty more on the concert video, despite not owning a VCR.

Saturday, 11pm

It turns out that the lamp is flourescent: it needs about a tenth of a second to power up, which I never gave it in my rush to turn the sucker on. My EE classes start to seem more and more theoretical as the weekend progresses.

Sunday, 8am

I realize that my hands really are blistered from clapping at the concert the previous night, mostly from smacking my ring against my left hand.

Sunday, 8:30am

I wander in a half-hour after opening. What could I miss besides 30 minutes of dealer tables? I discover that they were showing the Japanese Headmaster series. Despite not knowing the language, I have a suprisingly good understanding of what is going on, mostly from reading posts in here and from Astrotrain's homepage. The part I don't get is why Daniel gets so upset when someone dies: they always come back! If I were Spike I'd worry about what kind of lessons my son is learning about the permanence of death.

"And-- is that a snake?!"

Sunday, 11am

I realize that I am talking about Transformers as if it was an everyday occurence, and I'm not feeling at all self-conscious about it. This is going to be the biggest revelation of the weekend.

Someone asks Vince DiCola if Claster will re-release the cartoons.

"And-- is that a snake?!"

Sunday, 1pm

From outside the room of the MST3King of TF:TM, I overhear the performers singing some sort of tune during the Unicron transformation. When I realize its "Powerhouse" I nearly burst a gut. Kudos to whoever came up with this little bit.

I pick up another twenty or so comics.

I buy a broken Devastator head for a buck. I'm going to figure out something cool to do with this. Just you wait.

I run across another person selling good loose TFs for a dollar each. Despite not really being into the toys, I get an extra Mixmaster (you can never have too many), a Brawn since mine has a broken arm (this one's arm comes straight out of the socket, but it is whole), and something with a screw-head that I think is a Technobot.

"You want Predaking? Three dollars."

Sunday, 4pm

I leave early since the couldn't get a later flight. But, hey, that's what you get for $183.

Sunday, 6pm

The pilot says the flight will last 45 minutes. Since the in-bound connection took 2 hours, I'm a bit surprised. I shouldn't be surprised that jumbo jets can fly faster than prop planes, though.

Sunday, 7pm

Usually the trip home from the airport is 15 dollars or so, 20 tops. After trying to ask me, Ryoga Hibiki's brother, for directions, he cruises through parts of town I've never seen and gets the bill up to 23 bucks. I need to pay the last dollar in quarters, but he doesn't seem to catch on. "No tip?"

Sunday, 9:35 pm

While writing my journal, I get the wickedest sense of deja vu.

The Next Month or Two

As the bills come in, I start to wonder if this whole thing was really worth it.

In brief

• Again, this whole thing was really really swell.

• I have several faces and voices that I can match up with posts now. I don't think anyone will match me up, however. Next time I'll make sure to have this taken care of in advance. I definitely need to get a camera.

• It seems that they were tapping a lot of sources here. How can next year's compare to this?

-D, tapping the Rockies