No, I don't mean the state of mental obfuscation, I mean the fan convention based on anthropomorphic art, held in January in San José, California.
PART 1: THE PREPARATION
Mrs. M goes through a lot to get ready for these get-togethers of art-obsessed "furries," in order to sell her wares at a 3 x 6 table in a big room full of other 3 x 6 tables for three days straight.
She reserves her table a year in advance-- that is to say, at the convention itself.
She begins drawing new art for the convention about two months in advance-- giving herself time to create, refine, and mat her originals to show in the art gallery of the convention.
She begins to prepare prints and other copied materials for the table two weeks in advance-- and that's where I come in. I can't actually help her DRAW the stuff, Agents, but I can help her prepare the product once it's ready.
This time around I spent two and a half hours at Kinko's, AFTER midnight (they have a midnight madness discount) to get prints copied and comics collated and put together. I ran errands. I picked up paper and markers and badge supplies. I watched the baby in another room so she could have uninterrupted Productivity Time.
For the amount of work Mrs. M puts into getting prepared for this three-days-of-selling, you'd think she'd come back a billionaire. Woman works HARD, Agents. But then, all artists who work the Dealer's Rooms of the Furryverse do.
PART 2: THE TRAVEL
These days, crossing into American Territory is like walking naked and drunk into a Mormon convention. The scrutiny is unbelievable; if you're flying to the US from Canada, they recommend you be there two hours before your flight. This is no exaggeration; it will take you that long to get through Security.
And if, like Marci, you're bringing artwork down for your agent to sell, you get pulled into a little room and get the third degree-- not politely, either. I have never met a border crossing guard of any stripe who did not use The Voice Reserved For The Already Guilty. And there's nothing you can do about that-- it says right in the tangle of international laws that border guards have "broad discretionary powers" to do...whatever the hell they want. No human being should have this much power. I firmly believe that higher-ranking SS troops, fleeing Germany after WWII, went underground as American border crossing guards.
That being said, once THROUGH Security, Airports are just a joy for Marci and I. They mean travel, they mean international elegance and mystery and journeys to parts unknown. Never in our combined imaginations is anyone going to Kennebunkport, Maine. It's always somewhere with more mystery. And no longer are airports just a terminus for planes, a bus station with wings; they have wonderful food courts, lounges even for the common folk, (as well as the swanky private ones for folks with Airline Membership Cards)-- it's just TASTY and so so swish. Somehow, a food court at an airport means much more than the one in your average hometown mall.
PART 3: THE GAME
Marci and I play a game called "Ground Zero," in which we try to discern how far from the actual convention we can spot the furry fans. This year we set a record: Seattle. We had a stopover and as we waited at the gate to board our plane, I noticed a trio of people approaching that pinged my 'dar. At first glance they weren't overtly fannish-- but two trenchcoats out of three always raises my suspicions, especially if one of them is black.
Then I saw one of the guys had long hair in a ponytail. Beep. Then I saw the short girl with glasses carrying a sketchbook. Beep Beep. And THEN I saw the other guy, skinny shorthaired guy, wearing a DOG COLLAR.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
It's a new record, kids.
PART 4: ARRIVAL
Touchdown in one's destination! In our case, San Jose, California. A quick shuttle ride to the hotel-- which turns out to be right across the STREET-- and there we are, checking in to the luxurious business traveller Doubletree. This is one of those hotels with marble floors in the lobby and a bar by the pool.
In fact, it's so swank they give you a cookie upon check-in. These aren't just any cookies. They're Doubletree Chocolate Chip cookies, and they're as thick as a frickin' BROWNIE. And about as apoplectically full of chocolate. Nirvana in a nice warm brown paper bag.
I wanted to check out every night and check in every morning just for the cookies. Turns out you can actually order them shipped to you; dunno if they ship to Canada though.
PART 5: THE WORK-- and THE COMPRESSION OF TIME
From the moment we sat down at Marci's dealer's table to the time the con was over, Marci was drawing and I was filling orders, answering questions and providing prints. That part is a blur. Three DAYS of blur. Marci drew 52 individual pieces of art, 50 badges and 2 sketchbooks. It was a new record.
She premiered her "Fab Eye For the Furry Guy" concept which received many accolades but no real buyers-- but sometimes it takes while for these things to take off.
One of the things that is cool about sitting in the dealer's room all day-- the sense of community with the other dealers. You're all in the same boat, working the same shift. And it's übercool if you're sitting next to someone you know, so you can chat with friends all day.
PART 6: THE SOCIAL ASPECT
The social aspect revolves, for those of us stuck in the Dealer's Room, around mealtimes. It's about the dinners-- pick a different group every night and have dinner with them. It's a relaxing time, also an adventurous time if you know someone with a car (since many of us like to LEAVE the hotel to go somewhere neat for dinner.) Mrs. M and I always do our most adventurous eating when we travel; we had our first Thai food while doing a convention, and letting someone native to the city pick the little-known-but-best-food-EVER restaurants is always rewarding.
The highight for us this year was A Taste of India, Indian food at a little hole-in-the-wall place a friend of ours knew. Good food, good conversation, relatively quiet intimate setting. SUCH a nice change of pace.
On our last night in town we also saw Peter Pan with friends. Some of you might think, "why the hell go see a movie when you've travelled all this way...?"
It's not the movie, it's the people. These friends live thousands of kilometers away from us; we don't get to do the movie thing with them. Going out makes it feel like we're nearer, somehow, like we're doing things as if we DID see each other every week. It's a good feeling.
PART 7: THE JOURNEY HOME
Conventions burn one up. It's a lot of living in a short space of time, a lot of energy, a lot of "on!" and go-go-go in a four-day period. One has to pace oneself. I swore off pop of any kind, and drank water only; I ate full meals and went to bed as early as I could force myself to. I wanted to last.
There's a phenomenon called "Con Crud" which people who don't pace themselves get; after the convention, their bodies just give up and they get sick and collapse for a couple of days to recuperate. I managed to avoid that, mostly, although I did have a sore throat afterwards.
The voyage home is always less exciting than the voyage down; exhaustion has set in and all one wants to do is get home, and in our case were nearly prevented from doing so by the -30 degrees C weather in Calgary which-- get this-- might have prevented our propeller plane from landing. It speaks volumes to my technocratic upbringing that I'm shocked that mere weather can actually still affect modern things like plane landings.
We made it home, however. Exhausted. And we paid our bills and life continues on.
I was going to write much more poetically about how wonderful it is to be in California in the winter, to see green and palm trees and gentle sunshine, feel the moisture in the air knowing that the cold dry winter has set in at home; but the reality is that after we got back Mrs. M had to be out doing art jobs every day and I had to watch the baby, which means no real writing time.
And I MISS blogging! So I'm going to end this here and just post what I've got since I have precious little time to gather my thoughts for big epics of this nature.
Peace out.
Posted by Agent M at February 12, 2004 12:38 PM