St. Augustine (a field report)

Five years ago, we stopped in St. Augustine as a part of a short driving tour of north Florida. At the time, I hadn’t been there since I was a kid. We stayed out by the highway and visited the Castillo the first morning, then wandered into the Old Town market district for a few hours while feeding a parking meter (remember those?). That afternoon and the next morning we headed further afield that to explore the nearby coquina quarry and the smaller island fort that guards the intercoastal inlet to the south.

 

Because that weekend bordered on sweltering, we didn’t spend as much time as we would have liked to poke through the back alleys of the Old Town. When we left, we felt we’d missed a lot and vowed to go back.

 

After the weather broke in November, we decided it might be the right time to make that return trip. This time we booked a hotel on the water within sight of the Bridge of Lions for a couple of nights, just on the edge of Old Town. We figured that way we could explore at leisure and retreat to our hotel if we got hot or tired. This was only our second overnight trip since the pandemic hit. Really since Karen retired. We were very much looking forward to a more in-depth exploration, not quite realizing how much might have changed in interim, whether with the place, with society, or within ourselves.

 

For the drive over, we opted to avoid as much of the interstate as practical without going too far out of our way. The quickest route on Apple Maps followed I-4 to Daytona then up I-95 from there. Which would include a scenic tour of Malfunction Junction of Tampa followed by the Death Race of Orlando with the Damnation Alley of Lakeland in between, where inevitably someone would try to kill us each time we made the pilgrimage to Brevard. So, we quietly deleted that option from our list.

 

Instead, we chose an alternate that took us up the Veterans Expressway past Brooksville, over to I-75 to just short of Ocala then onto a maze of two-lane county roads that would drop us just west of St. Augustine for not much more time. Karen was somewhat familiar with the route having used similar on her drive back from one of her final field trips to North Carolina for work before she retired. Easier now that she had discovered the convenience of Siri calling out directions on the backroads during her recent trip to Massachusetts.

 

While this gave us a pleasant drive beneath the spreading oaks of central Florida, this is an area that put the Red into redneck, at least judging by the 2020 election map. Which I wouldn’t have much thought about without the constant reminder of Trump signs littering the roadside.

 

And I don’t mean a few bereft and forlorn, forgotten throwaway campaign signs on the shoulders or easements. I mean full, fresh, 3’x5’ or larger wood framed placards. One was backdropped by the unholy trinity of a Confederate flag, a Gadsden flag (Don’t Tread on Me), and a Thin Blue Line flag fluttering atop fifty foot or greater poles, marking territory much like the white and yellow calvary crosses dotting the landscape outside any and all manner of primitive Baptist churches. On another an ambitious individual had taken the time and effort to carefully paint out Pence’s name, I assume on January 6^th. Several more had already upgraded their cult of personality American Idol campaign signs to the 2024 editions. With at least one shiny new sign boldly declaring “Trump is my President” to all passersby. The transition from Pinellas, even from the wilds of Seminole, a year after an election was like the tale of two Americas.

 

Having driven the backroads of this state before, we somewhat expected this, though perhaps not with the insurrectionist intensity. As we drove deeper into the remote rural landscape, I was left with the distinct impression we had entered the Dead Marshes of Florida on our quest. Knowing fully that should we linger, our tiny candles would be snuffed out.

 

But we didn’t expect those mycelial roots to have snaked their way into St. Augustine, although perhaps we should have.

 

Like all but the largest, most populous Florida counties, St. Johns is increasingly sanguinary red. And I mean in the bloodthirsty sense of the word. The moderating influence of Duval or the I-4 corridor has yet to spread this far. St. Johns is still more likely to look to Alabama than Alachua as its guiding light.

 

I’m not sure this was always the case. Back when St. Augustine first began its most recent redevelopment and revival, it seemed to take its cues from Baltimore’s Inner Harbor or Jacksonville’s Riverwalk, revitalizing what was otherwise an old, jaded, touristy southern town, albeit with a unique colonial history, into a quirky, somewhat hippie holdover arts community blended with its proximity to Flagler College, a private liberal arts institution occupying the old Florida Industrialist Era Ponce de Leon Hotel built by Henry Flagler.

 

In Florida, Flagler is most noted not as the founder of Standard Oil but as the founder of the Florida East Coast Railroad (FEC) which fueled the first Florida land boom. The construction of which heavily relied on convict leasing. In the then segregated Old South, that generally meant free black labor supported by an apartheid legal system. Which perhaps should have been the first clue of what we found today.

 

Our second perhaps might have come from five years before the college’s founding. During the Civil Rights Era, St. Augustine had a deeply checkered past. In 1963-64, the city found itself in the front lines of that social conflict. Some of which we knew from our previous visit, some of which we learned more of after we checked into our hotel.

 

The Hilton Bayfront was constructed on the site of the old Monson Motor Lodge which had been demolished in 2003. Only its steps remain, preserved as a memorial and a reminder. The steps where MLK was arrested in June of 1964, followed a week later by the largest mass arrest of rabbis in US history. In fact, St. Augustine was the only Florida city that MLK was arrested in. A neat trick considering Tampa/Hillsborough (along with four other Florida counties, one of which includes Naples) remained under federal monitoring from the Voting Rights Act of 1965 until its effective dissolution in 2013. Andrew Young, the then director of the Southern Christian Leadership Council, was also arrested in St. Augustine that year as he had been in Selma.

 

Which all stemmed from peaceful anti-segregation protests surrounding the city’s 400^th anniversary and a student sit-in at a Woolworth’s lunch counter. Some of those juvenile participants in the latter required the intervention of the governor and the cabinet to eventually reattain their freedom. Those protests escalated over the next year as local Klansmen (read white supremacists) grew increasingly violent and issued quite credible death threats. Their nightriders terrorized black neighborhoods by shooting into homes until residents returned fire to drive them off.

 

Undeterred, the Klan eventually cornered and beat four activists with clubs and chains, resulting in the Klansmen having their charges dismissed but their activist victims being convicted of assault. Sprinkle in an arson and an attempted mass drowning when activists tried to integrate a local beach and a picture begins to develop.

 

But all that is ancient history now, even though most of it occurred within my lifetime, although not my memory.

 

(And mind you that I am writing this against the backdrop of the Rittenhouse trial and the Arbery trial, both of which have that Throwback Thursday feel, as does much of 2020 and before.)

 

It was wandering around Old Town that the past and the present of the drive over began to collide, thankfully not violently.

 

The first change we noticed from our previous visit was the number of homeless camped out on St. George’s Street, the central avenue of the Old Town market district. Part of that could have been seasonal. Florida’s homeless population ebbs and rises with the onset of summer’s heat and humidity and winter’s transition of construction jobs from north to south (requiring more day laborers). Or maybe part of it was the economic dislocation of the pandemic. Part but not all.

 

These were predominately men, predominately white, predominately my age or older by appearance. Most were panhandling, though not aggressively, with one busker. Most were veterans or visibly supported them, perhaps from prior service, perhaps for more tactical reasons to elicit donations. Most chatted amiably with the more integrated city workers doing cleaning, repairs and maintenance before the shops opened.

 

We were stuck by the number of bikes, dogs and cellphones sprinkled through that population. Passing strange for people literally sleeping on the streets, at least until we thought about it. Cellphones are often bought and maintained by concerned family members so their loved one can keep in touch, or call for help. Dogs have been guardians and companions for thousands of years. The over/under of feeding one likely pays off in security and psychological comfort. Bikes are cheap, easily maintained modes of transport for either seasonal migration or for getting back and forth to work. Homeless isn’t always synonymous with unemployed.

 

These are the Americans our country has made great again.

 

It was also striking that we saw no police patrolling Old Town except along the thoroughfares at the edges, either in cruisers or on foot. Which was very much in evidence the second night of our stay when a local with a megaphone, perhaps the busker, began loudly harassing some of the black population with things like “at least I don’t sit around all day collecting welfare… You’re sitting on his lap but he’ll leave you for a ho…” Several times in succession starting at 11 p.m. and ending around 1 a.m., in the cobblestone alley by an Italian restaurant right outside our first-floor window.

 

But the biggest change that struck us was in the merchandise for sale at half a dozen or more stores along the strip, declaring their profane rather than profound political opposition to the current Administration, and their deeply committed support our previous President and our governor. Vehement and vitriolic, with no laissez-faire capitalist counterpoint in sight (i.e. they weren’t just trying to profit from whichever side was paying).

 

Which perhaps shows how truly wealthy this area has become, and how well its economy is doing, as they could afford to alienate 40-50% of the population with their unwelcoming displays, never mind any internationals (of which we saw and heard many). In this, they seemed to aspire more to the Redneck Riviera model of Panama City than something more egalitarian in Orlando’s Magic Kingdom.

 

Both of us also noted there were very few black tourists except at the Castillo. Which was odder with the interspersed Civil Rights plaques, monuments and artwork, some conspicuous, some more hidden if you know where to look. More so because the historic conflict I described above directly led to the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, including footage broadcast internationally from the Monson Motor Lodge when protestors forcibly integrated the pool while the manager poured in acid to drive them out.

 

Except that like in the aftermath of most such conflicts, when the cameras stopped rolling and the public moved on, many of the principal local activists and organizations were either left destitute by white boycotts or felt profoundly unsafe enough that they moved to marginally more welcoming points south like Ft. Lauderdale or Miami-Dade. So, at best a pyrrhic victory.  

 

Now three blocks from where MLK was arrested, three blocks from where Andrew Young was beaten and arrested, these businesses openly decry their contempt for the ideals these men sacrificed for. Openly support the ideals of insurrection. Openly declare that anyone who believes what I believe is suffering from a mental illness, as evidenced by a huge hand-crafted sign overlooking St. George’s Street that says exactly that.

 

These displays, as well as the displays on the drive over, are embraced by people who not only distinctly stood against the anti-racism protests in 2020 (and before) but by some who took up arms against them, like the “good people” bearing tiki torches in Charlottesville, the vigilantes in Kenosha, or the insurrectionists at the Capitol on January 6^th. All beneath the same flags, chanting similar slogans, whipped up and praised by the same authoritarian leaders.

 

Not in search of justice or equality. In search of something much more Ayn Randian. Under the guise of personal freedom, they stand against everything that made this country great, a shining city upon the hill once upon a time. Though even that was always a fairy tale when viewed up close from the ground.

 

The difference is that the older Civil Rights movement, the movement now represented by BLM banners and Juneteenth flags, not Confederate, Gadsden or Thin Blue Line standards, strives for equal rights for all, not the selective rights to discriminate for a self-martyred few. I’ve built enough in my lifetime, and destroyed enough, to understand the difference between sacrifice and selfishness.

 

I’m not saying we won’t go back; there’s too much history and culture we’ve left untouched. I’m just saying that if we do, we’ll be more circumspect.

 

 

© 2021 Edward P. Morgan III

Art and Anniversary 2015

For our 21st anniversary this year, we made the quinquennial pilgrimage to Washington, DC, one of the few cities we seem to go back to on a regular basis.

We flew out early Thursday afternoon, direct to National Airport. The airline offered us an upgrade to first class (for an additional fee), which we decided to take advantage of as a treat. I could get used not waiting in line and not having to squeeze all six foot plus of me into a space barely meant for someone half a foot shorter. But I'm not quite sure about having the flight attendant call me by name, though I think she was mystified that I didn't partake of any of the offered food or beverages. I spent my time with my nose buried in notebook (the old school kind) organizing four poems from our fall color trip in October. I'm glad I let those lines settle since the fall. I think there is something there. A great way to start the vacation.

Having our luggage first off the plane, another perk, meant we could get out of the airport before rush hour on the George Washington Parkway. One of the advantages of having driven from Rockville to Crystal City for work when we lived there is knowing a pleasant back way to the hotel that didn't involve the Beltway.

We found the Residence Inn tucked away on a dead-end road in Tysons Corner. Because it was nestled among mid-rise office building, it was amazingly quiet despite being a quarter mile from a major artery. It had a number of restaurants within walking distance, from a Subway to sushi to Thai to Mediterranean to Indian. As well as a fireplace in the room, a hot breakfast, and a Metro station on the new Silver line within walking distance. Pretty much ideal for us.

That night we hopped over to Tysons Corner Center. Even though it's not the Galleria, it makes Tampa’s International Plaza look a bit low-rent. We poked through a few of stores we don't have nearby, including LL Bean and Levengers, but nothing really caught our eye. We ended in a two story Barnes and Noble. Karen found a couple crochet books but for me it was pretty much a bust. When we were last there, I picked up a few science fiction titles not available locally. The intervening years have not been kind, at least to the sections I'm interested in. But that's been true of every B&N I've been in recently. Finding anything decent to read there has become a challenge. So I left empty-handed and feeling like I no longer belonged there. Thankfully, that wouldn't last.

We awoke to find snow accumulating on the grass and cars. Both of us would have been happy if that kept up all day. But after breakfast, snow gave way to sleet then freezing rain then just rain. At 30-something with a steady wind, it wasn't exactly a pleasant day for walking around the National Mall. But one of our destinations wasn't open on the weekend so off we went.

Our first stop was the World Bank InfoShop. What I wouldn't give to have one of these nearby. They focus on economics, social and cultural issues, development and infrastructure along with international fiction, all in mid-sized suite. Plus they offer a 10% discount to government employees. I could have spent a fortune there. It would have taken me a year to read everything that caught my eye. I restrained myself to three books, Smart Cities, Townsend; Poor Economics, Banerjee and Duflol and Americanah (a novel), Adichie. Karen picked up Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Boo.

Next we popped across the street to Reiter's Professional Books. I first ran across them in 1989/90 on travel for work. I think this is their third location since then. It is amazing how small their new location is after the expanse of the previous two. I hope they continue to survive. There I picked up Business of Civil War (DR Congo), Kabamba. I almost picked up a book on neuroanthropology, another on probability in finance and a third on innovations in financial vehicles but all were a bit more technical than I wanted. How often do I get to say that? Karen bought Extinction, Erwin; and Human Nature and the Evolution of Society, Sanderson. She wasn't afraid of going deep.

From there we made the hike past the White House to the National Gallery of Art. Our only agenda was to revisit some old favorites, a couple Vermeers, some 17th century Dutch still lives, Thomas Cole's Voyage of Life series and Dali's Last Supper. Once again, the Dali had moved to a new location, its third. They had rearranged the 17th century gallery as well so we caught a number of Spanish, German and Italian works we hadn't seen before, some of which we came back to. We also checked out a number of Renaissance books and bronze sculptures. We bailed out by mid-afternoon, both to avoid rush hour on the Metro and because we had an early dinner reservation for our anniversary.

To celebrate, we’d opted for Fleming's Steakhouse which was less than a mile away. We'd eaten there once before in Orlando, about ten years ago for our anniversary. It was good enough that we wanted to go back. This time didn't disappoint either. Butternut squash ravioli, tender filet mignons, grilled asparagus, signature potatoes, then coffee and berries and fresh whipped cream for dessert. And of course wine. Perfect food and service, just like the last time. Yet still odd being called by name by a waiter (because of the reservation). I think we spent more on tip than on many sit-down meals we eat out anymore. Strange living this highlife even for a day. But Karen's worth it.

And what better way to end the evening than at a Wal-Mart. But a Tysons Corner Wal-Mart. With paid parking. You know, to keep the riff-raff out. But we still didn't find what we were looking for, which was wood for the fireplace. So we settled for what the hotel had to offer in their mini-shop. Which was enough for ambiance. Plus some green tea and chocolate. A perfect end to the evening.

The next day we opted to do our driving. Driving the Maryland back roads and the Virginia hills along the Georgetown Pike outside the Beltway was quite scenic. I could see living out there. Maybe if we hit the lottery. A warm, sunny day with a high of 62. Quite a change from the day before.

First up was Politics and Prose, a well-curated independent bookstore in DC proper, not far from where Karen used to work (I could tell you, but then, well, you know). As their name implies they focus on politics, history and general fiction, but had a full selection in all the other sections as well. One of the best organized bookstores we've visited in quite some time, replete with staff recommendations. Only one book for me, Wired for Story, Cron (the neuroscience of storytelling). Karen picked up two by Maraget Atwood, The Penelopiad and the Blind Assassin. That put her two ahead!? Usually, I'm the one who loads up.

Then we headed for Great Falls National Park along the Potomac where we hiked two to three miles along the river. We've been there several times before but never walked that far up the river. Our timing was perfect as there weren't too many people when we arrived. By the time we left, all the parking lots were nearly full and there was a line of cars at the entrance. The river was high but not as high as we've seen it. The falls were dynamic, as were the jumble rocks we climbed over to see them. Karen got her geology moment.

Next up was the Udvar-Hazy annex of the Air and Space museum out by Dulles Airport. This is the hanger where they display a huge number of planes, along with a few satellites and other space artifacts. Highlights were the space shuttle Discovery (mammoth), the Enola Gay (bittersweet to see), and an F14 Tomcat (an inspiration for Aluria's Tale). Interesting to see all of them up close.

Our final stop for the day was the Game Parlor, a well-stocked gaming shop we'd run across a couple visits ago which is still thriving unlike many of its brethren. They had a full house of tables running various games, from what looked like Napoleonics to fantasy miniatures to several collectible card games. And, no, we weren’t' the oldest people in there. For the first time, we didn't pick anything up other than two ideas for board game expansions we wanted to look up before we committed to. By then we were pretty fried so crawled back to the hotel, navigating by memory and feel when the phone (with our GPS) like us ran down.

That night we walked up the street to Bombay Tandoor for chicken Tikka Masala and Butter chicken with rice and nan. Definitely acceptable, though not quite Gateway to India at home which has become our gold standard. And because we had a fridge, we brought leftovers back to the hotel.

For our final full day, we opted to head back to the National Mall. That day was cooler with a high of fifty-something and breezy but sunny. Still scarf weather early. Not bad for street hiking four plus miles on the Mall. We saw the MLK Memorial (which was beautifully done), the Korean War Memorial (much more powerful than the WWII Memorial which left me underwhelmed), the Vietnam Women's Memorial and the Wall, the Einstein Memorial (which has some very cool Easter eggs), Constitution Gardens, and then back to the National Gallery. Along the way, we found the only four cherry trees in bloom, tucked away in a sheltered area near the DC WWI Memorial. So pretty and subtly fragrant. We keep getting lucky in finding them off peak.

We spent the afternoon crawling through nearly every section of the National Gallery. The day's highlights included. Green Wheat Fields, Van Gogh; the portrait of Ginevra de' Benci, da Vinci; Departure and Return, new Thomas Cole's from the Corcoran that the National Gallery inherited; Still Life with Ham and others, Garrit Heda; Interior of St. Peters, Rome, Panini; Interior of Oude Kerk, Amsterdam, Emanuel de Witte.

The last two paintings are two cathedrals, one Italian (18th century), one Dutch (17th century). One Catholic, one Protestant. Both captured various elements of their societies. But you can see from the de Witte why the Protestants were considered so irreverent. And from the Panini why the Catholics were considered so hypocritical. I almost want prints of each to hang in the office.

And the two new Cole's... wow. He works really well in series. We kept shifting back and forth between the two to figure out the landscape, the time of day, and the common elements. Another pair I'd love to hang somewhere. Just the framing would set us back.

No swag unless you count the guard at the National Gallery offering to hook us up with some paintings if we picked them out and built a climate controlled place to store them, say in Hawaii. Our shade tree mechanic of art dealers. Oh, yeah, I think I could find some room for a couple in the back hall.

Dinner that night was leftover Indian and the last of the miscellaneous munchies we'd brought along.

The next morning, we opted to hang out in the hotel room until checkout rather than rushing to the airport and trying to take in Arlington Cemetery. That will have to wait for another trip. So after five memorials, three bookstores, two museums, one game store and one national park later, we headed home with fifteen books (only three of which came up with us. How does this happen? When a mommy book really loves a daddy book...). We'd upgraded our tickets to first class on the way home, too, which made for a more relaxing end to the trip. We even snuck in a visit to Legal Seafood for lunch at the airport, including their incredible New England clam chowder.

A good, if quick, trip to reacquaint ourselves. Honestly, I could see us living up that way again at some point. The change of seasons, the topography, and the balance of wood, water and stone are all appealing. As is the proximity to so many museums and so much culture.

In contrast by the time we returned, all trees here were fully leafed out. After the sparse landscape with only buds up there, the park looked so close and very green. But Nyala and Mara were very glad to have us home. As always Nyala took some convincing by her dad-cat to come out of hiding. She’s been staying close the past two days to make sure I don’t leave again.

© 2015 Edward P. Morgan III

Banner Elk

The thread of western North Carolina seems to have woven itself through the tapestry of my life. It began with a summer vacation to the Great Smoky Mountains, one of only a two family holidays I distinctly remember. The magic in the babbling brooks, verdant mountains, and clean, clear air captivated my young imagination. Since then, their beauty has drawn me back nearly a dozen times for camping trips, Boy Scout camp, driving excursions, novel research, even for Karen’s and my honeymoon. So naturally, this year, we chose to revisit that same inn in Banner Elk for our twentieth anniversary.

I know a lot of geeks, so I regularly hear the pointed questions: Where are our transporters? What about our teleporting stones? I contend that technology already exists, if you know how to squint and look at it. It’s just slower than we’d like. First, we get into small, familiar chambers decorated to our individual tastes with our individual choice of music. Then, we hang out in a large room where we replenish ourselves with familiar brands of coffee and prepared food before we trundle into seats in a long tube to fill the time with that same familiar soundtrack along with our books and other entertainments. And when we eventually emerge a few hours later, we stare out onto a vista of someplace completely different.

Though the settings of this Slow Glass machinery can be bit arcane. If you aren’t careful, you sometimes make a pit stop somewhere back in time. Such was the case with Charlotte airport with its numerous shoeshine stands and full-time restroom attendants (complete with bowls of peppermint candies and tip jars). At least they’ve graduated into an era of pink power tools, you know, for the ladies.  But that was just a thankfully short diversion before we found ourselves standing at the gateway to the mountains.

From the airport, as if to reinforce the magical, teleportation theme, Karen and I drove up mountainsides and through river valleys shrouded with mystery and fog. While the car interior was a little larger and slightly more barren, from its speakers the songs remained the same. Once we finally broke free of the low-slung clouds, the scenery beyond the windows was composed of almost entirely of wood, water, stone and deep blue sky.

Archer’s Mountain Inn perches just over halfway up Beech Mountain, almost a mile high, looking south across the valley toward Banner Elk, Linville and Grandfather Mountain. After a brief stop for provisioning at the local grocery (with a tidy section of organics and a selection of good wine), we settled in for the next five days.

On our honeymoon, we remember touring nearby Grandfather Mountain, Linville Falls, Linville Caverns, and the Folk Art Center on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We discovered an Everything Scottish shop and a local pottery outlet, both of which seem to have slipped beneath the surface of the lake of time. That trip, though not this one, we brought our hiking boots but didn’t find many public trails.

A few years ago, North Carolina remedied that deficiency with the addition of 2600 acres in the form of a newly christened Grandfather Mountain State Park. The precise moment of the spring equinox found us beside a tumbledown stream on its Profile Trail. Over the next two days, we hiked several miles of trails, the Asutsi and the Nuwati, down a section of the Boone’s Fork and up to the panorama at Storyteller’s Rock. We revisited all three overlooks at Linville Falls, and wandered around the grounds of the Moses Cone Manor. Even without boots, we managed almost nine miles in three days. And I discovered Birkenstocks make perfectly good trekking shoes even over rocky terrain. 

When we weren’t hiking, we were driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway with its bright yellow bouquets of roadside daffodils. Robins darted through the wine-stained branches of the maples that had just begun to leaf. Forsythia and dogwood were already in bloom, with mountain laurel set to be next up on the stage. We roamed across twisty back roads whose fields and farmsteads reminded us of Wales without the castles, Scotland without the sheep. We stumbled across places we’d researched for Aluria’s Tale (my novel). We poked through two of the shops of the Southern Highland Craft Guild, the Parkway Craft Center near Blowing Rock and the Folk Art Center in Asheville.

A couple nights we sampled the cuisine at the adjacent Jackalope’s View Restaurant, and one other at an Italian bistro down in the valley. After dinner each evening, we warmed ourselves by the fireplace in our room, Anonymous 4 on the iPod, books, wine and chocolate in hand. Which is also how we spent the last full day when fog, rain and a few snow flurries with a threat of ice kept us atop the mountain. Neither of us felt up for tackling the switchbacks in a foreign SUV. By the time the fire burned to glowing embers, we found ourselves standing by the bank of windows taking in the view. A comfortable silence spread over us as we gazed across the valley at a tangled web of lights, the pauses between them somewhat shorter than they’d been our trip before.

The last morning, we wandered out to an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway and up an ice-sheathed path to an arched, wooden bridge to look down on one final fall of water over rocks. On our way, we saw our one and only deer. We daydreamed as we poked our way back to Asheville and wondered if this was a place to which we might retire as the morning and early afternoon slipped by.

At the airport, the spell was broken. All too soon we found ourselves back home, safely ensconced in our own bed once again, Nyala and Mara purring by our sides, vowing next time, we won’t wait too long before returning to our rejuvenating mountain retreat.


© 2014 Edward P. Morgan III

St. Joseph Peninsula State Park

Just before Thanksgiving, we made the seven hour trek up to Cape San Blas. We'd rented a cabin inside the park for the week. We stumbled into an open block and seized it. Getting reservations up there is always a trick. We hadn't been on a vacation away from home in over a year.

This was our third time staying up there. Since our last visit, they had added some counter space and a dishwasher to the kitchen, expanded the upstairs, removed a skylight and converted the fireplace over to gas. The cabins are a two-story, loft arrangement that sleep seven (as long as you're friendly), maybe 700 sq. feet total, with a screened in porch, a full kitchen and a short boardwalk down to the bay. They are away from pretty much everything, right next to miles of wilderness area that extends to the point of the peninsula. 

In the cabins there is no television, no telephone, no internet, no wi-fi and only spotty cell phone coverage at best. I think that's what we like about it. It forces us to slow down and disconnect. Hiking, reading, walking the beach, watching sunset and cooking become the highlights of our day. In four days, we hiked just over twenty miles. The fifth day was pretty much wind and rain. In our five full days up there, I finished three books (including the Night Circus) plus Beowulf. I sometimes forget how fast I can read when I allow myself blocks of uninterrupted time. We had a fire every evening. We listened to football games on AM radio (we couldn't even pull in NPR). In the past, we've played games. 

The park encompasses some of the best natural coastal complexes I've seen in Florida with white sand beaches backed by 20-30 foot dunes covered with a variety of native vegetation, including tons of sea oats. In late November, that also meant colorful fields of wildflowers in yellow (woody goldenrod?), white (salt myrtle), lavender (Texas sage? a native mint?) and red (holly berries). The wilderness area, which you now need to register with the rangers to enter, has a trail that runs seven and half miles out to the point. That's pretty much a full day. I think we've only ever made it four. For more ambitious people, there are wilderness campsites along the trail (the picture above is the view of the bay from wilderness campsite 3). The sunsets over the Gulf can be spectacular. On previous visits we've seen green flashes. And the nights are dark, dark, dark. As dark as either of us has seen with the exception of being at sea. With no real light pollution, the constellations and the Milky Way pop right out.

On the fauna side, we saw deer, bald eagles, hawks, osprey, herons, egrets, rays, and dolphin. We heard an owl hooting a couple nights in the nearby woods. On one of the windier days, we saw several herons and egrets perched high up in the pines. On our way to sunset one evening, we stumbled across a bobcat on the dunes, only the second I've ever seen in the wild. He quickly disappeared. We saw a kingfisher sitting on a wire overlooking the bay and a salt marsh. We've seen either him or his ancestors in that same spot each time we've visited. On the boardwalk by the bay, we watched several bald eagles calling, and one pair fighting. Another turned his head and banked to check us out more closely when he heard Karen's camera. I've never seen one do that. On the trail, we saw bobcat tracks and what we later learned were coyote tracks. On our last morning, I heard five deer chuffing a warning at a stand of trees beyond the porch. When we walked down to the beach, we saw more coyote tracks deerstalking. I assume he was the object of their ire. 

We drove home on Thanksgiving Eve, relaxed and detoxed in a way only slowing down and immersing ourselves in nature can for us. Unfortunately, we didn't encounter any roadside honey stands. On the last trip, we picked up two quarts of tupelo very cheap. The drive takes us through some of the poorest counties in Florida (including the poorest school district with only a single K-12 school). I think seeing so many burned-out, abandoned buildings is sometimes the most depressing part of the trip. There are days I dream of living in a more rural area that has more green to get some distance from our neighbors. Then I remember what the day-to-day reality of that looks like and think, maybe home is not so bad. 

Find more of Karen's pictures on Flickr (she plans to add more as she gets time). 

© 2013 Edward P. Morgan III

Kitten*Con 2013

Many people assume that I am the one who drives us going to Dragon*Con each year. In truth, it is a mutual decision. Though in all honesty, I've generally deferred to Karen's preference since 2007. The past two years, getting up there was complicated by Karen responding to storms the days before. Once, her boss almost had to fly her there from the field direct.

This year, she wanted a break from the stress of making the annual pilgrimage. We had a room, though not in any of our preferred hotels. Had we been able to score a room in Hilton or the Hyatt, in all likelihood we would have gone. Alas, that was not to be. Even when I offered a week before to fly us up first class after Karen was having doubts about her decision, she demurred.

So as a joke to cheer her up, on Facebook I posted a set of panels based on the Dragon*Con tracks that our cats might like:

"Since we will be home with the cats this Labor Day for the first time in their lives, Nyala and Mara have asked us to organize Kitten*Con 2013 (though they refuse to stand in line or wear their badges). Here are the panels they'd like to see:

Alternate History: The Day Humans Self-Domesticated
Anime: Hello, Kitty
Apocalypse Rising: Surviving a Vet Visit
Armory: Tooth and Claw, the Only Weapons You'll Ever Need
Art: Live Model
Costuming: Furries!
Digital Gaming: Apps for the iPaw
EFF: Hacking 101: Doors and How to Open Them
Filking: Midnight yowls
Gaming: The Best Die to Steal from the Table
MMEOWRPGS: The Midnight Heat
Paranormal: The Ghosts Your Humans Can't See
Performance: Bell Circle (10 pm - whenever)
Science: Catnip Live: Homegrown or Store-Bought (a paws-on demo)
Sci-fi Lit:: Man-Kzin Wars, a Primer.
Sci-Fi Media: The Red Bird or the Blue Bird, Which Way to Reality
Silk Road: Ripples in the Water Bowl
Space: Are We There Yet? An Explorer's Guide to Napping
Writing: Screen Rubbing and Keyboard Walking for Beginners
X-Track: Schrödinger's Cat"

Karen ran with the idea and created badges. And the inaugural Kitten*Con was born. 

Over five days we watched seven movies and played five games. We hadn't seen any of the movies though they were all in our Netflix queue for one reason or another. Two of the games we owned but had never played. Two more we'd only played once. The last we'd maybe played twice. Friday morning, we setup a card table in the library so we could close off a game midway through if we needed to without the cats disturbing it. We brushed up on rules each morning then ran through each game 2-3 times to see how they played out.

We kicked over the iPod to a grouping called Darkwave with all the bands we'd discovered at Dragon*Con over the years: The Cruxshadows, Ego Likeness, I:Scintilla, Ayria, Abney Park, Butterfly Messiah, Celldweller, Faith and the Muse, Narrator, Spider Lilies, and Distorted Reality (all worth checking out on YouTube or MySpace if you get the chance).

The cats attended a catnip panel (with free samples) and the bell circle (which they ring every night to go out onto the porch). Nyala ran through the hacking session on doors though thankfully, she still doesn't quite have the hang of it. Mostly, they spent their time in the napping demo or advising us on game tactics.  

Here's how the days broke down.

On Thursday evening, without lines or issues, the four of us received our badges (Mara, Nyala, Karen and myself). An auspicious beginning. While we watched our first movie, the cats napped in preparation for a busy weekend. That didn't seem particularly out of the ordinary but Nyala tells me you can never have too much sleep.

Thursday night: Hunger Games (movie, science fiction): I'm not sure anyone would be able to make much sense out of it if they hadn't read the book. Not that I was a fan of the last third of the book anyway.

Friday: Space Alert (board game, science fiction): To paraphrase the board game panel at Dragon*Con (about a different game), "When you lose this game, and you will lose this game..."  Both Karen and I had read the rules but were still having trouble digesting them. Then we remembered the advice we'd heard at the board game panel and headed for YouTube to look for a tutorial. Once there, we ran across a multi-part tutorial and demo on a channel called Two Guys and Some Cardboard. Watching those made it so we could dive right in. A decent game with a lot of multi-player potential. Playing this with 5 players would be utter chaos.

Friday night: Melancholia (movie, science fiction). The more it settled with me, the more I liked it. Not to everyone's taste but very artistically done. You can find my full recommendation here.

Saturday: Race for the Galaxy (card game, science fiction). A decent game, though I'm not sure about using cards for both money and counters as well as play. I see there's an expansion that allows up to 9 players. That just hurts my brain.

Saturday evening: We headed out to the Dealer's Room (aka Emerald City comic shop) and then met a couple friends (who also sometimes haunt Dragon*Con) for some General Tso's chicken, a food court staple for us up in Atlanta. And yes, we wore our badges while we were out. Mara and Nyala said they wouldn't let us back into the house without them. 

Saturday night: Metropia (movie, animated science fiction). Ok, that one was bizarre. Not sure I liked the animation. But there was a Hello Kitty bomb. So there's that.

Sunday: Eclipse (board game, science fiction). We picked this one up based on the recommendation of a friend after Dragon*Con last year. I really like this game. You can find my previous recommendation for it here.

Sunday night: The Road (movie, post-apocalypse). A future so bleak, they ought to wear shades. Based on a Pulitzer Prize winning novel. I suspect the book was slightly better though the movie wasn't bad.

Monday: Illuminati (card game, paranoid): It's not paranoia if there really is a conspiracy out to get you. We spent the morning mounting the User Friendly custom cards for Tech Support and SCO on cardstock then played with the Y2K and Bavarian Fire Drill expansions. As we knew, this one has serious multi-player potential. The two-player games lacks all the deviousness of negotiations, backstabbing and alliances.

Monday Night: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (movie, Swedish). It's amazing how many words we could pick out. Another movie based on a well known book. This one was the best done of the three. Definitely worthwhile.

Tuesday: SolarQuest (board game, science fiction). Think Monopoly in space. With fuel. And lasers. Not too bad once you get past the odd phrasing of the rules.

Tuesday night (1): The Secret of Kells (movie, animated fantasy). Purely enchanting. You can find my full recommendation here.

Tuesday night (2): Ondine (movie, fantasy-esque). A nice way to close out the inaugural Kitten*Con. Even if there wasn't a cat in it, there was a Selkie. Sort of.

We broke down the game table and returned the library to its previous scheduled function (with Mara still sleeping a chair). As we got ready for bed, I couldn't find either cat. When I went looking, I discovered them both in the library/game room, ensconced in the chairs where they perched to watch us play. They don't usually sleep back there and rarely at the same time. I don't think they were quite ready for Kitten*Con to end, either.

Nyala particularly enjoyed having us home. She still sometimes wakes up scared during the day and cries until I comfort her. Each year she looks hurt when we leave and a combination of excited and annoyed when we get home. Hers was a hard, orphaned kittenhood I think.

As with any con, a melancholy settled in the last night knowing that it was over and real life began again in the morning. One of the more relaxing staycations we've had in recent years. For that alone it was a success.

(You might be able to see Karen's photos here)

Stealth Burial

Stealth Burial - a reading (on YouTube)

I’ve gotten good at stealth burials for my family. Checking locations, scouting out the blind spots, making sure the coast is clear. I am humbled that distant people I don’t much know have entrusted me with this duty.

Our room is hidden on the back side, around a corner out of sight. The sound of surf creeps through the windows like the shadow of a thief. On the beach, the water is flat, like a mirror of our lives, two above, two below. Only ripples in the sand mark the passage of the tides.

Mackerel feast on fingerlings, leaping briefly into our world near the shore. A weathered cross marks an estate to the south of us, abandoned and empty houses lie north. The sun sinks under the clouds near the horizon, casting a deep orange glow like a torch or a lantern. A guiding light. 

An hour after sundown, we slip out to perform an early evening recon. Not a soul stirs along the beach. Just dark water against a dark horizon. I retrieve my burden and wander out.

Night blind, I wade knee deep into the ocean, a baptism of sorts. I spread their ashes, first one then the other and rinse the plastic clean. I mark the spot by the shadows of the landscape. After a moment of reflection, I wander back to change.

Focused on the deed, I’ve forgotten the scotch or cognac. I guess simple wine will have to do. A toast and a smoke, an Italian white and the pipe my father gave me. On the deck, bright stars peek through breaks in the clouds. The diamond of Delphinus swims along the Milky Way, ready to guide them home.

The next day, Poseidon or some other pelagic god offers up mementos from the sea, the perfect shell and shark’s tooth. A lone dolphin transits just offshore. At sunset the next evening, a double green flash echoes on the horizon.

That night, I dream of them on a journey by road. Before the bridge across that familiar river, I step out of their car. They say nothing, don’t even turn around. I awake in the dark, wishing them Godspeed wherever their destination, hoping that someday someone will do the same for us.

© 2012 Edward P. Morgan III

Democracy at Work

Yesterday, I attended my second political rally at Obama’s Seminole, Florida whistle-stop. Back in ’83, I heard Gary Hart speak at the University of Illinois at Champagne-Urbana before some monkey business derailed his candidacy. Yesterday was Karen’s second time seeing a President. Her first was a speech in ’88 when Reagan bribed and bussed in a bevy of federal workers to the Capitol steps so his speech wouldn’t seem unattended. Ah, the good old days of graft.

Were the President not speaking within walking distance, I doubt either of us would have gone. I am half a political junkie though I prefer the clarity of transcripts and certain insights on the internet to partisan rallies. But how often in this life would I get to see a sitting President in person? Not very. Four years ago, friends of ours made the pilgrimage to witness his first inauguration. Theirs was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

So we braved the line at SPC Seminole on Wednesday evening to get tickets then wandered down on Saturday morning two hours before Obama’s speech. Like the President, we approached from the north. By the time we hit 113^th, the road was already closed and guarded. Police, parks and community officers manned the intersections and outposts. Red and blue lighted sedans, SUVs and pickups lined both sides of the road.

Once on campus, we were greeted by a sea of diversity, with a fleet of busses crashing like waves upon the shore, each moment disgorging more. Across the street, a Civil War skirmish line of protestors, perhaps a hundred, shouted their rallying cries, armed with the same battle flag that adorned our side.

A Disney-esque line snaked its way through familiar parking lots. A lone helicopter circled overhead. Pinellas’s finest were in charge of the somewhat chaotic crowd control, complete with conflicting lawful orders. As President’s motorcade crept nearer, they diverted and rediverted the line back and forth from the road to the sidewalk before deciding where we posed the minimum threat.

We formed an instant bond with the party of twenty-somethings in front of us who came up from Sarasota. Their day had started early. They were witty and knowledgeable, the perfect companions for our wait. They even tried to convince a deputy we were among their merry band of brothers when he broke the line just in front of us. But we came together again soon enough. The only problem we encountered was a herd of a half dozen self-identified and seemingly self-entitled fifty-something Republicans trampling their way through the line. We ignored them as their t-shirts professed they were engaged on the correct side of the argument.

At the end of the line, a mobile, scissoring sheriff’s watchtower overlooked a gatehouse garrisoned by a company of uniformed Secret Service. We entered a portcullis of a dozen metal detectors complete with magic wands. The whistle and mini-flashlight on my keychain garnered extra attention but otherwise there were no issues. A clutch of forcibly abandoned umbrellas lined a table just outside like an impromptu, OCD garage sale.

The cordoned field enclosed a crowd eleven thousand strong. Black uniformed silhouettes on the rooftops scanned us and the nearby woods for threats through their binoculars. Inside, as in line, volunteers distributed free water as light shields against the Florida heat. Though the staffers trying to energize the crowd met with more muted success. Despite the cloud cover, it was just too hot.

The day had dawned cloudy but not threatening. The field was muddy, humid and stifling from a deluge two days before. The pleasant breeze died as the sun emerged just in time to bear down upon the public press. We later heard one hundred people collapsed from the heat, ten of them hospitalized. One young woman was carried from the field by EMS like a wounded soldier about ten yards in front of us.

The President was a fashionable fifteen minutes late, which allowed most of the line behind us to file in. In later reports, we heard some were turned away when we hit capacity. We were lucky to get in. Perhaps we should have started our trek earlier.

Charming Charlie Crist performed the introduction. I will resist using his other sobriquet as he has become an ally rather than an adversary. He stood before the crowd as a former Republican governor citing how his erstwhile Party had abandoned him. If nothing else, as a former Rockefeller Republican from decades ago, I could empathize. The follies of my youth.

Here is where I must come to full disclosure. I am a Democrat. Although Obama wasn’t my first choice, I want him to succeed. I have a laundry list of reasons that it is unlikely I will ever again register as a Republican, at least until they undergo some very serious reforms. In that party, in my estimation, change must come from within. Still, I try not to let that distort my lens.

After a series of chants and very eerie “four more years” salutes from the crowd, Obama alighted at the podium. First, he recognized his allies, Gov. Crist, Sen. Nelson, Rep. Betty Castor. Of those three, Crist received the loudest cheers even though, unlike the other two, he is currently without portfolio. Nelson’s name received only a slightly worryingly, tepid response.

Unlike Crist, the podium was not miked well for Obama. The President was witty and interactive, improvising with the crowd. Unfortunately, that meant each time he turned to speak to an individual supporter, he turned away from the mikes at times leaving the rest of us in a Monty Python skit. ("Blessed are the Greeks?" "Oh, it's the MEEK!") Crist definitely knew better how to work the crowd and still maintain the microphone. That was perhaps the most disappointing experience of the day. 

Obama spoke for half an hour almost precisely to the second. It took the celebratory crowd five minutes before they calmed enough to listen in. He sprinkled several clever sound bites in with a detailed, four-point plan for moving the country forward. Prosperity comes from the middle out, not the top down. This is an election about choice not cynicism. We have a responsibility to keep the promises we’ve made.

His four points centered on creating manufacturing jobs, not rewarding corporations for outsourcing; controlling the nation’s energy through a diversity of domestic production; focusing on education to provide people with the skills, degrees and financing they need to succeed; and responsibly reducing the Federal deficit by rolling back taxes on the wealthy to the levels under the Clinton Administration and the prosperity it saw, as well as using the savings from ending two wars to pay down the debt.

Throughout, Obama came across soft-spoken. His speech was full of light, prosperity and solutions, and a quiet hope, though he never invoked that word. He sounded a clear counter-note to darkness and doom I constantly hear from the other side, which seems to say that our best days are behind us, and that tax cuts and gutting regulations are our only hope at salvation. As with many points in their platform, their arguments seem to ignore the economists and the advice of experts in favor of ideology.

The response from the crowd was more intriguing than the speech itself. In rising levels of applause, people admired, third, Obam’s bullet point on education, then, second, that bin Laden was finally dead. But the single most uniting issue that saw the crowd spontaneously erupt to drown out the President? His support of gay marriage and gay rights. That was perhaps the most surprising response. Seminole is not exactly a bastion of liberalism in admittedly moderate Pinellas County. In fact, our state rep climbed into office two years ago from the depths of Tea Party central.

In closing, Obama encouraged everyone to talk, not just to people who shared their opinions, but to people who didn’t, Democrats, Republicans and Independents. Dialogue is the mainsail of a successful democracy. He then encouraged everyone to register and to vote. To reinforce that point, he gave out a website: Gottavote.com.

With that, we began the long, overheated walk back home, downing more water, thankful that our training for Dragon*Con had prepared us for the noonday sun. Just as there was a line to get in, there was a narrow, funneled line to get out, directed by our county’s finest into trampling the landscape.

Tired after three hours of walking and standing in the Florida heat, it took me the rest of the day to recover. After napping and downing a couple Gatorades to rehydrate, Karen and I swung back by the campus on our way to grab a quick dinner out. All the busses, staffers and supporters were gone, leaving a only handful of workers to clean up the mess. Watching them bag up the litter and discarded bottles, I saw a metaphor. The still cordoned off scene seemed to resonate with so many experiences from the past four years and the fundamental nature of democracy at work. In this case, perhaps, a work in progress.

A worthwhile experience despite the energy-draining heat. One I’m sure I will remember fondly for many years to come regardless of the outcome of this election.


© 2012 Edward P. Morgan III

Dragon*Con 2012: Paint It Black

Noctilucent clouds guide us to the airport. Sterling fire greets us as we return.

This year the weekend flew by as smooth as China silk. We had good flights, good neighbors, and no real waits even at the airport. No trouble with TSA, which had at least twice the normal personnel in Tampa. Registration took twenty minutes during which the line never stopped moving. We were so uncertain what to do with all the extra time we had on Thursday that Karen had time to paint my fingernails black. Idle hands. My avant-garde tribute to her surgeon on her official five-year anniversary of completing treatment.

There were even more people at the Con than last year. The Thursday night crowd was like a Friday, Friday like a Saturday. Saturday and Sunday seemed just as full. Diversity was up with more African-American attendees and panelists which I’m always encouraged to see.

We ended up with a less frenetic schedule, taking more time off to hang with our Seattle friends, managing to meet up with them for lunch or dinner and the odd panel just about every day. I was glad to have the TracFone we’d bought for my father to text and keep in touch. The Dragon*Con app for the iPhone was invaluable for coordinating schedules and updates.

All the panels were generally decent. No walkouts. Music, however, was a bust. Not much new or interesting (one walkout in the concerts that could have been two). The final body count stands at 16-17 panels, 2-4 concerts, 8 CD’s, two shirts and a skirt with a pair of earrings and a necklace on the way. The tracks  divide out into 1 Pern, 2 Film, 2 Gaming, 2 Space, 5 Art, 2 Comic, 2 Writing, 2 Apocalypse Rising, 2 Sci-fi Literature.  Karen added two concerts and a concourse performance over what I did, as well as an extra panel (and we separated a couple times). During some of the down time, I wrote out three pages on a new science fiction story and outlined the rest of it in my head. This week’s project is to finish it.

Top five panels: Using the philosophy of Kant and Hobbes to interpret the morality of Batman and Superman, and the lens of Buddhism to examine Serenity (the most intellectual panel we attended, contrary to one egotistical writer whose panel came in a distant third). Examining the dynamic character identities by comparing and contrasting the accidental and essential features of Batman and Hamlet. Tactical first aid, with as much tactics as first aid, given by a SWAT-trained EMS (complete with a room clearing demo). Writing intrigue and deception complete with a 5-point identification system (and handouts) presented by a former Air Force intelligence officer. The basics of storytelling in film and what to expect as a writer.

The most resonant piece of observation I picked up: my writing process is very similar to another well-known author who writes very finished drafts with no outline without a lot of rearranging. Hearing that was heartening. I still find I relate better to adapting the creative process illustrators and artists share than anything I hear from the writers. Thumbnails, sketches, pillaging the archives for reference, being mindful of how the work moves the eye, those all make sense to me. The most fascinating bit of trivia: The movie Pretty Woman was originally a dark script called 3000 (the amount of money Julia Roberts’ character charged per night) before Disney decided to turn it into a Cinderella story. The most interesting detail: The military performs triage in the opposite order of the civilian world.

Cool rumors: The Comics and Pop Art Conference, which runs at Dragon*Con, is striking for an academic track next year. Theirs were two of our top five. I would definitely attend more. And the exhibitors hall and dealers room are moving offsite to the America’s Mart building (with 25% more room but no additional dealers) which will free up a ton of room in the Marriott.

Over the course of the weekend, four hundred bookmarks and business cards disappeared, including a handful in an impromptu marketing survey conducted by a friend (which oddly contradicted the way the bookmarks disappeared from tables). We’ll see if any of those make their way home by way of hits. 

This year was our tenth time attending in the past twelve years. While I say each year that we make take the next year off, I know Karen will attempt to book us a room in the Marriott in October. She already booked a backup since we’ve been home. So we’ll decide next summer whether our cons go to eleven.

In the meantime, I have an Amazon order to place for a game and several recommended books.

(And now it’s time for the only reason people muddle through this message, the out-of-context quotes. You’ll find them in the comments).

© 2012 Edward P. Morgan III

Dragon*Con: The Hero Cycle

The hero cycle begins and ends in the same location, the ordinary world, your safe and happy place. Between the call to adventure and the return with the elixir, the hero is transformed. Are you beginning, ending, or beginning once again? It's hard to say. The same can be said for us at Dragon*Con each year.

For all the hectic drama leading up to it, including the day before we left, our adventure went surprisingly smoothly. No major hiccoughs or disasters, no sickness or disease. Unless you count a minor bout of chronic heat stroke, but more on that in a bit.

Because I know you are all busy people, I'll give you the thumbnail sketch up front. Five days, sixteen panels, five concerts, two concourse performances. One panel cancellation, none we walked out of, only two a little sketchy. My three top panels: The Hero's Journey (Writing), Dungeon Design 101 (complete with dire skunks) (Gaming), and 5 Lies of Creativity and How to Overcome Them (Art). Karen's Best: Live Model 1 & 2 (5 hours of drawing) (Art). The panel with the most surprising tidbit of information: Memory Training (Science) where the clinical psychologist revealed a clinically studied treatment program for memory loss resulting from breast cancer treatment (chemo-brain) that we might look into.

For merch, we walked away with two books (The Creation of Narrative in Tabletop Role-Playing Games, Xtreme Dungeon Mastery), five CDs (The Cruxshadows, Ayria, Abney Park, The Julia Dream, Siberia My Sweet), two pieces of custom jewelry (David Cain Jewelry) and an artists' colony magazine (always talk to hippies on the street). Freebies included a Dragon*Con luggage tag, a cool Dragon*Con room key-card and a Pyr Books sampler.

We left out 650 business cards across five hotels, sometimes playing a game of cat and mouse with housekeeping, sometimes on an hourly basis. I figure we had a 10-25% loss rate with the rest taken up. As always, the transparencies went first. We'll see if they generate any traffic to the sites.

Travel was fine, except for having to remove my belt before getting scanned at the airport. Though that did add to the prison-like ambiance of the adventure. We got there before noon on Thursday and stayed late enough on Monday to catch the last panels. The weather in Atlanta on the way out became a concern (tornadoes north of downtown), but for us only resulted in a ten-minute delay and a lot of turbulence on the way home.

Registration was better this year (only two and half hours in line this year, a 40% reduction from the previous two), but not quite a breeze. Had the servers stayed up, it might have only been half an hour. Ah, well, at least we were out in time to get a decent dinner. Which we needed as the hour in line inside was at least as hot, and with less oxygen, than the rest of the bulk in the sun outside.

That set our first impression for the year, hot. And I don't mean just in Hotlanta. The rooms for the Electronic Frontiers Forum, Science and (initially) Gaming tracks had no working A/C. Imagine 100-200 people packed shoulder to shoulder into a conference room (sometimes SRO), complete with assorted A/V equipment, and you get the picture. Needless to say, we didn't hang out to ask a lot of questions afterwards.

We did get to listen to some good music, as always, though several of the concerts had lines. And, as always, most of the mixing was dubious. And one of the bands performed over half her set by flashlight as the stage lights died and had to be reset (the joys of a live performance). But the Cruxshadows concert had the best sound and mixing we've ever heard up there. Plus, we walked right in for the first time in five years. Totally worth staying up until 4 am and dragging the next day. There was still some slap-back in one of the halls, but not as bad as we've heard. We gave all the bands we saw some money to feed the iPod. We got a couple of CDs signed. Ayria seemed pretty jazzed when we told her that we knew and liked her music (and were obviously following her Twitter feed), even though we were, well, outside her core age demographic. Nice woman (but she's Canadian, so what else would I expect?). Key safety tip with most bands: lead singers tend to be focused on women (not the people buying their stuff) where bassists are more than happy to talk. But I knew that from hanging out with a pretty cool bassist in high school.

One thing they did get right this year was security. From 7 pm to 1 am, all entry into the hotels was badge or room key only. It seemed to keep out most of the muggles and local riff-raff. We encountered no floor shutdowns, no flying wedges of cops and hotel security wading through the crowds. The floors were just as frenetic, but there was never any hint of wondering if the bacchanalian revelry might erupt into a riot. Only once did my threat sensor go off, and that was fairly benign. But remember, you can make eye contact with real cops, but with rent-a-cops it might be a problem (they stare back).

What do I love about Dragon*Con? Talking art, perspective, light and shadow, writing, craft... I need to find a yearlong circle to do that with. We were missing several of our must-see speakers. We still had a couple there, but they weren't quite on their games. Generally, the panels were good, a couple with excellent speakers, but none had the inspirational, mind-expanding quality we've encountered in previous years. But we did find some time to hang out with friends which we haven't always had.

Instead of going through panel by panel, I leave you with some random impressions and lessons learned. Scientists and skeptics can be some of the least empathetic people who want to affect societal change. That's hard to do without understanding someone else's point of view. Most scientists are still so focused on their niche of study that they have a hard time applying broad (scientific) lessons to other disciplines, or understanding why certain behaviors might be beneficial from an evolutionary point of view. Modern game designers rely just as much on the hero cycle theory as writers and movie-makers. Storytelling is their primary focus, just through an interactive medium. One rather famous game designer cited Dramatica theory for creating character through-lines. Many of our attempts to boost children's self-esteem in this country have resulted instead in boosting levels of narcissism. The law of unintended consequences. When dealing with either surveillance or the apocalypse, avoid the guys with the Tacti-cool look (I love that word). Sociopathy is a viable survival option. A clipboard and a badge get you in just about anywhere. When coiling wire for making chainmail rings, don't let go of the drill.

I also came away with some good professional advice. To market yourself, become an extrovert, even if you aren't one. And if you weren't born that way, well, that might be a deficiency on your part. Look into YouTube for posting readings. People who read eBooks tend to be more loyal to the publisher than the author. The difference between commercial fiction and literary fiction is that commercial fiction deals with the big questions and gives hope for change. Literary fiction gives an experience by shining a light on a situation without making it transformative. I guess I now know which I tend to lean toward in my writing. Inspiration only comes once. If you don't write it down while it's there, it's gone forever. Just like your creative voice or vision as a writer or an artist when you're gone.

If you want to see all the panels and concerts we attended, you can find the day by day entries either on my Twitter or on my Facebook author's page (for those who haven't liked it yet, hint, hint).

You can find the band links (from this and previous years) at MySpace. Many have songs posted so you can give a listen if you like.

If you have any questions about any of them, just let me know and I'll get back to you. I'd be happy to share my notes.

Bottom line: it was a relaxing, informative and inspiring weekend as always, and much needed getaway.

For us, though, the cycle may be ending. This may have been our last Dragon*Con for a couple years to come. I've found it's always best to walk away from the table a little hungry before you start your next adventure. We'll see when it comes time to make reservations for next year.

© 2011 Edward P. Morgan III

Manasota Key

We just got back from a getaway to one of our favorite motels down on Manasota Key. We discovered The Pearl on a driving trip down the coast over fifteen years ago and have been back four or five times since.

Recently, when I've written these trip reports, they have been frenetically full of all the places we visited and things we have seen. Not this time. This trip was meant as a two-day reset.

This place we stay is a small affair, only a dozen rooms, nine with beautiful views of the ocean. The two front rooms are right on the beach to the point where storms have tried to wash them out to sea. It was under new ownership again, as it seems to be each time we return. The newest ones have put in new lights, new fixtures, new furniture, paint and tile. Now they have wifi and satellite TV though we barely turned it on. But still no phones in the rooms, which is nice.

This is the Florida coast much as it might have looked one hundred years ago. As you walk the shore, all you see is ocean, sand, sky and scrub, with the occasional stairs leading down to the beach. The houses are set back into the trees, with only a few roof peaks peeking above foliage, a few windows visible from directly out. And just a few fellow wanderers enjoying the autumn sun.

We spent our days walking the beach and reading in the shade of the deck. The days were warm, but not too warm, the nights cool but not too cool. The sand is a beautiful white you don't see as much on the Atlantic.

Mornings, we watched a fisherman cast into the surf and a scuba diver prepare his kayak for his outing as we drank our coffee and ate our bagels at the table in our room. The room had everything we needed, a fridge, a micro, a coffee maker, a toaster. We brought our regular breakfasts and lunches with us. For dinner, we ate rotisserie chicken and drank white wine from the Publix less than fifteen minutes away.

We hunted sharks' teeth by the water. When we started, I wondered if my eyes were still good enough to pick them out against the sand. When I was sixteen, I could spot the really tiny ones, an eighth of an inch or less. I handed Karen one just over that size after a little searching in the surf zone. I guess my eyes still work, at least in bright daylight. We picked up a handful of brightly colored shells and one piece of clear beach glass.

As we walked, Karen took pictures of the birds we saw along the shore. Regal blue herons, furtive night herons, spastic sanderlings, probing willets. We saw dolphin in groups of twos and threes hunting several times near shore.

In the evening, we watched the sunsets and looked for a green flash we didn't get to see. There were clouds and haze that lit up on the horizon. When the sun was gone, they shone a few minutes longer like frosted red and orange glass with a dying candle behind them.

As we walked the beach at night, crabs scurried back into the surf to get out of our way, sometimes right over our feet. The beach was dark at night. The moon was bright and full. The stars were only washed out by its brightness, the only light pollution from Venice and Sarasota far to the north. The shadows it cast spilled across the deck by the water. This would be a perfect place to watch a meteor shower, which we are considering when the Geminids come around in December. It's a turtle nesting area, so there aren't an abundance of artificial lights.

As we slept, we could hear the waves lapping on the shore. We could smell the sand and salt air. So peaceful.

On our way back, we explored downtown Venice which has come up a little bit since our last visit to include a few nice boutiques and sidewalk bistros. A tempting little diversion for a day.

After two very relaxing nights, we came home with gently tinking, clinking memories and pockets full of wonder, looking forward to the next time we return. This time, we don't intend to let it get to be so long between visits.

© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III

The Dao of Dragon*Con

Life after Dragon*Con seems so slavishly normal this morning. I need a 12-step, geek detox/reprogramming system just to fit back in. What panels am I attending this morning? Which concerts am I going to tonight? When will I ever get some sleep?

I started this trip to Dragon*Con with a heavy heart. I received the news day before we left that a friend from college had died. Each year we've gone to Dragon*Con, I've seen his doppelgangers and clones out of the corners of my eye and had to check to see if they were really him. They never were. While this year, I didn't have any major double takes, a picture very similar to his Facebook avatar was prominently displayed several places around the con. A hard reminder. I had been looking forward to telling him what I saw in this post. I found out Saturday that he chose the timing of his death.

I didn't sleep well or long enough Wednesday night, a trend that continued throughout the con. I'm not a person who deals well short of sleep. But Vitamin D has become my friend. It's like the Ecstasy of the vitamin world. Like the Red Bull of happiness and light.

Thursday came early with some annoyances at the airport. We flew a new airline, AirTran instead of Delta. They accumulated two strikes quickly. Because the plane was late arriving in Tampa on our way out, they boarded half of us through the rear door. Nothing like standing in the 90 degree Florida sun to put you in the right mood. Turns out that was foreshadowing. Strike two came when they didn't post our flight at baggage claim, so we had to hunt around an extra 15 minutes to find the right carousel. Combined with the 15-minute ground-stop in Tampa, we were 30 critical minutes late getting to the hotel.

We checked into the hotel, grabbed some water and headed for registration. By the time we got there, the line was wrapped around three sides of the block. By the time we left 4 HOURS later, it was all the way around. After the same experience last year (with a different registration process), I was less than pleased. But I was ok (think Dao, think Zen, read a book). Until I got to the front of the line. And met the woman behind the desk. Who gave absolutely no instructions. Just leaned back in her chair like we should know exactly what to do. By divination. And then waited for one of her associates (who was literally running between stations) to do her work. I about lost it.

The sheer inefficiency of the manual (as in non-computerized), poorly thought-out registration system easily added 2 hours to our time in line. I mean fundamental (expletive deleted) errors, like an alphabetical sort by line where they were pulling H-K out of line an hour behind us because, wow, there just aren't that many people with those last names. Yet they had a dedicated person to serve them, who by design, could do nothing else. ComiCon, GenCon both have many more people attend and 1/4 of the time in line. Then the con had the audacity to post on its Twitter Feed "Please limit the negativity in the Registration line." Sorry, but they earned every bit of negativity they got (not from me, who kept my mouth shut out of fear what might come out). With interest. By the time we had badges, I was completely power-down reset off-(expletive deleted)-line. Never a-(expletive deleted)-gain.

So we spent a lot of Thursday night trying to detox. We got some dinner (after no lunch) at 9, pre-bought two days of breakfasts and tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, our room was on the first floor (good) right above the Motor Court (bad) and configured to where all the noise from it bounced directly at our window (ugly). For those who haven't been to Dragon*Con, it's a 24 hour event. So I slept fitfully a while. Then I woke up at 2 and each time I drifted off, someone screamed (like they were right outside the window). It was like sleeping in a dorm room where you knew words are being spoken somewhere but can't pick them out. With the exception of F-this and B-that. Those came through loud and clear. When Karen drifted awake at 3, I told her we had to move. So that's what we did between 3 and 4 am. The desk wasn't sure if we wanted to wait until morning to make the change. Uh, no, I'd like to get 4 hours sleep tonight, thanks. Honestly, the hotel was fine with it. I have no complaints about them. Just bad luck of the draw for us.

By early Friday, it was apparent there were a lot more people than last year. I'd say 10-20% more. To the point the Fire Marshall shut down the Marriott lobby three times over the weekend. The first time was Friday night as we were coming back from two concerts at 2:30 am. Hotel guests only and the floor was still cleared when we came through. We found out on the way home that someone had tossed a phone from somewhere high in the hotel (42 floors, all accessing an Atrium) and it crashed onto the lobby tile right by a friend of ours. No one hurt, luckily. Again Saturday at 2 am coming home, badges or hotel key-card for entry (for sheer crowds, we think). And Sunday at 3 am (crowds again, we think, which we've never seen that late).

All day, every day the place was more packed than we'd seen it. Several rooms filled to capacity. A couple panels we couldn't get into because they were SRO full. Not Celebrity panels, Science panels, Armory panels, Gaming panels. We were lucky that we were there 20 minutes early for a few panels just to get a seat. There was a huge line for the Cruxshadows concert, and they seated it an hour early, before the preceding concert. Though an advantage to being my age, stature and (button-down) shirt is when someone tries to cut between me and Karen (holding hands single file) to cut the line, one glare puts a complete stop to it. And the staff ignores us. The hall was as packed as we've ever seen it and this was our 6th time seeing them there. Great to see, but...

Monday I got to sleep about 4:30 am then woke up at 8:30 am to donate blood, my only chance without a line. Short-sleep, little breakfast, mildly dehydrated, bad idea. But I really wanted the shirt. I felt the wave of light-headedness sweeping down way too late to do anything about. Feelin'... kinda... woozy... A bottle of Gatorade and I was fine. Never happened to me while donating blood before. This is like my tenth or twelfth time, the last in February. But I got my shirt, which was way cooler than the con shirt I could have bought for $25. So did Karen, but they rejected her from giving for an irregular heartbeat. Just peachy.

On our way home, we got a look at the dark-side of the US Air Force in the airport. I've never seen a sergeant cut off in a brew-house before. For his own good, if he wanted to get home (they won't let him on the plane drunk). Didn't help that he was acting like a complete predator with the young woman at the table next to us. Luckily, he had an airman with him with a good (and clearer) head on his shoulders. And the staff handled the situation with understanding and aplomb.

See by now, you're thinking this was a vacation from hell. It really wasn't. I'm not sure why (ok, maybe the Ecstasy thing. Kidding). We just didn't have time for the drama I guess. We did what we had to do. We adapted. With everything else going on, we weren't in the mood to stress over it. So we made sure to be in the right place for the panels we really wanted to see and then hung out more.

On the plane Thursday, I started another story, writing seven pages in the notebook, set on location in Atlanta. This is the third year I’ve done this story in an hour trick. I’ll work on that next. Friday we hit the dealers’ rooms and got to catch up with our friend from England and her new beau. That was nice. Saturday was really thin after we got bounced from one panel (SRO out the door) and another was cancelled. But we hung out in the lobby for a while with a friend from St. Pete who Karen talks photography with. That was nice, too. We got to do the music tables without making them a drive-by. Sunday, we hung out more and got to see our group of friends in pretty cool Plan 9 from Outer Space costumes, shades of gray like the black and white movie, complete with face-paint on all exposed skin. We texted back and forth with a couple people, letting them know where we would be and vice versa. It was cool to have someone say, that sounds interesting, I think I'll go there instead.

This was the first con were we saw a number of people who seemed happy, genuinely happy, to see us there. Some called out across the room. One was bouncing up and down (seriously, that doesn't happen with me). There are a slew of people from St. Pete who go now (like 17+). On the way home, we had 6 others from our extended group on our flight, so we got to wander through Tampa airport and onto the shuttle to parking, and compare notes with them. That was really nice, too.

We got to see a photographer from Chicago who we'd met there two years ago and talked to online whose face lit up when he saw us. He knew I hadn't been in his panel because one of our friends ratted me out. I'm exchanging emails with another panelist I've written before who didn't make it this year, but wanted to. Even he seemed happy to hear from me.

Even people we didn’t know. The first time the maid came, we were in our room. I guess we did something right with her, too. Every time we saw her from that day on, even way down the hall, her face brightened and she waved. Not the corporate, be nice to the guests wave, but a hey, you're ok, thanks for treating me like a person wave. As an added bonus, it looks like the hotel comp'ed us for one night (without us asking). So between that and the Rewards we used, hotel was half price this year.

When did I step into the twilight zone? Cerebus feels good. Cerebus feels really good. Cerebus never feels really good.

Dragon*Con: it's like going to an extended reunion and seeing all the cousins you never met and maybe never wanted to know, but still feeling that draw of family and knowing that you're at home, however crazy they act and however normal you now might seem.

So the synopsis for the year, 17 panels, 6 concerts and 2 concourse performances. We came home with 5 CDs, 2 sets of dice, an auto-dice roller, 2 blood shirts and 3 t-shirts as gifts for friends. We didn't even kill off all the food we squirreled away in our luggage on the way up. But we didn't run out of room for purchases, either.

From here on is a breakdown of panels and concerts.

For us, there are four levels of panels: Great, good, worthwhile and bust. A Worthwhile panel is one that makes us think on at least one point, or one we discuss with someone (or each other) later even if we didn't agree with the panelists. A Good panel is one that entertains us, or strings together a number of good points that get us thinking more about the topic. A Great panel is one that has us laughing or one that is so interesting we look up a panelist, maybe even write them, or check out the material and websites they gave us. A Bust is one with a bad speaker, or a speaker who is unprepared, or worse doesn't know their topic (or is just plain wrong), or is cancelled or subbed without notice, or hijacked off-topic. With that in mind, here's a rundown of this year's panels.

Evolution by Leaps and Bounds (Science, Fri.) - Good. I circled three notes I need to go check out. First was Carotenoids, specifically in a species of sea slugs that stores chlorophyll from things it eats bit by bit until it achieves the ability to photosynthesize. Second was an article in Nature in 2004 by Adami on treating AIs like a biological systems. And finally, the Red Queen Hypothesis from virology that evolution is a continuing race for a species just to continue to survive in its current niche. A speaker we'd go to see again.

Designing a Language (Writing, Fri.) - Good to Great. The speaker (a linguist) did a good job at teaching the audience the fundamentals of linguistics by using science fiction and fantasy languages as examples. The only mark against was that he ran out of time, thinking he had 1.5 hours instead of 1. But he had handouts (which usually rates a Good, minimum). I need to contact him to see if he can recommend an introductory book on linguistics for laymen. I also want to see where a particular characteristic of Welsh fits in to what he said. A speaker we'd go to see again.

Earthquakes and Volcanoes (Science, Fri.) - Bust. I felt sorry for the speaker who was very nervous. I got the sense she was talked into giving the presentation. Someone else wrote up the description of it for the program, which she quickly said she wouldn't cover as advertised. Biggest problem was that she wasn't a geologist, and the geologist sitting beside me just shook her head every time I looked over questioning what I heard. The USGS seriously needs a presence up there.

How Your Brain Works (Science, Fri.) - Good to Great. Missed a definite Great because it was well under time. But the speakers were good. And there were highly entertaining examples of what they were trying to show us. They opened with an example of how you mishear lyrics, O 4 Tuna (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1KaOV3dBlts). You will never hear Carmina Burana the same way again. The only issue I had was with single, tangential comment on mammography that I may write one of the speakers about. A couple websites I need to check out (http://www.quirkology.com/ and http://www.theinvisiblegorilla.com/). Two speakers we'd go to see again (one an old favorite, Dr. Jason Schneiderman).

Intuition (Art, Sat.) - Great. I connected to both the speaker (an artist who draws and paints) and her husband (a writer). She had a handout. But because of a technical issue getting her Power Point to the monitor, she opted to give a sketch demo for examples. I have a couple ideas she tossed out circled (steal other people's dreams, use a light table to preserve elements of sketches that work in an otherwise unworkable piece). http://www.paulina.ws/

Future Weapons (Science, Sat.) Good. An entertaining speaking who is in the Senior Executive Service of the US Army's R&D, Engineering Command. Another speaker who did an excellent job at teaching the audience how the military actually develops weapons using science fiction and fantasy weapons as examples. On the downside, he showed a US Army video of what they blue-skyed of what a high-tech war in 2035 would look like. Almost hilariously out of touch with both capabilities of the enemies we are likely to face and the current budgetary constraints. But he seemed to know that. My friend who works in that arena as a contractor would have torn apart a several statements. Most interesting part was he was setting up a contest for the people in the room to take what they learned and use it to propose a new weapon or armor system. He and others in his office would judge them, and if the were good enough, would put together a paper/proposal that they would present higher up. The previous administration talked a lot about tapping into the knowledgeable but creative general public to see if they can help think outside the box. Took a while, but here it is.

Literary Attraction (SF Literature, Sun., E-only) - Good. The panel had two authors and a neuro-psychiatrist to discuss the differences in what men and women like in what they read and how much of that is biologically based. A couple fascinating points. First, people only fight for two reasons. One, for survival. Two, for the right to breed. There are no rules in fighting for survival, while there usually are in fighting to breed. Women ONLY fight for survival as they already assume the right to breed. Second point, gender and sexuality are two different things in the case of what's attractive in literature to women and men. There was a book recommendation I need to check out called Sperm Wars. Again, one of the panelists was a favorite, Dr. Jason Schneiderman.

Live Portrait (Art, Sun. K-only) - Great. Donato Ciancola gave a portrait painting demo using a photograph as a subject. Karen said it was fascinating to watch. So much so she found me after my panel to come see the mostly finished product, which I got to see again in the Art Show. Yeah, he's good. http://www.donatoart.com/

Board Gaming (Gaming, Sun. E-only) - Great. Two entertaining, knowledgeable presenters (one is the director of the board gaming at Dragon*Con) with the Gaming track director acting as a light-handed moderator from the side. I have a dozen games I need to check out on www.boardgamegeek.com. These two were hilarious speakers. They hold a regular board game night at their church. We're talking Settlers of Catan, Last Night on Earth, Pandemic, Arkham Horror. As they said, perhaps theirs isn't a normal church. Best piece of advice for checking out games was to search YouTube. People have put together demos for many, many games. Dragon*Con owns 300+ board games and gets another 1000 on loan that people can check out (library style) at the convention to give a test run.

Photo to Fantasy (Art, Sun. K-only) - Great. A introductory to intermediate panel on using PhotoShop to enhance your photographs. Inspired Karen with a number of techniques she wants to try. Given by another speaker we'll listen to any time, both for his technical knowledge and his ability to make us think, Amul Kumar. A great photographer, too. http://amul.biz/ - NSFW

Dungeon 101 (Gaming, Sun.) - Great. The Gaming track director, who is a credited game designer gave this one. Highly entertaining and informative. His second panelist canceled on him, so he gave a 5-10 minute intro on what a dungeon is (from a design perspective) beginning with verisimilitude and then took the rest of the time as Q&A. I've seen very few speakers who could pull off that format the way he did with a packed house of 150+ people. It was so packed they were checking badges at the door when Karen joined me halfway through. Another speaker we would see again.

Japanese Ink Painting (Silk Road, Sun., K-only) - Bust. Karen ditched out halfway through to join me in Dungeon 101. The speaker had a prepped talk (and a handout) but just read straight off the handout then asked if there were questions. She didn't think the few examples he showed were representative, nor did he really show how to do it.

Stealth in Space (Science, Sun.) - Good. Entertaining. The quick answer is, there is no stealth in space, at least in the way it's portrayed in Science Fiction, at least with our current understanding of physics. The speaker did his homework, complete with calculations. Not a lot of new information for me. Another speaker we would listen to any time, Dr. Stephen Granade http://granades.com/

The Future of Pen and Paper RPGs (Gaming, Sun.) - Good. We only caught the last 1/3 of it (when we ducked out of the previous panel's Q&A). From what we saw, another solid performance on the Gaming track by two panelist in the RPG publishing business. And coming out of the panel was one of the first times someone has struck up a conversation with me based on what I was saying to Karen. Kind of weird, but kind of cool too.

Old School Techniques (Art, Sun) - Good. Don Maitz gave a show and tell of some of his work from art school 40 years ago. I took a fair number of notes on things like value drawings, light, background color, positive and negative space, etc. If nothing else, for me, it helps to appreciate the art that I see. Plus he had some really cool head-shot sketches of people he'd seen around various cons that he'd converted to fantasy characters. Very accessible, and knew the ins and outs of traditional art subjects, including how you need to bring your knowledge of the physiology to a painting. His best advice, remember your eye is better than any camera. Photographs can't tell you where to build color and where not to. Photographs lie, your eye doesn't.

Cult of Personality (Apocalypse Rising, Mon.) - Worthwhile. Barely. Started as a Bust with the psychologist running the panel saying she didn't know much about it but thought it would be cool to talk about, and then left ALL her research and notes at home, so she couldn't confirm what she said was right. But one of the audience members had a PhD in History focusing on Apocalyptic Studies. They drafted her onto the panel. The one piece of information that sparked discussion between Karen and I was why Steampunk was rising in popularity just as Goth was declined. We didn't necessarily agree with the speakers on that point completely, but an interesting set of thoughts.

Staying Sane (Writing, Mon.) - Worthwhile. A large panel of authors and editors talking about how they stay sane in the publishing world as well as what drives them crazy. I was hoping it would be more from the point of view of the type of things writers struggle with (validation without publication, friends/family not understanding what they do, the day to day isolation, etc.). While they lightly touched on that, it was going to quickly move to war stories from the publishing business, which seems to be what the attendees of that track really want. We opted to leave early so we didn't feel rushed at the airport. The one good point they brought out was on how contracts were structured, specifically a common Catch-22 regarding advances, royalties and reserves against returns, as well as the devil's bargain the publishing houses struck in the 30's regarding returns and how e-books are finally changing that.

Concerts are an easier grading system. Either we like them or we don't. I try not to judge too harshly. These are some of the hardest working people at the con. I couldn't do what they do. They lay themselves out in the arena of public opinion then have to sit by a table for four days as people just walk by.

Attention System (Friday, concert) - Worthwhile, but not our thing. There is nothing technically wrong with them. Polished but forgettable. They remind me of another group I listened to in college (that I can't remember either). More straightforward rock than I was looking for. http://attentionsystem.com/

Ego Likeness (Friday, concert) - Great, as always. Even when the singer's mike went dead mid-song, they didn't miss a beat. The guitarist just stepped to center stage, and the singer sang to the front row. And the lead singer was just recovering from laryngitis. So not a long set, but you wouldn't know if they hadn't said. They kept coming out for encores. This is one of the bands that saw Karen through chemo. I feel like I owe these guys. And that's not a mercy recommendation. They make great music. I felt bad when the lead singer had to wake up the guitarist (her husband who was sleeping with his head on the table) to get him to sign Karen's CD. But he was immediately right there to interact, then crashed again. http://www.egolikeness.com/

I:Scintilla (Saturday, concourse and Saturday, concert) - Great. We caught them on the concourse first to see if they were any good. You can tell a lot about a band when they perform an acoustic set, no matter what type of music they play. You can't fake that type of talent. They were good enough to buy 2 CDs on the spot. The lead singer has a powerful voice. She overpowered the two small Bose they had setup on the concourse. Not blew them out from kissing the mike, just blew right past them into the audience. I thought, well, she will be interesting to hear with some real speakers and amps. She blew through those, too. Pure, raw talent with great control. The speakers just couldn't handle her. You can't quite hear it on the album. I've never heard anything like it. Their music would be zoned light industrial. http://www.iscintilla.com/

Black Tape for a Blue Girl (Saturday, concert) - Worthwhile, but not our thing. In fairness, we only caught 2-3 songs at the end of their set, as they were on opposite I:Scintilla. What we heard reminded me of a kind of Blue Velvet sound, strange, oddly kind of 30's/40's/50's fused into something out of the 80's. Dark cabaret really does cover it. http://www.blacktapeforabluegirl.com/

Celldweller (Sunday, concert) - Great. I considered just seeing him, but they forced seating for both his concert and the Cruxshadows at the same time, with a massive line. When we told the guy who is Celldweller, that we actually intended to see him that night, and not just to get into the Cruxshadows concert, he was shocked. "Really?" Really. Made his morning. Great video presentation with the concert. And 2 CDs worth of goodness. http://www.celldweller.com/site/ http://www.myspace.com/celldweller

Cruxshadows (Sunday, concert) - Great as usual. Ok, not the best we've seen. But we knew going in that their lead singer came down with the flu three days earlier. We could tell immediately that he wasn't holding his notes as long as usual. He didn't break, he was just preserving his voice as long as he could. Of course, the entire sound system crashed mid-song on them, requiring the con-staff to reboot the amps (?!). He didn't understand either, but did White Rabbit a cappella to fill in. A consummate professional. I saw him in the Ego Likeness concert, doing a sound check of the hall, ignoring an idiot who was messing with him, and talking to the mixers. They performed a one hour, forty-five minute set. He left it all on the floor. By the time he came to Marilyn, My Bitterness (always the closer), he needed help from us to sing. And they didn't have a new single they were trying to chart. That was just for the fans. This is another band I owe. Several of Karen's chemo anthems came out of them. Again, not a mercy recommendation. They. Kick. Ass. http://www.thecruxshadows.com/

Violin Jam (Monday, concourse) - Worthwhile. A collection of violins and strings that started as an impromptu jam near the music tables a few years ago. Led by the violinist from The Ghosts Project, who we've seen on the concourse before. Just something different before we said goodbye. http://www.myspace.com/theghostsproject

As with everything in life, Dragon*Con changes year to year. Some good, some bad. It's a matter of how it all balances out. We'll see what we do next year. At the very least, we'll make a reservation in October and go from there. Next year is the 25th Dragon*Con, so it might be must-see.


© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III