DragonCon 2006 Saturday: In which we try to get the party started.
Saturday was BattleStar Galactica day. I chose to appropriately attire myself in something simple with clean lines in a neutral
color like any other colonist in the Battlestar-verse. Ok, fine, I just slapped on a name tag with the number two on it and
said I was a Cylon. I happily skipped to the BSG panel, visions of promised priority seating dancing in front of me. And then
I found that no one had thought to reserve my chair or for that matter, even attempt to take care of it. Everyone was just
too busy or forgot. I did end up getting a front row seat at the very, very end of the row. Happily I was seated next to princessbride24
she provided me with plenty of colorful commentary. And a good view of Tahmoh Pinikett's face as Sam constantly and loudly
declared her love for him and he looked our way.
Interesting tidbits from the panel: Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful James Callis marred his aforementioned beauty by growing
some big mountain man beard. He looked rueful when some woman in the audience confused him for the other completely different
but just as good looking actor who plays Dr. Julian Bashir on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (Alexander Siddig). People expect
the actress who plays Ellen Tigh to be just like her bitchy, boozy counterpart. Aaron Douglas was widowed in March and found
the emotional intensity of his role to be very challenging at times because of his grief. Richard Hatch thinks both versions
of BSG are pretty. Tahmoh Penikett is Candian. Okay, that last one is well known but I don't remember much more about him
because of Sam's persistent love serenades to him.
Oooh, but I do have a good blind item about one of the panelists. Which privileged white male was encouraged by his chauvanist
handler to have his sexual pick of a random and then affronted group of female audience members? This panelist was nonplussed
and dare I say, willing, when his handler complained that in these modern times, the suffering panelists had to put up with
who he thought were uppity groupies who expected to be greeted before they were bedded by a stranger who uses his off camera
credentials to play like he was an on camera star? I guess if you are female and willing to stand in line to try to glimpse
the cast, that also means you are standing in line to sexually service strangers. Asshole.
The Firefly panel was one long hazy mind trip. After I stood outside for almost two hours, cursing my stupidity at wearing
a wool dress in the heat, I was properly docile and subdued when we found our seats in the air conditioned auditorium. Summer
Glau was odd and serene. Alan Tudyk was spazzy and glib. I was sleepy. Maybe we were all smoking the same damn thing.
Having skipped dinner in order to take a short nap, naturally I was cranky and crabby at the Mature Themes panel. Still, I
was sure it was not just me when I found myself yawning and eyeing my banana with great interest. There really wasn't anything
racy about the panel. In fact, when one person lumped playing a lesbian on par with playing a crackwhore, I propose that we
were indulging in the very opposite of maturity.
The panel was punctuated with the same damn questions, the same awkward silences. Except of course for one guy who appeared
to be conversing with the characters the actors played about his ideas for fanfiction. Oh sure, I'm sure he'd say that he's
just hypothesizing about what could have happened- Wouldn't it be cool if Ram and Ruby got married? Do you think that Siva
wasn't really dead? What if there was a Tribe 6 where monkeys ruled and Lex was their slave?-What if NO ONE CARES AND THERE
ARE NO ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS?!! Oh, the agony and the awkwardness. But my banana was good.
So Kell, Sam, Shannon and I are reasonably cute but 100% fabulous. Surely finding a party to go to would be no problem. Having
decided to attend the Pirate Party the next night, we girls go looking for a good time. And that is about all we do. Shut
out of most of the evening events because they were full to capacity, I showed off my mutant superpower (always being able
to get the bartender to mix a double for the price of one shot) for the ladies and then we were off to a rip-snoringly bored
time. We just couldn't find the party.
So here is what I learned. I have great Alcohol tolerance….when I'm eating carbs. Apparently, all protein+ two drinks=
Drunk dreago. Now, I don't get stupid or anything. I impressed the girls with my ability to do fancy math with the bartender
and to nimbly weave in and out of the crowd. Drunk dreago is just numb to life. I flit in and out, between fairy wings and
pillars because I can't feel anything. So, risking plowing over someone or vice versa does not concern me. I don't think this
power is bestowed on the other girls because we keep losing people in our party train and we have to go back and rescue them,
trapped like butterflies in a web of whips, choke collars, smelly Elvin capes and pizzas reeking of Con Crud. Kellygirl eventually
just gives up.
I can't feel my feet, I can't feel my back, I can't feel my hands…let's limbo! Alcohol makes me a tad more affectionate
and a tad more demonstrative. Sadly, it did not make a tad less bored. I went to drum circle and admired the great dancers.
I taught some of the other girls what I had learned so we could all do the hurly burly at least one time around the circle.
But since I could not feel the ground, I could not dance properly. I talked briefly with one girl in the fandom who I had
always thought looked cool but had never met before. And then I went to bed, leaving the other girls to their wits.
As usual, had I been willing to tolerate boredom for another hour, I would not have missed the great drama that went down.
This is what happened to me last year and the year before. Apparently all the good stuff that causes the gossip begins when
I slip between the sheets. Wait, hold on, I don't think I wrote that right.
Anyway, hearts were broken, tears were shed, allegedly threats of harm were uttered and people were sent home. The witty girls
drank even more and called everyone whores. The worst part is that in a few hours everyone but the most important person in
the melee knew what had gone down. Had I known it was supposed to be a secret, had I known that the VIP was not being sarcastic
when he told me what he knew, I might have kept my mouth shut. Maybe. It is hard to say no when a pretty boy asks you nicely.
Alas, drunk dreago is even wordier then sober dreago. Especially when the Champagne is free and the party starts on Sunday.