Matthew S. Rotundo's Pixeltown

Wrath of the Scheduling Gods, part III: I had a reading at 9:00 a.m. on Monday.

Let me say that again: 9:00 a.m. On Monday.

If there’s a worse time slot for a panel, I defy you to name it. Last day of the con, with many people going home, and those who remain worn out from the long weekend. Yeah. Perfect. Fear the scheduling gods.

That said, there was a decent turnout, certainly better than I had expected–which is to say, the room wasn’t empty.

I shared my reading slot with Michael Skeet and Richard Chwedyk, who both read excerpts from longer works. I went last, and had about 15 minutes, at best. The good news was that I had chosen my material wisely, opting for "Fuel," which was just short enough. And it seemed to go over well, garnering reactions in the right spots and a generous round of applause at the end.

Who knew that the Monday 9:00 a.m. crowd could be so enthusiastic?

That was my last official programming item for the con, but I stopped at a panel on spirituality and writing. This wouldn’t normally be my thing, but John Pitts was on it, and we had hung out a fair amount over the weekend. Everyone ended up doing a little writing exercise, using Tarot cards to kick-start the creative process. Was kinda cool, actually.

The afternoon was one of many partings. The last day of a con is always sad for me: the party’s almost over, and we all have to go back to the (vastly overrated) Real World soon. How unutterably depressing. I went to the George R.R. Martin reading (a huge fan of his books, me), and that helped relieve the sting a bit. I ran into fellow Codexian Tom Crosshill outside of closing ceremonies, and together we went on a little walking tour of Old Quebec before he had to catch a cab. It was the most I got to see of the city, as is usual with WorldCons. I got in a few good pix along the way.

I figured I would be in for an early night. I was tired, and I had to get up pretty early the next morning. I should have known better.

At the Dead Dog party, I ran into Paolo Bacigalupi again; talk about coming full circle. After a pleasant chat with Scott Edelman, a group of us headed toward the Intercontinental to rendezvous with Liz Gorensky, Rob Bland, John Joseph Adams, Amelia Beamer, and raft of others whose names I didn’t catch. They had a hankering for chocolate mousse, and had heard tell of a place nearby where the chocolate mousse was to die for, or something like that. So off we went into the streets of Montreal in search of it, lateness of the hour be damned. Unfortunately, all we had was an address, not a name. After a few blocks, it became increasingly clear that the address existed only in a GPS. The Real World stubbornly persisted in not having it. See what I mean by overrated?

Undaunted, we pressed on. It became a quest.  Chocolate mousse is, after all, chocolate mousse.

Liz forged ahead, and eventually came across a pizza place that promised to serve the desired dessert. Their chocolate mousse was actually chocolate cake with mousse filling. And ain’t that just like a quest? When you finally obtain what you were searching for, you discover that it’s not quite what you thought it would be. Anyway, we declared the quest achieved, and sat to enjoy our hard-won prize.

It was the last great adventure of WorldCon 2009, at least for me. I headed back to the hotel and went to bed. A cab whisked me to the airport the next morning, and by late afternoon Tuesday, I was home.

And as I come to the end of this little travelogue, I realize that I’ve left out a bunch of stuff, omitted many names. If I’ve neglected to mention you in these ramblings, I apologize. There was just that much going on.

Anyway, that was my WorldCon. Next year’s is in Melbourne. Oh, how I would love to be there. If I can work out the funding, it’ll happen. Until then, au revoir.

It was a gorgeous Hugo, BTW. That granite base was heavy.

Then I gave it back–if by "gave it back," you mean "forced them to call in five burly guys to pry it from my desperate grip." The bruises are starting to fade now, but I did think the brass knuckles were bit of overkill.

Next time, I’m gonna make a run for it.

Tune in tomorrow for our thrilling conclusion: Reading, Tarot writing, and the Quest for Chocolate Mousse.

Ordered room service for breakfast on Saturday. Hey, I was on vacation. Ya gotta order room service at least once, right? Plus, I had a hankering for pancakes–real pancakes, not the crepes that were available on the hotel’s breakfast buffet.

Truth be told, what I really wanted was some maple syrup.

Seriously. The maple syrup in Canada is wonderful. It is the apotheosis of maple syrup. If the only syrup you know is that sugary goop that cowers in bottles on the shelves of American supermarkets–and you’ll note that none of them dare to put the word maple on their labels anymore–hie thee north of the border and get a taste of the real stuff.

My only programming on Saturday was the Battlestar Galactica panel, which included my friend Amy Sisson, Suzanne Church, Eliza Baynes, and David Clink. Lots of audience participation on this one, well managed by David, but it can be boiled down to this: the ending sucked. Those of you who have seen it know this already.

(Operational note: I must at some point have failed to properly propitiate the scheduling gods, as the BSG panel was opposite a Neil Gaiman reading. Further evidence of the scheduling gods’ wrath is forthcoming.)

The Odfellow dinner was Saturday night. More name-dropping: Bob Sojka and David Hendrickson, whom I neglected to mention in the previous post, and new Odfellows Brad Hafford and Buck (whose last name I’ve forgotten, sorry). Was delighted to find fellow ’98 alum Rich Bradford and son among the crew. Rich’s appearance was a pleasant surprise; I hadn’t seen him since Odyssey. Dinner was a crowded, chaotic affair. While the food and company were both fine, the restaurant staff had apparently never been asked to split checks before, which made it difficult for those of us deducting our expenses to get receipts. But a few of us managed a neat way around that, by paying our shares with credit cards. Ha! We really stuck it to Da Man, there.

Stickin’ it to Da Man, part II: After the masquerade–always a good time at WorldCon–it was back to the Delta for more parties. After the previous evening’s fiasco, the hotel staff had gotten even more draconian, not allowing anyone up to the crowded party floors–5 and 28–until people came down from those floors. This resulted in a long line. Ah, but the plan had a fatal flaw: if you were going to your room, you were allowed on an elevator immediately. Well, it just so happened that my room was on the 26th floor. From there, it was just two flights of stairs to reach the parties. Can’t stop the rock, you bastards!

At the Hadley Rille party, I ran into the irrepressible Camille Alexa, who promptly took me by the arm and informed me that I would be her guide/escort as she made the rounds. Well, OK. Off we went into the swirling crowds, with me running interference. We chatted up various and sundry, including Leah Bobet, with whom I had a panel the following day. Later, we found ourselves headed for the Intercontinental Bar, accompanied by none other than Larry Niven. Don’t ask me how it happened; I attribute it to Hurricane Camille. While at the Intercontinental, I got to meet Patty Garcia, publicist for Tor. Once it became clear that the Intercontinental was done serving alcohol for the evening–at least to us–we all headed back to the Delta (except for Larry Niven, who called it a night). Parties were winding down by that time, as most of them were out of booze. I took that as a sign that it was time for bed.

Next installment: Professional advice for breakfast, and I get a Hugo (only to have it taken away).