(This account is rather late, but here is the next installment. Last one to follow soon, I hope).
The other night, my partner and I were watching a show in which a couple of the (male) characters were bored at a rather boring party, but then they and the party perked up when three things changed: a couple of beautiful women arrived, a band began playing, and exotic tropical alcoholic drinks appeared. In other words: sex, drugs and rock and roll. The rock and roll can be almost any type of music, and the drugs can run the gamut, but this basic formula for fun appears in many classic forms: the stoned hippie girl strumming a guitar; coked-out leopard skin-clad sirens at a disco; even the Richard Gere version: champagne, opera and a high-class hooker.
Are these ingredients for a great party? I'm not sure, but one of the best things about that Battlestar weekend was the constant stream of memorable moments, including my own version of sex, drugs and rock and roll: in my case - red wine, Beatles sing-a-longs, and a sexy actor. Here's how that happened.
As I mentioned, I was part of the select, though not necessarily exclusive, Gold membership: special events, special seating, perks, swag and so on. Informational details on JUST what these exclusive events would be like - advertised as some form of drinks or dinner with the actors, which was the part everyone was clearly most excited about - was scarce pre-event, and I know I wasn't the only Gold member eagerly looking forward to arriving and seeing just what was in store for me. However, at this fan-run Con (and again, God bless them for putting it on), details remained unclear up until the moment of the event, the first one being the Tip a Pint Of Ambrosia party on Friday night, which was supposed to be ticket-only or Gold members, but really just ended up being everyone hanging out at the hotel bar. My Gold status got me a drink ticket, which was actually appreciated since even my mediocre red wine was $14. I didn't think too much about the fact that hanging out at a hotel bar wasn't an exclusive event.
As it turned out, hanging out at the hotel bar turned out to be the ONLY event, really, outside Con hours, except for Saturday evening, a pleasant enough but unexciting dinner at the Kennedy Space Center - and all I'll say about the Center is it was was interesting but skippable, especially considering the interminable bus ride to and fro; most of the time I spent wondering how soon I could get back to the hotel bar, which was where all the action was.
The first evening party, Friday, was scheduled hanging out - presumably, as tickets had been sold, the actors, at least some of them, had agreed to be there, for some minimum amount of time. This is what I'd seen at other Cons, and jived with what I'd heard. It felt a little weird - I didn't want to really hang out with people who I'd paid to hang out with, but best not to think about that too much because then you started wondering just what you were doing and why you wanted to meet them. In my case, I had this idea about celebrity encounters being especially fecund experiences: ripe, full, exciting, rife with possibilities and pitfalls. Like a job interview, there's a little tension built in - how will you do? It's a challenge - see my entries about Hugh Jackman and you'll see that there's an art to getting the attention of a man who's used to having far too many generic, nameless fans fighting for it. How well can you hold yourself and your own space under such specific social pressure can be a useful litmus test for how robust your own self-possession is.
But that's just part of it. I was, I admit, like everyone else there, excited to meet those who brought this beloved show and these beloved characters to life. And when I say beloved, I mean it - I really love characters. For instance, I love the Galactica's XO, Saul Tigh, and by that I mean I love Saul, in my heart, like I love someone I know personally. Not just BSG - I love Josh and Bartlett from The West Wing, I love Indiana Jones and Han Solo; it doesn't even have to be humans: I love Aslan, the divine lion from the Chronicles of Narnia, so much so that my love of lions in general is partially due to my love of Aslan. I love other things deeply, in the same way, such as certain paintings or a particular symphony or the full moon, and if they were characters, I'd want to meet them. But I can't meet Aslan, nor the full moon, nor even Saul Tigh even though it seems like you can. There's just no there there, no thing to meet. However, I can meet Michael Hogan (and here, you may insert many of the BSG characters for me, from Starbuck to the Old Man to Romo Lampkin - OR you can insert any of the characters that you yourself love but that you can't ever get to because, dammit, they are fictional). But at least, at the very least, I can meet the actors that did it, the ones that brought to life these men and women I love.
So I found myself in a Hilton hotel bar in Houston, looking for love on a Friday night. I've never been at a party where it's mostly the rich and famous, but I've been at parties where some of the people are so-called stars, and in fact like stars, they have little things orbiting all around them: people, energy, money, drinks. Stars form pockets - like Neil Cassady, they simply attract all those around them. So it seemed to be happening here....at first. I arrived, got myself a glass of wine, and started mingling, which is actually easy to do when you're alone if you can get over any shyness or embarrassment, which I luckily have little to none of. I started listening in on conversations, talking to people. I met Erin, cute, age 23, from Austin, extremely fun and funny - she was wearing a Che shirt that said So Say We All, and had EJO's face instead of Che; I talked to the people I'd met in line, or did a reading for, or sat next to. We were all already getting to know each other - the civilians.
And yet, to my surprise, it wasn't just us. Sure, EJO didn't hand out for long, but everyone else did, and after a few hours of Richard running around, Dirk and Hogan holding court in their mutual smoking areas, Tahmoh and Trucco with assorted others squarely placed on the bar couches, we all got the idea: whatever event that ever happened was over, and now we were all just hanging out. This is how it was, pretty much the entire time, except I didn't know that it was going to be like that, and I stayed and dove into any activities with gusto. I went outside to smoke (even though I don't smoke, I find outside to be the best place to be at social events) and found Hogan, who was essentially there until Sunday night, on the final night, when I sat next to him and he greeted me with a now-familiar, "How are you tonight, darling?" But this was Friday, and we were all introducing ourselves.
I found myself alone with him. What did I do? Communications at X, I said, naming my upscale grocery company. "X?" Hogan said. "I love X." He did too - told me a story of driving through Oregon, I think - a road trip with his son, and he'd resigned himself to eating crappy road food and feeling bad. Then they crested a hill and there, in the valley, they saw one of our stores. " 'We're saved, we're saved,' we were saying to each other," he told me; they were truly excited. This was very nice to hear - people love my company, as I do, yet I never get tired of hearing it, of knowing I'm doing good work in the world.
We talked more, about what I don't remember now. I'd gone around to the actors that day while the Con was still slow - the weekend would be madness, EJO had warned us - and taken my pictures and showed them the BSG cards - and so I'd met Michael earlier that day. He did something then that - well, it's going to be hard to describe because it will sound stupid but I'm going to try. There was buzz at the table, some commotion, he was distracted over something, and when he came over to my side of the table to take the picture, he seemed to see me clearly for the first time, and he said, "Oh!" as if he were surprised, "you're beautiful!" Sounds like just a polite or routine thing a kind actor might say to a fan, I know, but if you'd been there, you'd have heard what I did, which was just a genuine positive reaction to my person. It was lovely. As the weekend went on and he and I saw each other, we referenced that moment. Later when there was a group around, I made a joke quietly - he was next to me and heard me, chuckled and said in an aside, "Clever...beautiful and funny."
And all the encounters were charming - though I confess, I found myself mostly drawn to Hogan, there was something about the man I just adored - each in their own way. I won't detail every little bit, but there were a couple of outstanding moments, one of which was with EJO. Earlier in the day, I'd taken a picture with him - they were all very kind, posing and signing, very obliging to the odd requests. And I've always like pictures where the people are looking at each other, not the camera, so I'd asked him, would he mind? He was all willing, and it was a wonderful moment of smiling eye contact. which is really all I want from any fellow human being.
Let me explain a bit: I've got this feeling that I call artistic obligation, which is when you are so moved by an artist, you want to give back to them. Buying their product - their next book, a ticket to their show - doesn't seem like enough; sure, that's their bread and butter - but they gave me joy and what have I ever done for them? The very least I can do, I figure, is buy them a drink. I bought Hogan a few beers, it was my absolute pleasure. So that night, I find myself in the packed EJO circle, and he finishes his drink. I offer to get him one - "margarita, and make sure they put it in a short glass, nothing too big" - and I do. It takes a few minutes, and he's moved away but I find him, and break through the circle with the drink in one hand, my wine in another. I hand it to him, and there, in the middle of the chaos swirling around him, he gives me the look - the deep, intense soul-pinning gaze of The Old Man - and he holds me there, for a few moments. Time essentially stops and it all goes silent. I'm looking at the living, breathing incarnation of the Gravitas card, which is looking right back at me. We clink glasses and with that sound, the mass of humans, all orbiting around him, break through our ocular perimeter, and I think, well, I can go home now a happy woman.
But I didn't need to - because there were many, so many more terrific moments coming up, from the people I met like Erin and Jason and Julie and Chelsea and those guys who were playing Jay and Silent Bob at the Comicpalooza to more time with folks from the show. I went to panels and saw all the same people from the bar - people were getting drunk at night together and then asking questions about this part of the show or that aspect of your character the next day, the actors behind the tables during the day, but next to us at night. It's like those overnight team builds, when everyone is trying to talk business the morning after. Because you're thinking, sure, it's all about merchandising and margins now, but last night we had toe sex (see entry "They Were Just Shoes Before"). So I sat on my side of the tables at the panel, and confusedly went back to my own Oracle table, in which I was on the other side of the other side. Actually, literally on the other side of my curtain was Anne Lockhart, aka Sheba, who was absolutely a terrific, deeply funny woman and just who I want to be when I grow up.
Which brings me, finally, to my moment of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Friday night was magic; it actually ended up being the most fun night, for me - not only was it an incredible party, with actors I love and new friends I just met, but it was still the beginning and I felt the luxury of time, that moment of "Wow, it's already more than I ever expected and yet there's only more to come" (which can hold its own elements of let down, but that's another thread). And the highlight was when I walked into the bar after a long stint with Erin outside with Hogan and Co, and found a group of people singing Beatles tunes. Acapella, just drunk people singing in a bar - which is already kind of a favorite situation of mine. As you know, I love group singing - me, who dragged my ukulele to India to sing with the orphans, who works to put on a 12-hour circlesong annually, who will stand and sing in the amphitheater at Ephesus - so this was just the thing for me.
And who had the effortless daring to be leading this wild spontaneous sing a long? None other than Esai Morales, from Caprica - he'd been a last-minute added guest, I knew little about him and had no expectations, but here he was, singing his heart out. The group, collectively, seemed to know all the lyrics; when one faltered, another picked it up. Richard appeared almost right away, next to me, and I found myself in a fairly drunken 1am Beatles sing-a-long with the man who played Apollo. So, there you are; you just never know what's in store for you.
The singing was so much fun, I didn't want to go to bed but I hate not sleeping on vacation, and I was exhausted. Still, every time I tried to go to bed - every night - someone stopped me by saying, "C'mon. Look at THIS. When is THIS going to happen again?" Like so many others, I got little sleep. It was seemingly universal, this "I gotta go to bed but I can't bring myself to leave." By the final day, Sunday, I was dragging my ass. It was not just the accumulation of nights of light to heavy drinking, but the emotional highs - and inevitable lows. I'd been up on Friday, so up, then down a bit on Saturday - there was nowhere to go but also readings make one tired - and Sunday, finally wrung out and simply surrendering to the moment, I rose and offered up some intentions to the universe. "Do of me what you will," I said. "I am your instrument." And the first thing that happened to me was I found myself alone in an elevator with Tahmoh, who looked as exhausted as I, though later, during his panel, he was full of his old charm - what a pro. I, too, had to gather my strength for a day of readings. We had a moment of pleasant commiseration, exchanged a few phrases that were the language equivalent of grunts.
After I was finally able to tear myself away from the Beatles, I got distracted outside with Hogan and some group until I eventually went in again some time later, making my rounds at the bar to say goodbye to friends I'd known less than 24 hours but whom I expected would be bummed if I went to bed without saying goodnight. Esai was having a drink with Luciana and some others. I made a point to thank him, I loved the singing. We started talking, he liked harmonizing but that's hard in a group, what else could I sing? So then we were singing, snatches of songs, things you can really harmonize on. "Can you waltz?" I asked him at one point, "Because if you could, you'd be perfect." "Waltz?" Esai said, and then we were singing The Blue Danube. Then Esai stood up and said, I know what we should have sang! He slapped his thigh, started a rhythm, "Sometimes...in our lives...we all have pain..." we were launched into "Lean On Me," which has special significance for me - in particularly, when sung acapella, because it was one of my most beloved final moments of one of the Sing For Your Life 12-hour circlesongs, so I have incredibly good memories of that song, sung late and by humans alone.
This time, it was just me and Esai. Even though I have the ability to step into the center of the circle and let my heart sing, it's still not easy to just sing in front of strangers, multiple strangers, fans you have to see again, or actors from a story universe you love. But I can do it, I was able to hold my own, and my reward was a moment of musical connection with an awesome man. We were eye to eye, singing our little hearts out: just call on me brother, when you need a friend. We were dancing around with our voices - improvising around each other, throwing in embellishments, paying attention to each other; it was the fantastic back-and-forth you get in great improv or great tennis matches. The other person was right there, and we had moments of being completely together - o so good. It would have been lovely beyond measure with anyone who could do it - the fact it was a man, and a handsome one, and a well-known one and ALSO a really great singer....well! What more can a girl want?
Nothing. That was characteristic of the weekend, not just for me but for others. We all remarked on it, though no one said just what I was thinking: it was utterly satisfying. The perfect endless weekend party.
One small note, which belongs somewhere in this story but I'm not sure where: on Saturday morning, a woman came by my booth and said, I saw you on TV this morning! They were interviewing Edward James Olmos and I decided to come down here, and you were there too!" She gave me a few more details - I was apparently on the local news. I remembered the day before, when I was meeting EJO, right at that moment, a camera crew had come up and they asked me to wait until this short interview was over, which I did, and which it soon was. They must have panned by me or something when I wasn't looking. It was just weird to think I was on the Houston news - like I was a terrible spy, or could be too easily found. Also, I never expected a stranger to come up to me at a Texas GalactiCon and say, I saw you on TV - but there you are.
We're almost done....
The other night, my partner and I were watching a show in which a couple of the (male) characters were bored at a rather boring party, but then they and the party perked up when three things changed: a couple of beautiful women arrived, a band began playing, and exotic tropical alcoholic drinks appeared. In other words: sex, drugs and rock and roll. The rock and roll can be almost any type of music, and the drugs can run the gamut, but this basic formula for fun appears in many classic forms: the stoned hippie girl strumming a guitar; coked-out leopard skin-clad sirens at a disco; even the Richard Gere version: champagne, opera and a high-class hooker.
Are these ingredients for a great party? I'm not sure, but one of the best things about that Battlestar weekend was the constant stream of memorable moments, including my own version of sex, drugs and rock and roll: in my case - red wine, Beatles sing-a-longs, and a sexy actor. Here's how that happened.
As I mentioned, I was part of the select, though not necessarily exclusive, Gold membership: special events, special seating, perks, swag and so on. Informational details on JUST what these exclusive events would be like - advertised as some form of drinks or dinner with the actors, which was the part everyone was clearly most excited about - was scarce pre-event, and I know I wasn't the only Gold member eagerly looking forward to arriving and seeing just what was in store for me. However, at this fan-run Con (and again, God bless them for putting it on), details remained unclear up until the moment of the event, the first one being the Tip a Pint Of Ambrosia party on Friday night, which was supposed to be ticket-only or Gold members, but really just ended up being everyone hanging out at the hotel bar. My Gold status got me a drink ticket, which was actually appreciated since even my mediocre red wine was $14. I didn't think too much about the fact that hanging out at a hotel bar wasn't an exclusive event.
As it turned out, hanging out at the hotel bar turned out to be the ONLY event, really, outside Con hours, except for Saturday evening, a pleasant enough but unexciting dinner at the Kennedy Space Center - and all I'll say about the Center is it was was interesting but skippable, especially considering the interminable bus ride to and fro; most of the time I spent wondering how soon I could get back to the hotel bar, which was where all the action was.
The first evening party, Friday, was scheduled hanging out - presumably, as tickets had been sold, the actors, at least some of them, had agreed to be there, for some minimum amount of time. This is what I'd seen at other Cons, and jived with what I'd heard. It felt a little weird - I didn't want to really hang out with people who I'd paid to hang out with, but best not to think about that too much because then you started wondering just what you were doing and why you wanted to meet them. In my case, I had this idea about celebrity encounters being especially fecund experiences: ripe, full, exciting, rife with possibilities and pitfalls. Like a job interview, there's a little tension built in - how will you do? It's a challenge - see my entries about Hugh Jackman and you'll see that there's an art to getting the attention of a man who's used to having far too many generic, nameless fans fighting for it. How well can you hold yourself and your own space under such specific social pressure can be a useful litmus test for how robust your own self-possession is.
But that's just part of it. I was, I admit, like everyone else there, excited to meet those who brought this beloved show and these beloved characters to life. And when I say beloved, I mean it - I really love characters. For instance, I love the Galactica's XO, Saul Tigh, and by that I mean I love Saul, in my heart, like I love someone I know personally. Not just BSG - I love Josh and Bartlett from The West Wing, I love Indiana Jones and Han Solo; it doesn't even have to be humans: I love Aslan, the divine lion from the Chronicles of Narnia, so much so that my love of lions in general is partially due to my love of Aslan. I love other things deeply, in the same way, such as certain paintings or a particular symphony or the full moon, and if they were characters, I'd want to meet them. But I can't meet Aslan, nor the full moon, nor even Saul Tigh even though it seems like you can. There's just no there there, no thing to meet. However, I can meet Michael Hogan (and here, you may insert many of the BSG characters for me, from Starbuck to the Old Man to Romo Lampkin - OR you can insert any of the characters that you yourself love but that you can't ever get to because, dammit, they are fictional). But at least, at the very least, I can meet the actors that did it, the ones that brought to life these men and women I love.
So I found myself in a Hilton hotel bar in Houston, looking for love on a Friday night. I've never been at a party where it's mostly the rich and famous, but I've been at parties where some of the people are so-called stars, and in fact like stars, they have little things orbiting all around them: people, energy, money, drinks. Stars form pockets - like Neil Cassady, they simply attract all those around them. So it seemed to be happening here....at first. I arrived, got myself a glass of wine, and started mingling, which is actually easy to do when you're alone if you can get over any shyness or embarrassment, which I luckily have little to none of. I started listening in on conversations, talking to people. I met Erin, cute, age 23, from Austin, extremely fun and funny - she was wearing a Che shirt that said So Say We All, and had EJO's face instead of Che; I talked to the people I'd met in line, or did a reading for, or sat next to. We were all already getting to know each other - the civilians.
And yet, to my surprise, it wasn't just us. Sure, EJO didn't hand out for long, but everyone else did, and after a few hours of Richard running around, Dirk and Hogan holding court in their mutual smoking areas, Tahmoh and Trucco with assorted others squarely placed on the bar couches, we all got the idea: whatever event that ever happened was over, and now we were all just hanging out. This is how it was, pretty much the entire time, except I didn't know that it was going to be like that, and I stayed and dove into any activities with gusto. I went outside to smoke (even though I don't smoke, I find outside to be the best place to be at social events) and found Hogan, who was essentially there until Sunday night, on the final night, when I sat next to him and he greeted me with a now-familiar, "How are you tonight, darling?" But this was Friday, and we were all introducing ourselves.
I found myself alone with him. What did I do? Communications at X, I said, naming my upscale grocery company. "X?" Hogan said. "I love X." He did too - told me a story of driving through Oregon, I think - a road trip with his son, and he'd resigned himself to eating crappy road food and feeling bad. Then they crested a hill and there, in the valley, they saw one of our stores. " 'We're saved, we're saved,' we were saying to each other," he told me; they were truly excited. This was very nice to hear - people love my company, as I do, yet I never get tired of hearing it, of knowing I'm doing good work in the world.
We talked more, about what I don't remember now. I'd gone around to the actors that day while the Con was still slow - the weekend would be madness, EJO had warned us - and taken my pictures and showed them the BSG cards - and so I'd met Michael earlier that day. He did something then that - well, it's going to be hard to describe because it will sound stupid but I'm going to try. There was buzz at the table, some commotion, he was distracted over something, and when he came over to my side of the table to take the picture, he seemed to see me clearly for the first time, and he said, "Oh!" as if he were surprised, "you're beautiful!" Sounds like just a polite or routine thing a kind actor might say to a fan, I know, but if you'd been there, you'd have heard what I did, which was just a genuine positive reaction to my person. It was lovely. As the weekend went on and he and I saw each other, we referenced that moment. Later when there was a group around, I made a joke quietly - he was next to me and heard me, chuckled and said in an aside, "Clever...beautiful and funny."
And all the encounters were charming - though I confess, I found myself mostly drawn to Hogan, there was something about the man I just adored - each in their own way. I won't detail every little bit, but there were a couple of outstanding moments, one of which was with EJO. Earlier in the day, I'd taken a picture with him - they were all very kind, posing and signing, very obliging to the odd requests. And I've always like pictures where the people are looking at each other, not the camera, so I'd asked him, would he mind? He was all willing, and it was a wonderful moment of smiling eye contact. which is really all I want from any fellow human being.
Let me explain a bit: I've got this feeling that I call artistic obligation, which is when you are so moved by an artist, you want to give back to them. Buying their product - their next book, a ticket to their show - doesn't seem like enough; sure, that's their bread and butter - but they gave me joy and what have I ever done for them? The very least I can do, I figure, is buy them a drink. I bought Hogan a few beers, it was my absolute pleasure. So that night, I find myself in the packed EJO circle, and he finishes his drink. I offer to get him one - "margarita, and make sure they put it in a short glass, nothing too big" - and I do. It takes a few minutes, and he's moved away but I find him, and break through the circle with the drink in one hand, my wine in another. I hand it to him, and there, in the middle of the chaos swirling around him, he gives me the look - the deep, intense soul-pinning gaze of The Old Man - and he holds me there, for a few moments. Time essentially stops and it all goes silent. I'm looking at the living, breathing incarnation of the Gravitas card, which is looking right back at me. We clink glasses and with that sound, the mass of humans, all orbiting around him, break through our ocular perimeter, and I think, well, I can go home now a happy woman.
But I didn't need to - because there were many, so many more terrific moments coming up, from the people I met like Erin and Jason and Julie and Chelsea and those guys who were playing Jay and Silent Bob at the Comicpalooza to more time with folks from the show. I went to panels and saw all the same people from the bar - people were getting drunk at night together and then asking questions about this part of the show or that aspect of your character the next day, the actors behind the tables during the day, but next to us at night. It's like those overnight team builds, when everyone is trying to talk business the morning after. Because you're thinking, sure, it's all about merchandising and margins now, but last night we had toe sex (see entry "They Were Just Shoes Before"). So I sat on my side of the tables at the panel, and confusedly went back to my own Oracle table, in which I was on the other side of the other side. Actually, literally on the other side of my curtain was Anne Lockhart, aka Sheba, who was absolutely a terrific, deeply funny woman and just who I want to be when I grow up.
Which brings me, finally, to my moment of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Friday night was magic; it actually ended up being the most fun night, for me - not only was it an incredible party, with actors I love and new friends I just met, but it was still the beginning and I felt the luxury of time, that moment of "Wow, it's already more than I ever expected and yet there's only more to come" (which can hold its own elements of let down, but that's another thread). And the highlight was when I walked into the bar after a long stint with Erin outside with Hogan and Co, and found a group of people singing Beatles tunes. Acapella, just drunk people singing in a bar - which is already kind of a favorite situation of mine. As you know, I love group singing - me, who dragged my ukulele to India to sing with the orphans, who works to put on a 12-hour circlesong annually, who will stand and sing in the amphitheater at Ephesus - so this was just the thing for me.
And who had the effortless daring to be leading this wild spontaneous sing a long? None other than Esai Morales, from Caprica - he'd been a last-minute added guest, I knew little about him and had no expectations, but here he was, singing his heart out. The group, collectively, seemed to know all the lyrics; when one faltered, another picked it up. Richard appeared almost right away, next to me, and I found myself in a fairly drunken 1am Beatles sing-a-long with the man who played Apollo. So, there you are; you just never know what's in store for you.
The singing was so much fun, I didn't want to go to bed but I hate not sleeping on vacation, and I was exhausted. Still, every time I tried to go to bed - every night - someone stopped me by saying, "C'mon. Look at THIS. When is THIS going to happen again?" Like so many others, I got little sleep. It was seemingly universal, this "I gotta go to bed but I can't bring myself to leave." By the final day, Sunday, I was dragging my ass. It was not just the accumulation of nights of light to heavy drinking, but the emotional highs - and inevitable lows. I'd been up on Friday, so up, then down a bit on Saturday - there was nowhere to go but also readings make one tired - and Sunday, finally wrung out and simply surrendering to the moment, I rose and offered up some intentions to the universe. "Do of me what you will," I said. "I am your instrument." And the first thing that happened to me was I found myself alone in an elevator with Tahmoh, who looked as exhausted as I, though later, during his panel, he was full of his old charm - what a pro. I, too, had to gather my strength for a day of readings. We had a moment of pleasant commiseration, exchanged a few phrases that were the language equivalent of grunts.
After I was finally able to tear myself away from the Beatles, I got distracted outside with Hogan and some group until I eventually went in again some time later, making my rounds at the bar to say goodbye to friends I'd known less than 24 hours but whom I expected would be bummed if I went to bed without saying goodnight. Esai was having a drink with Luciana and some others. I made a point to thank him, I loved the singing. We started talking, he liked harmonizing but that's hard in a group, what else could I sing? So then we were singing, snatches of songs, things you can really harmonize on. "Can you waltz?" I asked him at one point, "Because if you could, you'd be perfect." "Waltz?" Esai said, and then we were singing The Blue Danube. Then Esai stood up and said, I know what we should have sang! He slapped his thigh, started a rhythm, "Sometimes...in our lives...we all have pain..." we were launched into "Lean On Me," which has special significance for me - in particularly, when sung acapella, because it was one of my most beloved final moments of one of the Sing For Your Life 12-hour circlesongs, so I have incredibly good memories of that song, sung late and by humans alone.
This time, it was just me and Esai. Even though I have the ability to step into the center of the circle and let my heart sing, it's still not easy to just sing in front of strangers, multiple strangers, fans you have to see again, or actors from a story universe you love. But I can do it, I was able to hold my own, and my reward was a moment of musical connection with an awesome man. We were eye to eye, singing our little hearts out: just call on me brother, when you need a friend. We were dancing around with our voices - improvising around each other, throwing in embellishments, paying attention to each other; it was the fantastic back-and-forth you get in great improv or great tennis matches. The other person was right there, and we had moments of being completely together - o so good. It would have been lovely beyond measure with anyone who could do it - the fact it was a man, and a handsome one, and a well-known one and ALSO a really great singer....well! What more can a girl want?
Nothing. That was characteristic of the weekend, not just for me but for others. We all remarked on it, though no one said just what I was thinking: it was utterly satisfying. The perfect endless weekend party.
One small note, which belongs somewhere in this story but I'm not sure where: on Saturday morning, a woman came by my booth and said, I saw you on TV this morning! They were interviewing Edward James Olmos and I decided to come down here, and you were there too!" She gave me a few more details - I was apparently on the local news. I remembered the day before, when I was meeting EJO, right at that moment, a camera crew had come up and they asked me to wait until this short interview was over, which I did, and which it soon was. They must have panned by me or something when I wasn't looking. It was just weird to think I was on the Houston news - like I was a terrible spy, or could be too easily found. Also, I never expected a stranger to come up to me at a Texas GalactiCon and say, I saw you on TV - but there you are.
We're almost done....
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