Saturday, January 22, 2011


Arisia - the seven year itch

Rereading my Arisia wrap-up posts of previous years I realize that I have been, well, slacking. It’s not that Arisia is not my first love of con-going and the one in which I invest in various ways the most amount of work; it’s just, well… there hasn’t been that much drama these past two years.

The move to yet another new hotel was a shake-up that from where I sit settled out about 90% positive. Really all I miss about the old hotel is the concentration of activity such that you ran into everybody, the use of the atrium for party spotting and the delicious burgers served in the bar. I’ve already posted about this subject – OK, not the burgers, but the rest – in the appropriate forum.

So what do I have to say? Sadly, not much. Yes, PVC is the new corduroy. Yes, a panel of psychologists told me that it was OK to mourn the deaths of my imaginary friends. Yes, I was foiled in or at least failed at my attempts to flirt with my ex-roommate’s publisher. (Don’t ask.) But, ultimately? There really wasn’t much that was… I don’t know… epic. A lot of what has become the regular cast of characters were on hand and we had a lot of fun…but maybe that’s the point, or more precisely the blunting. The usual cast of characters has grown to encompass those folks that were once exotic, once an adventure just by the being there. This was an Arisia full of old friends and party buddies. No one stole nor broke my heart (although I would have given said publisher a shot – just sayin’). No one nearly drove me to homicide, you know, other than those whom I knew would do so in their androgynous Trek TOS uniform with their seemingly endless soliloquy of me-me-me-me-ME-oh-and-did-I-mention-MEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and therefore tuned them out prior to the necessity of police involvement.

I’m guessing that Arisia and I have reached a new stage in our relationship. The courtship and the honeymoon are over. We have settled into something comfortable, enjoyable, but maybe a bit predictable. I’m hoping that next year the spice will return and I’ll be shaken out of complacency and once again experience a vacation in the land of adolescent intensity. Fires need to be lit, maybe under my ass, for ritual, for sacrifice and maybe also for making s’mores. Drama and intensity must be reintroduced to the mix. Rumor has it a certain hot bartender may be out of the big house by this time next year and regardless of any direct effect that may have on next year’s antics and festivities I hope it’s a harbinger of… something.

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