It's me, Rocky. Thanks for clicking my name. That tickles. There is nothing about my art here. It's just me rambling on about other stuff. If you want to talk about art, track me down at a convention, write me at the address below.

For those who have never done a FanTek convention, I, a person who needs his sleep, say it did not turn out to be like a noisy college dorm like I feared. At the 2 cons I've been to so far, noise has not kept me awake (this is no guarantee for you, and I should be thorough and tell you that I bring along two electric air cleaners to create the proper din for bed time).

Halloween Con 1 was my second convention. As I reflect on that weekend, I feel like it was a valuable learning experience. A new theory about Murphy's Law: This Murphy person is having me followed, and messed with so that I will become a total convert to his credo. Some majorly uncool things happened to me at H Con 1. I'll get to them in a minute. Some apparently good things happened. I met some intriguing people. I think I actually mean that in a good way (a change for me). One such person offered me something I usually try to stay away from, a prognosticative indulgence. In this case, it was not tarot or i-ching or runes; it was a sort of celtic runey thing. The shake, shake, shake of the bag, the opening of the bag, and "care to draw?". With my newly found peace with the fortune cookie concept (remind me to talk about that sometime), my general comfort level with this guy, and his apparent attitude about the whole divining thing, I dug into the bag to choose one of the little chips-of-destiny. I handed it to him; he referred to his chart of phrases and said something like: "a difficult task is ahead of you". What was to come in the next few hours was an amazing series of labyrinth-traps (metaphorically speaking), staring contests, and psychological games (which, come to think of it, could have all been set up by the prognosticator himself, but for now, I choose not to give that possibility obsessive attention). It was verbal misinterpretations, disappearing microphone stands, political power-shifts, spontaneous-human-playing-loud-music-over-my-skit. There were blurs of action that went by too fast for me to keep in mind that I am not a piece of shit for people to scoop away when they want my space. The focal point of my weekend was participation in the masquerade. In addition, there was going to be a discussion led by me (alone, my first panel ever, my second fan convention ever) about the differences between the vampires of folk belief and, those of fiction, movies & so on. I wasn't expecting quite the level of chaos that surrounded that effort and it ended up not happening. Major apologies to anyone who attempted to attend and found themselves spilling into the chaotic vortex when I was off licking my wounds.

So what was my "difficult task", as the mysterious seer phrased it? One big goal in traveling to Frederick that weekend was to make a positive, memorable impression on a bunch of people at Halloween Con 1. That turned out to be a "difficult task" (to put it mildly) given the unforeseen parameters and obstacles. But I believe I sort of succeeded, although emotionally, the trauma vs. gratification scale was tipped way toward trauma. Live and learn.

Anyway - I was unable to catch up with the caped vampire dude that was smiling and nodding knowingly in the front row during my masquerade appearance. Little things, like this man's nod, help a great deal when you're unsure how you're coming across.

I don't want to get too detailed in my description of these events, as it could fuel the fires of hate that already seem to be blasting my way. The gods don't waste any time giving me things to deal with when I decide to get involved with people. Maybe that's why I tend to recede into obscurity for years at a time. It took a lot of thinking to figure out the amount of responsibility I should assign to myself for the "trauma" I experienced. I not only learned a heck of a lot about other people that weekend, I learned a whole bunch about myself. And to make sure the lesson worked its way into my brainfolds good, I wrote, in ball point pen, "mooch" on my left palm, and capital "M" on the right. The scarlet letter routine. Don't get me wrong; I am way far from being a mooch but, as I boil it all down to see what my crime was in this instance, that's what I come up with.

I'm not actually on-line yet; Albedo makes it so that I can at least put these things out to you. Sorry you can't respond instantly to my jabber. But hey - take out a good old fashioned piece of paper for poop sake and write me a letter. You'll be impressed with yourself.

ROCKY
Audio/Video Adventure Lab
PO box 1079
Dunkirk, MD 20754

And check the program at EveCon for my name; I will have talked myself into doing something again. Look on the literature table; I may have the second issue of FREYED hot off the tray.

Re-edited for clarity since issue #3 1996 of THE CASTLE is my article on PSEUDOHISTORY. Click it! Click it NOW!!!


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