Kelli Dunlap

Since I’m still recovering from sleep deprivation and trying to catch up around here, I haven’t had the chance [or brain power] to do any type of real report, so I give you this: cryptic crap you won’t understand unless you were there that will either piss you off or make you rethink your summer vacation next year! Be irritated if you must, but hey, in a sense I’m only following the “Vegas of Cons” rule: what happens at Necon, stays at Necon.

And because there was no way to do pictures for certain moments:
Fuzz, Frunk & Fangover!  Low flying aircraft.  Bad Touch Grandpa.  I wish I had tooken Jack’s English class.  It’s been a water sports kind of weekend.  I ate in the cafeteria, I need gum!  Love sounds neat, but I’m dead inside.  And… drip!  Twins are slippers, one is a hat.  Shut your whore mouth!

And this trip’s airport observation — Surgeon General’s Warning: Smoking by people in public areas may result in conversation and a relaxed atmosphere.  I don’t know why, but people do not talk in airports.  They become polite mutes with only the occasional “excuse me” to their neighbor.  Their heads stay down, their missions sit on their face like an expression, and you can almost see them chanting their gate number to themselves as they pretend they are not surrounded by strangers. Until you enter the smoking lounge.  Loud and friendly, the din under the happy haze of smoke is filled with chatting: “where are you from?”, “where are you going?”, etc.  Oddly enough, a soldier’s uniform also has the power of conversation behind it, as he/she is often the most talked to person in the smoking lounge.

Stayed tuned, next week on Joe Closet a real report is actually forthcoming…

Category: Cons & Observations

Kelli 07.23.08

The gods of flying are angry, or else they just really enjoy messing with me.  I can almost picture them up there, giggling over a bowl of popcorn every time I head for an airport.  In the past they have let my pilots sleep in, had people sit on me [I still believe my airport superpower is invisibility], cancel flights and taxi me through 5 o’clock traffic from BWI to Dulles only to leave me running through the airport to the sound of my name coming from the speakers, and on and on.  Oh yes, they do enjoy their little games.  But this game, this game was not only fun but ironic, and a bit of an inside joke come to life.

Airline stewards/stewardesses have seating charts.  They know what empty seats they have. There is no reason for the following to have happened…

After a lovely extended weekend of friends, new and old, and other hijinks at Necon [report forthcoming], I say my final good-byes and drag my tired butt through BWI to get to my plane.  I find my seat, 25F, the third row from the back and last row to have a window. I settle in, buckle up, scrunch down and shut my eyes—because yes, I usually sleep on airplanes, but this round I have to drive over an hour home in the dead of night, so sleep now is preferable to then.  The rhythm of the engines start to lull me to sleep.

And… drip!*

A drop of something lands on my nose.  I sit up and look around, trying to spot the kid that spit at me.  The steward appears and hands me a wad of napkins and apologetic look.

“Here. In case it leaks.”

In case it leaks?

“Well, no. For when it leaks.”

Leaks?

“Yes. See the other napkins?”  He points above my head and I look up. Sure enough, napkins have been stuffed, wedged and wrapped around the vents above me.

Leak… what?

“Oh, just water.”

Just water?

“From the air conditioning.”

And you don’t think that should be fixed?

“Well, napkins work.” He stares at me. I stare at him.

In my best Maurice impersonation, Really?!

“Oh, you can move if you want.”

The two window passengers behind me, also being handed napkins, follow me forward to find other seats.  I get another window seat and settle in.  I’m buckled, snuggled, and ready to shut my eyes when the stewardess shows up, “Do you need anything?”

Am I going to get leaked on?

“Um, no?”

Then no, I’m fine. Thank you.  I close my eyes and fight the gods of flying, who think it would be fun if I don’t sleep.  But after several attempts to block out the warm and fuzzy feeling of confidence I now have in the plane, and ignoring the kicking of my seat and talkative business man beside me, I finally succumb to the exhaustion of Necon… without a leak to wake me up.

*For those that will find “and…drip” beyond ironic, I have photographic evidence.  Excuse the blur, the plane was moving. See the pretty napkins?

 

 

 

Category: Cons & Misc

Kelli 07.22.08

I’m heading out the door to mom & dad’s [the best bed & breakfast, complete with airport shuttle service!] to begin leg one of the Necon journey.  I will not have email access until I return late Monday [read as, I won’t be checking it until Tuesday], but I will be on Twitter.  I figure this is one of the reasons to get it, so why not abuse use it.

If you’re going, I’ll see you there—and a few of you beforehand.  Horrible rumors have surfaced that claim I will be on a panel that should be entertaining [more for the others on it than me] so bring popcorn.  If you’re not joining us… why?! 

Category: Cons

Kelli 07.15.08

Here you go, Maurice.  Time for another round of dueling blogs!

Long ago, in a land far away, or as some call it June, there was a conversation among several writers and editors.  It went something like this:

“Do you ‘friend’ everyone that requests it?”

“Oh god no… I leave out the bands and hookers.”

*insert laughter… it was late, the laughter may have carried on longer that it should*

“I do.”

“Really? Why?”

“They’re free links, free readers, fans…whatever, and willingly attaching themselves to your PR train.”

“But what if I don’t like them, or know them, or want to be associated with them just because they’re on my friends list?” [death by proximity—to be delved into further with next week’s blog]

And the conversation went from there, with several people of differing opinions.  By the end, several people I know [one in attendance] were tagged ‘friends-list whores’ and the discussion sort of died out [I blame the power of The Sandman who took participates against their will] without any concise resolution or decision or decree of unwritten law.  So, let’s open it up again!

What are the reasons for a friends list? Is it just a marketing tool for you, and conversely, for everyone on it? Is it a way to keep in touch?  Is it for advertisements without the banter? Is it all of these things? Is it more than these things?

And what are the reasons to accept someone’s request?  Because they asked?  Because you know them?  Because you want their spam or think they want yours? Because he who dies with the most friends wins?

Let’s be brutal about this “internet community” thing that we’re all doing—whether it be myspace, livejournal, facebook, twitter, blahblah, lockjaw, etc.  It’s the wave of the future, and eventually going to wash up on shore.  Should we roll up our pants and let the gentle water lap at our ankles, or run for the safety of the parking lot because God only knows what’s in that water.

 

Category: Misc & Observations & Writing

Kelli 07.14.08

… can be such a killjoy!  Yes, I have an overly mouthy opinion ready to post for Monday’s madness, but first this interlude. 

Lake pier at dusk. 
Enter two parents, 11-year-old son, and 7-year-old cousin for some fishing adventure. 
Add leeches and imagination, mix well. 

Just as we were winding down the catch & release program of “No—too small and I’m not cleaning it,” the boys and I spotted something large on the darkening horizon.

“What is that?!”

“Oh my god, what IS that?”

It’s black, but so is most everything at that time of day.  It’s on the surface and has what looks like a tail, horns, and… something.  Todd continues to fish, ignoring us and the object as we stare at it and ponder.

“Giant Squid!”

“Cthulhu!” [I heart my son]

“Sea Monster!”

It gets closer, and closer.  “It’s flocking this way!”  [Yes, Jurassic Park quotes are popular in my house]

“What IS that?”

“How big do turtles get, Auntie Kelli?”

“Not that big.  Well, there was that movie I saw when I was little…”

“I’m telling you, it’s a monster.  Can’t you see the tentacles?”

“No really, what IS that?!”

The three of us are giggling and the story of what it is gets more and more “Sci-Fi Original” with each sentence.  Everything from an alien to a giant man-eating toad is guessed.  The boys start to slowly move away from it, as they continue giggling and guessing while they nonchalantly sidestep toward shore.  I walk out further, step onto the left T-section of the pier and squint.  I’m blind.  I have horrible twilight vision and this thing is huge.  My imagination is no better than theirs, but I’m slightly braver.  Meanwhile, Todd is still ignoring the entire exchange from the right T-section as he puts another leech on his hook and tosses it to the murky depths.

“What IS that?!” 

“It’s swimming against the current.”

“It’s getting closer!”

“Mom, come back here!”

Enter Mr. Killjoy.  He who can see a turkey at 500 yards and tell you if it’s missing a tail feather and what kind of predator’s teeth marks are on the remaining plumage. He’s decided to turn around and see what the heck we’re all excited about.

“It’s only a garbage bag.”

Three heads turn to him and three mouths fall open.  I don’t know about the boys, but my expression was far more “Butthead, why ruin our fun?” than it was “How the hell can you see that far in the dark?” 

We waited for it to approach.  Sure enough, it’s a garbage bag.  The tied ends were horns, the still partially folded tip was a tail/tentacle, and the wind had given it just enough air to allow it both size and freedom of movement.  Mystery solved, leech supply drained, and daylight gone, so we head back—imaginations tucked safely away in our disappointed minds.

Adult logic can really suck the fun out of life sometimes.

Side note for this weekend’s camping extravaganza: You know you’re hardcore if the temperature is cold enough to snow, the waves are high enough to cover the dock, there isn’t a single boat to be seen on the lake and several people have given up and gone home, but there you are.  On the dock with your 11-year-old son.  Because you were going fishing, damn it, and not even pre-hurricane weather is going to stop you!

 

Category: Life & Misc

Kelli 07.14.08