Dragonflight 2003 Post Convention Report
The original version of this blog entry appears in the archives of the News section of this web site. That version includes hyperlinks to web sites and pictures. This copy is only provided as a backup in case Blogger.Com vanishes one day. - Brian
Okay, kids, gather 'round. It's time for the annual Dragonflight post-convention report! As usual, it was a wonderful con. I played too much, laughed myself into a puddle, and avoided sleep as if it were a Steve Jackson Games playtest. This year's convention was blessed with a visit from Steve Jackson Games' Managing Editor, Andrew Hackard, which made it only that much better.
My week's festivities actually began on Wednesday when I met Andrew and Devin Ganger here in town, and we road tripped to Portland to see Wil Wheaton at a book signing. It was highly entertaining, as I mentioned earlier, and fun to see the audience turn and look our way when Wheaton pointed at Andrew and said, "I see my editor has come all the way from Austin." I nudged Andrew, told him he needed to sign some books. Pretty sure he did. I told him to put a little editorial carat under Wil's signature and add a second "L" to the end of it. Pretty sure he didn't.
After the signing, we hung around and visited a while. I was awfully surprised when Andrew introduced me to Wheaton - I mean, after, it was Wil Wheaton - and he said, "You wrote GURPS Cliffhangers? I own that book!" Surreal. Of course, not half as much as when I coerced him into letting me put him in a headlock and give him a noogie for a photo op. Sadly, I relied on an editor to do a photographer's work (right tool, right job - you'd think I'd learn!) and the pic just didn't take. Nevertheless, here it is in all its unretouched glory. Yes, that's me on your right, in white and red, Wil Wheaton in black, in a headlock. Don't believe me? Email him and ask. I'm sure he'll back me up.
Anyway, we had a great little road trip. Talked about everything from GURPS to girls, from family to Flaco. They dropped me back in town at the local McDonald's (not a random choice - my car was there) and I prepared for the event of the year: Dragonflight 2003.
Started the day out without enough sleep - pre-convention nerves, I guess, kept me awake too late and NPR woke me up too early - but I managed to pack everything into my Subaru in time. Well, close anyway. My trip gear included not only a suitcase of clothes and a duffle of miscellaneous junk (clock radio, soap, toothbrush, an extra Sharpie or two, spare ammo, grappling hook), and the ubiquitous gaming gear (one black leather bag of holding loaded with GURPS books, Munchkin, Frag, Apples to Apples, dice, and my Button Men collection), but also my acoustic guitar. I planned to spend some time pickin' and grinnin' with Scott and Jason Hill, whom you may remember from last year's convention report. If not, well, never you mind; we'll get back to them soon enough.
Made plans with an old high school friend, Mark Siltala (that's SIL-tah-lah to the uniformed - the Mark part is easy to pronounce; just bark like a hair-lipped dog). Mark, the great guy that he is, was headed to our old hometown of Rainier, Oregon for his 25th high school reunion. Now, I won't say that makes him old, since I already admitted to being in high school with him. Suffice to say, he graduated before I did - by anywhere from 2-7 years, depending on my mood.
So I called Mark, who promised to "always be by his desk" to make specific plans for lunch in Olympia, Washington (which is en route to Seattle for me - no, don't get the map out, just trust me on this one). No matter how often I called him, however, that day or any other day, he was NEVER near his desk. Nor did he answer his cell phone. In his defense, he always called me back, but I think he was screening.
Anyway, we met up at a Mongolian Grill in Olympia. Now, I love Mongolian Grill as much as the next guy, but this one was . . . uhm . . . well . . . I could have actually flown to Mongolia and eaten lunch in the time it took them to get around to cooking my meal. Still, it was great seeing Mark and catching up on things. We, of course, promised we'd have to get together more often. We'll see if that proves true in the coming year. We're only an hour apart, but he's got family, I've got GURPS SWAT; he's got a 9-5 job, I've got . . . uhm . . .
Okay, let's get on with this.
Got stalled between Tacoma and Seattle by a brush fire between the freeway lanes. Well, a big black patch covered with foam by the time I got to it, but I assume it was much more threatening at some point before my arrival there. So I was late getting to the con, but still managed to make it by about 3:00 pm. Checked in, but had no room. John Poole, Dragonflight President (or something - John, what ARE you, exactly?) showed up in time and cleared it up. I got a nice end room on the fifth floor. Or fourth. To be honest, I can't remember. Devin was on one of them, I was on the other. It's all a blur.
Packed my junk to my room, got my parking permit - $18.00 for three days; "Even I have to pay for my own parking," John explained - trudged back down to my car (in a parking garage, downhill, about three stories and a good 200 feet), hauled my guitar and gaming gear up to my room (for a total of about 14 stories and 800 feet) and collapsed in my hot, non-airconditioned room, tired and sweaty and ready to call it a day.
But not I! I cowboy'd up, changed my shirt, and headed . . . er, changed my pants too . . . and headed . . . I kept the same underwear, if it matters . . . headed down to . . . I don't remember, but I think I changed socks too . . . headed down to the ballroom in Campion Hall to meet the day.
(I really don't remember about the socks. Blur, remember?)
Somehow I managed to hook up with Andrew and Devin (and Devin's family - hi, Steph!) and after a quick round of "Hey, how are ya"s, we headed to Subway for food then returned for more handshaking and book signing and general yakking before it was time for my first game of the weekend: GURPS SWAT: Cold War.
I won't bore everyone with details, but it was a great game. Devin managed to get signed up and took on the role of team commander. He hated it. Well, he loved it. Like in a "love to hate it" sort of way. Being the team commander, he got to order everyone else around, but every decision fell on him and if he made the wrong choice, people would die. Turns out, he's a natural born SWAT commander - nobody took a single hit during the entire session. Way to go, Dev!
The game broke up about midnight and I finally made contact with Scott Hill (remember him from a few paragraphs back?) See, I'd programmed Scott's cell phone number into my cell phone, especially so I could contact him at Dragonflight without a lot of work. I'd spent the week calling his cell phone, called it on the way up, called it while I was at the con, and I just kept getting this weird voice mail. So I left no end of equally weird and potentially lawsuit-inducing messages (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!) just to harass him.
Turns out, he gave his cell phone to his girlfriend, and failed to give me the number of his new phone.
First Mark, now Scott. Conspiracy, I tell ya.
So, Scott's girlfriend, if you're reading this - why do I think her name is Magellan or Columbus or Amerigo or something? - I apologize about the messages, and I really won't do those evil things to your cat. Heck, I don't even own a hand-powered egg-beater. Are we good?
(No, really. I think it's Magellan).
Friday night turned into Saturday morning, and a group of us headed to the roleplaying floor (Floor 12 - I remember that, because it was the top floor in Campion) and grabbed an unoccupied room. Jason Hill (Scott's brother) unveiled one of his awesome games and we dug in. It was Andrew, Devin, Jason, Scott, and another Seattle friend, Chris "I Have Many Nicknames" Kemnow. We played guitar - yeah, I got to jam with Old Man Tasty! - sang some songs, played games, laughed, and generally wore ourselves out. I wanted to keep playing all night (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!) but Scott and Jason claimed they had to paint miniatures for the next day's events. I think they just wanted to go change their cell phone numbers on me.
I headed back to my (now cold and dark and bug infested because I didn't close the windows) dorm room at about 4:00 a.m., set my alarm for 10:00, and promptly crashed.
Saturday, August 16 - Did I Mention it was a Blur?
Despite my earnest desire to get a lot of sleep, I woke up early to the sound of . . . aw, heck, I still don't know what it was. Something outside my window and four (or five?) stories down that sounded like a cat in a hand-powered eggbeater. Okay, maybe it wasn't quite like that. Probably just construction equipment or an industrial cardboard shredder. But it was early and I was awake. Laid in bed until NPR announced it was 10:00, and I trudged to the showers.
Did I mention it's a community shower? I felt a little like Tony Shaloub's Monk as I tried to take a shower without stepping in anyone else's residual, germ-filled water puddles. Can't be done.
Much of midday is kind of blurry (Have I mentioned that before? Did I also mention I hadn't slept enough?) but I remember introducing Andrew to various friends in the industry (Chris Weedin, Raven Mimura), and meeting some new ones (Tim Morgan, Todd Downing). I also surprised Raven's agent / manager / representative / something Deirdre Wehrman (Deirdre, what exactly IS your title?) by remembering her name (though admittedly I couldn't spell it correctly - it's right this time, though, right Deirdre?) and thrilled Chris Weedin by telling him I actually had notes for a pulp Horror Rules adventure I'm planning on writing.
I met Chris two years ago - at Dragonflight 2001, I think - and we've been friends since. I FINALLY got to actually PLAY Horror Rules on Saturday afternoon, despite having been a number of cons with him in the interim. It was a great game. I played Burcham Wickes, Executive Vice President in Charge of Marketing and something something . . . mumble . . . Condiments . . . something and Marketing. Er, okay, so I said "marketing" twice. It's a blur, remember? So Wickes - my character - ended up in a secret lab in the basement of a condiments manufacturing research lab thingy (it made more sense at the time, really) and ended up being crushed to death by a giant anaconda with a woman's head. (Okay, maybe it didn't make much more sense, but it was still a blast). It only dawned on me later why we were at a condiments building. The snake was named Ann; the building's cover was condiments. Ann-condiments. Anaconda. Chris, you're just too weird, my friend. But I'll still write the pulp adventure.
So anyway, I headed back to the main floor, hooked up with James Ernest for a big Diceland: Ogre tournament (he gave me a signed copy - he's a nice guy), but turned it over to Andrew to represent SJ Games instead. He is, after all, Higher On The Food Chain Than I. According to his report in the Daily Illuminator, he crushed the competition. Way to go, Andrew!
After a quick meal I headed back to run GURPS SWAT: Murder, Incorporated, a sort of sequel to the first game. This time around, the team commander role fell to Paul Tevis, an SJ Games MIB who'd flown up from Santa Something, California. Turns out, I've now added Paul to my "cool guys I've met at conventions and wish they lived closer" list. It's a good list; welcome aboard, Paul.
Despite Paul's fine commanding ability, and some suggestions from Dragonflight veteran and founder Chuck Monson (who is also on that list, by the way), the SWAT team ended up taking several hits this time around. Two were stopped by trauma plates in the armor, one was a flesh wound, but the others were a little more bothersome. They did, however, manage to stop the Bad Guys and none of the PCs died.
The game, like the previous night's session, was well-received. Turns out there were a lot of folks that wanted to play, but couldn't get signed up. Being the ever-vigilant Shannon Hunter, Daring Photojournalist that I am (inside reference; ignore it if you don't get it), I arranged to run yet another SWAT session on Sunday (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!) so that everyone who didn't get to play, could.
After the game, it was back to Floor 12 for more silliness with the Midnight Dragonflight Crew. (That's my new name for us, so I don't have to write "Andrew, Chris, Devin, Jason, Scott, and I" every time. Of course, I had to write it just now to explain it, so maybe that wasn't very helpful. I'll try and use it again later).
This time around, we gamed until daybreak (no, really, Scott and I took pictures of the sunrise over Seattle. I'm sure his turned out better than mine; I have a crappy digital camera). I fell into bed, with echoes of Scott Hill's oddly intonated choruses of "Li Mei Chen!" in my head (you had to be there to understand that reference), and was out like a light. I vaguely remember setting my alarm for 10:00 again, although it was well after 7:00 a.m. by the time I got back to my room. Ah, Dragonflight.
Music . . . bright lights . . . what's happening?! Is that Garrison Keeler I hear? Who's that singing? Oh, right. NPR. It's morning, Sunday, and I'm in a tiny twin bed in the middle of the biggest city in Washington State, having only slept 2 1/2 hours, and I have to get up and run SWAT. Hoo boy.
Despite having set my alarm for 10:00, somehow my body ignored the "unforgettable comedy sketches, acoustic-based music, and Garrison Keeler's signature monologue" of the Prairie Home Companion that had been blaring for nearly an hour. I climbed (fell) out of bed, checked the clock (10:45 a.m.), and walked (stumbled) to the shower where I basked (swayed unsteadily) in the steaming hot (lukewarm at best) shower (trickle), totally oblivious of other people's germ-ridden puddles (germ-ridden puddles).
I ran into Andrew about 11:00-ish, we headed up to a little teriyaki place, where we wound up being two of the last three people to get any food. They ran out of rice and Andrew's pork looked suspiciously like my chicken. The cook was out sick (not a good sign, in my book, but we stayed anyway), so his housekeeper or mother or geisha or something was filling in. She worked hard, was very nice, but sadly ran out of food. I'm still trying to figure out how you run out of food in a restaurant, but that's fodder for another day.
Lunch with Andrew was nice. It was actually the first time we'd gotten to visit by ourselves. Seems like there was always a friend or a fan around. If it wasn't that pesky fanboy Wil Wheaton following me around Powell Books-
"Brian, I'm your biggest fan! Can I get a picture with you? Will you sign my shirt? What's it like to work with Gene Seabolt? Will you put me in a headlock?" Hmm . . . you don't suppose he can sue me for that, do you? I mean, my memory of the event might be a teeny bit off.
-it was Chris Weedin shoving an autographed copy of my beloved Horror Rules in my face:
"Take it, Brian! You wanted it so badly, it's yours! And you're not getting a single TWINKIE you #@%!&$* JERK!" He hates it when I call his game "my beloved." Makes him furious. That's what all those weird characters are about. Oh, he doesn't really talk that way, but I thought it made for a better story. And I'm still going to marry his game.
Anyway, despite the fact that Andrew and I could have badmouthed everyone we knew, plotted a hostile takeover of Steve Jackson Games, made fun of certain well-known industry professionals, or even [ENTRY DELETED DUE TO NATIONAL SECURITY], we did not. Actually, it turns out we'd already done all that and had run out of things to talk about. Yeeeeah . . . nothing like sitting in silence, in a mostly-empty take-out restaurant of indeterminate Asian origin, trying to make small talk, and eating the last of the chicken-shaped pork teriyaki with your editor.
Yeah, that's the life.
(Okay, I have to digress and be serious for a moment. It was a great lunch, and Andrew is honestly a great guy. We got a lot done over the weekend, even on Sunday, Bloody Sunday. He's a fine editor and an even better person. He's on my list too. I just hope he doesn't send me editorial suggestions for this story . . . )
So we finished up lunch and headed back to the campus (Dragonflight is held at Seattle University, downtown). I wandered the con for a bit, catching up with folks I hadn't gotten to talk to and taking more pictures. Did I mention I have a crappy camera? Well, I do. And I also have crappy pictures. Might put them up if I get some crappy time.
Eventually, 2:00 p.m. rolled around. Time for the final SWAT game. This one was originally slated to be a little shorter, so I went with a single call-out: a bank robbery gone bad. Paul Tevis once again jumped in as commander, and this time Devin's wife, Stephanie, got to play. Way to go, Steph! I also got to play with Rob Lowry of Thread Impressions, who made me an awesome GURPS S.W.A.T. t-shirt, which, unfortunately, I have to deny exists since it probably violates some kind of SJ Games trademark - Steve, if you're reading this, there's no such shirt, honest.
(Okay, there is, and it rocks. Black t-shirt with a cool white GURPS S.W.A.T. logo over the left breast. But don't tell Steve).
Rob's friend Adam (who I erroneously signed a book cover to as "Andy" - more on this in a moment) and MIB John Kono also played. Mike Kelly jumped in later in the game, when Paul realized he was late for a plane back to Santa Something. He promised to come to Portland and visit, though. We'll see. He'll probably give me a fake cell phone number.
The game went great, but the presence of hostages slowed the planning stage. I gotta admit, though, that the plan they finally executed was a good one. After over three real-time hours of planning, they cut power to the bank (to disable a video camera on the back door) and part of the team made a stealth entry through the back. When the power came back on, they blew up the bank's front windows with squibs and sniper fire and the rest of the team made a dynamic entry through the resultant holes. Together the two halves cleared the bank, killing two suspects, wounding one, and taking one without injury. One SWAT officer was wounded (Mike Kelly, shot in the foot, shin, thigh), but the hostages were all saved. The whole execution took about 15 seconds of game time. Way to go, team!
Anyway, remember the erroneously signed book cover from two paragraphs ago? It was an uncut cover from GURPS WWII: RETURN TO HONOR, and I'd signed it, in big, bold black: "To Andy, Brian J. Underhill." Well, since his name was Adam, that wouldn't do (have I mentioned the blur? The lack of sleep? Garrison Keeler?) So I ended up giving him a more accurate version (sorry, Adam!), and then pondered what to do with the erroneous one. Somehow, with a little help from the players, I eventually hit upon a brilliant, nefarious plan.
Using my red Sharpie - yes, I have one - I drew the editorial mark for "delete this" (a sort of loopy thing with a big tail on it; or at least that's what they call it in The Industry), running the mark through the "Y" in Andy. Stay with me here. I then put a "insert material" mark (a carat sort of thing, like this: ^) underneath the end of the word (which now read, simply, "And") and added three little letters: "rew."
(If you can't figure that one out without help, stop reading and call me, I'll explain).
As we wrapped up, the game, Andrew showed up at the table. He'd been playing Horror Rules, I think; he seemed to like that game a lot. So I gave the now-edited, "revised first draft" of the signed cover to Andrew who accepted it graciously and in the spirit it was offered. It's now framed in glass and prominently displayed in his office in Austin. (Right, Andrew? Right? Aw, c'mon, please?)
As we wrapped up the day, I got a nice invitation from Devin and Steph to come over for homemade pizza and some games. I think Andrew was going to run Horror Rules. But I was already a zombie ("Braaaiinns...") and had a long drive ahead. So I gave 'em all hugs - yeah, I hugged my editor, cool, hunh? - and said goodbye. Blew my last $5 cash on a big fat McDonald's meal (Quarter Pounder with a shot of Special Sauce if anyone cares) and called everyone I knew on my cell phone during the drive home so I'd stay awake.
Seems like most of them had changed their numbers.
As usual, Dragonflight was an amazing con. Too much gaming, too much laughing, not enough sleep. I tried for 5-2-1: 5 hours of sleep, 2 meals, 1 shower, every day. 5-2-1. It's my con thing. I managed the meals and the showers, but I'm still working on the sleep part. Maybe I'll get it right some day.
I always look forward to this convention and every year it ends too quickly. There's people I didn't get to spend enough time with, games I didn't get to play, sleep I didn't get to get. But I know it'll be around next year, and I'll laugh myself silly once again.
I turned 41 this year, though, and it makes me wonder how many more Dragonflights I have left in me. That 5-2-1 may have to be enforced next year. One day it may become 6-2-1, 7-2-1, or worse. Will the friends on my list grow older at the same pace? Or will I leave them behind and retire early to my (cold and dark and bug infested because I didn't close the windows) dorm room, and listen to them laughing 8 (or 9) stories above? How old does one have to be to actually grow up and stop playing games, stop laughing, stop staying up too late? For me, I hope I never find out.
See, I don't usually worry about things like that. After all, I'm only 41. I've got a lot of Dragonflights left in me. A lot more games, a lot more laughter, a lot more people to add to my list. Yeah, I've got a lot more Dragonflights left in me. I just have to make sure I make every one count.
This year? Yeah. I did.
Entire Contents Copyright 2003 Brian J. Underhill. All Rights Reserved. Last Updated: August 19, 2003