Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

OK, let's see if I can't wrap up Motor City Furry Con. The phone call I got, followed by a text message when I didn't answer because I was parking, was from bunnyhugger. She had found her driver's license after all, and my searching couldn't have succeeded. She felt humiliated that the license was in her pocket, hiding behind her cell phone, a phone of otherwise admirable smallness that's just barely big enough to conceal a license or credit card or other thing that size. I was sad to lose an excellent parking space (front row of the lot!) for a futile errand, but I got a not-bad-anyway one in its place.

We met up at Closing Ceremonies, already under way; she hadn't gotten a seat in the packed room that left me more nervous than anything else had that weekend. But, you know, there'd be no way to eradicate Covid-19 except a twelve-week lockdown and universal vaccination, so I guess this is just something we'll never escape.

Closing Ceremonies carried on as you'd expect, with the Pipsqueakery bowled over by another record-setting charity donation drive for them. I don't have the exact figure to hand but my recollection is that it hit $30,000, which is a heck of a lot especially given the bomb threat that spoiled Friday. (And maybe spoiled Sunday too; apparently the dealer's den closed early as vendors cut their losses and packed up. I am sorry for them, and that I missed a last chance around to decide I didn't quite like anything well enough to buy it. I also would have expected them to keep the dealer's dens open extra hours Saturday and Sunday to make up shopping hours, but do understand vendors being weary.) The biggest surprise to me was that the theme for next year's convention wasn't announced, or else I missed it. Before I even felt like the convention was fully started, it was officially over. Also they didn't ask us attendees to help clear the chairs out so there'd be space for the Dead Dog Dance, and though we stuck around a while they never did, and groups of volunteers never did. I guess they had other plans for clearing the dance floor.

This was when we finally took our chance and went to White Castle, getting Impossible Sliders for the first time this weekend and for ages. My thinking was we were better off getting dinner sooner as we were frustrated and sad by White Castle closing early in previous years. Their signs promised they were back to 24-hour operation but I don't believe signs anymore.

Back to the hotel and one last parking spot. We put on kigurumis and went visiting to see people. And to get back to hospitality where we had our first and only drinks of the convention, meads or IPAs or whatever it is they have. I don't know. I liked the taste of whatever it was I picked on the basis of the name sounding nice. And got some popcorn, as that was abundant and vegetarian. We spent more time than we expected there as what do you know but another friend came by and we caught up. It didn't feel like all we did this convention was see old friends, but it was one of our most successful expeditions in catching up with people we know.

Finally the Dead Dog Dance started, and we got to it, me again clomping around in my rubber boots and kigurumi, sticking away from the dance floor lest I break it. I did my best to keep in motion, at least, and to not let the glow sticks on threads fly too far out of my hands. I keep thinking I can twirl them, and I can for a short while, before they become luminous missiles. So it goes.

The dance ran long, I thought, seeming to keep to the standard where they get two hours from however late they start. But the end did arrive, and the lights came up and we had to face facts. We took another orbit of the hotel, finding fewer people and even fewer people we knew, and said our farewells.

We drove home in our kigurumis, getting into our house very close to when I had to sleep for work in the morning.

Trivia: On his first attempt, in early 1897, at driving from Hartford, Connecticut, to Springfield, Massachusets, (about 25 miles) Hiram Percy Maxim's motorcar got a quarter-mile before breaking down. On the next try it broke down after two miles. It eventually made the trip in about ten hours. Source: The King's Best Highway: The Lost History Of The Boston Post Road, The Route That Made America, Eric Jaffe. This was the son of the machine gun and amusement ride inventor.

Currently Reading: Lost Popeye Zine Volume 22: The Strongest Beard in the World, Tom Sims, Bela Zaboly. Editor Stephanie Noelle.