Somthing I wrote a while ago. (Print Clearly)
This was a parody that I wrote of the 'Wear Sunscreen' commencement address that was very popular a couple of years ago. It's about SF Conventions.
Ladies and gentlemen of the CONvergence of 1999:
Print Clearly.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, printing clearly would be it. The long-term benefits of printing clearly have been proved by the flawless badge names you will see, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering phannish experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your Con. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your con until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at old PRs and program books and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much chocolate lay before you and how fabulously you wrote.
You are not as illiterate as you imagine.
Don't worry about the next con. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve all the technical innacuracies in the ringworld series, while sober. The real troubles at your con are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, like bathing, the kind that blindside you at 4am on Saturday night.
Attend one programming item every day that scares you.
Filk.
Don't be reckless with other people's self-esteem. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Take a breath mint.
Don't waste your time on Magic the Gathering. sometimes you've got a rare foil, sometimes you've got an atog. The race is long and, in the end, they will always have more cards than you have money.
Remember compliments your costumes receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell every other costumer how, please.
Keep your old 'zines. Throw away your old rejection letters.
Go to the hot tub.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your time at a convention. The most interesting people I know didn't know at their first convention what they wanted to do. Some of the most interesting people I know still don't.
Get plenty of real food.
Be kind to your lungs. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll game, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have a costume, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll fan GOH at 40, maybe you'll kiss William Shatner at the 75th worldcon. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either (well, except for William Shatner, I mean, what the hell were you *thinking*). Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your fannishness. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest liberation, and excuse, you'll ever have.
Bellydance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your hotel room.
Read the pocket program, even if you don't follow it.
Do not listen to mundanes. They will only try to make you feel ashamed.
Get to know your fellow con-goers. You never know when they'll be gone for good.
Be extra nice to your volunteers. They're your best resource, and the people most likely to help you again in the future. Understand that volunteers will come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who know how to run your department.
Go to a worldcon once, but leave before it makes you smof.
Go to a relaxacon a often as you bloody well can, and refuse to leave until it makes you not care about smoffing.
Travel to other conventions. Accept certain inalienable truths: Registration Rates will rise. Fans will play BS political games. You, too, will become an Old Phart. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, Registration Rates were reasonable, Fans were noble and newbies respected their phannish elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to pre-support you. Maybe you'll have a friend with a checking acount. Maybe you'll have a wealthy fannish sweetie (maybe a few). But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your foam rubber prosthetic foreheads or by the time you get them on you'll end up looking like a cardassian when you're going for a klingon.
Be careful whose phannish explanations you buy, but be patient with those who supply them. Phannish explanations are a form of nostalgia. Dispensing them is a way of fishing past conventions from the disposal, wiping them off, painting over their ugly parts, and recycling them for more than their worth.
But trust me on the printing clearly.
Ladies and gentlemen of the CONvergence of 1999:
Print Clearly.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, printing clearly would be it. The long-term benefits of printing clearly have been proved by the flawless badge names you will see, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering phannish experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your Con. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your con until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at old PRs and program books and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much chocolate lay before you and how fabulously you wrote.
You are not as illiterate as you imagine.
Don't worry about the next con. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve all the technical innacuracies in the ringworld series, while sober. The real troubles at your con are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, like bathing, the kind that blindside you at 4am on Saturday night.
Attend one programming item every day that scares you.
Filk.
Don't be reckless with other people's self-esteem. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Take a breath mint.
Don't waste your time on Magic the Gathering. sometimes you've got a rare foil, sometimes you've got an atog. The race is long and, in the end, they will always have more cards than you have money.
Remember compliments your costumes receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell every other costumer how, please.
Keep your old 'zines. Throw away your old rejection letters.
Go to the hot tub.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your time at a convention. The most interesting people I know didn't know at their first convention what they wanted to do. Some of the most interesting people I know still don't.
Get plenty of real food.
Be kind to your lungs. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll game, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have a costume, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll fan GOH at 40, maybe you'll kiss William Shatner at the 75th worldcon. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either (well, except for William Shatner, I mean, what the hell were you *thinking*). Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your fannishness. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest liberation, and excuse, you'll ever have.
Bellydance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your hotel room.
Read the pocket program, even if you don't follow it.
Do not listen to mundanes. They will only try to make you feel ashamed.
Get to know your fellow con-goers. You never know when they'll be gone for good.
Be extra nice to your volunteers. They're your best resource, and the people most likely to help you again in the future. Understand that volunteers will come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who know how to run your department.
Go to a worldcon once, but leave before it makes you smof.
Go to a relaxacon a often as you bloody well can, and refuse to leave until it makes you not care about smoffing.
Travel to other conventions. Accept certain inalienable truths: Registration Rates will rise. Fans will play BS political games. You, too, will become an Old Phart. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, Registration Rates were reasonable, Fans were noble and newbies respected their phannish elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to pre-support you. Maybe you'll have a friend with a checking acount. Maybe you'll have a wealthy fannish sweetie (maybe a few). But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your foam rubber prosthetic foreheads or by the time you get them on you'll end up looking like a cardassian when you're going for a klingon.
Be careful whose phannish explanations you buy, but be patient with those who supply them. Phannish explanations are a form of nostalgia. Dispensing them is a way of fishing past conventions from the disposal, wiping them off, painting over their ugly parts, and recycling them for more than their worth.
But trust me on the printing clearly.