Blog on the Lillypad
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Friday
In spite of a long day on Thursday, my eyes snapped open at 6:30 on Friday morning. The rising sun brightened the room, even with the night curtain drawn. I got up and made coffee, wrote in my journal (a spiral bound notebook, as I had left the laptop at home), and then wandered downstairs to meet Kevin at 9:00.
Kevin, however, had already eaten. So while he went back to his room, I breakfasted alone on the Marriott's fresh fruit and hot cereal bar. Everything tasted great, and after the hectic schedule of the day before, I was content to simply rest and eat.
Kevin and I trekked out on foot and descended the great spiraling drive that ran down the steep hill. Just below the Marriott on the huge, rugged hill was a vast parking garage that looked completely deserted. I named it the haunted garage, but I noticed that if you used the stairs inside that dark building (which were partly visible even from a distance on the outside), you'd get up the hill as quickly as climbing a ladder straight up instead of taking the long, steep walk on the drive. But it really made me nervous to see that silent, dark, deserted building.
At the foot of the hill we navigated our way to the subway station of the Boston T. We unconsciously picked up the Doctor-Companion mode of journey, with Kevin doing most of the navigating while I observed details around us and occasionally pointed them out so he could consider the finer points of finding the main entrance, crossing the least busy street, etc.
We got inside and he once again got us through the maze of finding the Inbound track. Shortly thereafter, we were skimming along in a subway car. We reached Boston Commons about 30 minutes later.
It was getting ridiculous to be so amazed at everything, but I was amazed. Wonder, fear, and dismay came by turns. As we walked along the narrow, steep, brick sidewalks of Beacon Hill, I pointed out "a narrow alley" to Kevin, as well as "a dark doorway". Oh, Doctor Who stories are made of things like these! For a short while the century-old architecture of the cramped lanes fascinated me. But after ten or twenty minutes of hiking thoroughfares no wider than a kitchen able, I felt too closed in.
"How can people live like this?" I demanded of nobody in particular.
We'd been walking the hill of Boston for four hours. I was limping slightly as we hurried back to the subway station. I promised Kevin that when we got back to our station near the hotel I would hail a cab and pay for it (in return for the long jaunt to Cheers). The subway ride was surely welcome, and now more people crowded into the cars. A few had to stand while we traveled along, and everybody kept the deadpan, bored expressions that signal close quarters among strangers. Kevin and I were also pretty quiet, tired out from the day.
But inside, everything was cool and dark. I would not take the elevator up, for if it got stuck, we'd be in real trouble. Kevin was agreeable to my preferences, and we took the steps. In a moment or two we emerged onto the top deck, crossed a covered walkway, and came out in front of the hotel.
I felt ready for a shower and a nap. But once I'd gotten cleaned up and into cool pajamas and was ready to sleep, Kevin called to tell me the dealers were setting up their tables. So I got up, put on clean clothes, and went down to the dealer room.
By the time I got there, Kevin had set up the small table. I counted inventory for him and logged it on the sheet. One ambitious fan came in and bought up one each of the news letters and fanzines. He plopped down $100 on the spot. Ten minutes later, another fan bought up $50 worth of stuff. One that cheerful note, we closed up the table and went to dinner.
After dinner in the small Kilroys pub, Kevin and I split up to go to our rooms and get ready for the Insiders party. If you have any experience with cons, you know that most events open 20 minutes late. Yet at eight o'clock sharp we were both downstairs at the doors.
So we waited for the standard twenty minutes for the hotel people to get set up properly inside. The celebrity guests went in before us. Kevin and I both had come especially to see Lis Sladen of Sarah Jane Smith (companion to both the Third Doctor and the Fourth Doctor. She came down just as the doors open. I saw a figure that looked like her, but I wasn't sure. But as she got into clear sight of the doors to the party (and the line of guests), she took on the bobbing stride of her character: Sarah Jane's bouncing, upbeat walk.
After the celebs had gone in, the doors opened and we entered. Everything was still really hanging fire and a couple of the guests wanted to get something better to drink than water or soft drinks, so I showed them the way to Kilroy's.
When I returned with a Bass Ale, Lis---who already knows Kevin from the fan club, was sitting by him, and he asked me to sit on his other side. He introduced us, and typical of gallant Kevin, he mentioned the Always the Third Doctor web page.
I gave Lis a small book on the Chinese astrology of the Rat, for I had seen some where on the net that her birthday was in a Rat year. She thanked me very kindly but told me that the net date is wrong. I shrugged it off with a laugh (for the possibility had occurred to me). But she asked about her daughter's year of birth. And for a couple minutes I told her a little bit about Chinese astrology.
But the others wanted to talk to her, so I joined Terry Molloy (Davros from Doctor Who) and Erin Gray (from Buck Rogers). We spent nearly thirty minutes talking about books, religion, and history. It was terrific. They are both tremendously well read people. I think a discussion outside of fandom was the last thing they expected. I also told them briefly about documenting the abuse and lack of accountability in the IFB movement. One big reason I went to the convention is that my doctors have told me to get away from the mess periodically and relax.
Then I went back to Lis and asked her about the character of Sarah Jane Smith. Of course, she gets that question a lot, so she gave me a thorough but standard answer. Kevin chimed in to help, and then Lis thought a little and talked about the need to make each episode have a real hook in it. There has to be enough there to catch the reader or viewer.
Even if the viewer never sees the next episode, that one episode should be enough to make him think it was good---that was her opinion, and it was a very good one. "Of course," I told her with a smile. "I want my readers to come back for the next episode."
She took my hand when I said this.
"So thank you---" I began.
"But dear, we were paid---"
I realized the burden I had just put on her. "Yes," I said right away. "It wasn't a ministry. I know that. It was a job. But thank you for doing it so well and working so hard at it. Because you made something that worked. And it helped me."
"You know," she told me. "We get a lot of letters similar to that" [to my experience of Doctor Who].
I nodded. I did know that. In fact, caregivers of autistic children in Britain noted that many of the children responded to the Third Doctor's face when he came on the telly. In some places of child care, putting on the Doctor at 5:00 on Saturday evening was part of the routine.
She spoke then about the moral goodness of the show, and the efforts of Barry Letts and others to keep it on a firm moral footing, to keep it effective for young viewers.
Then talk turned to lighter things. I'd said my part, and so I stood after a few minutes and said good night. My feet were aching and I was quite ready for bed, and I was glad that I had found the courage to say it out loud to one of the people from Doctor Who.
In spite of a long day on Thursday, my eyes snapped open at 6:30 on Friday morning. The rising sun brightened the room, even with the night curtain drawn. I got up and made coffee, wrote in my journal (a spiral bound notebook, as I had left the laptop at home), and then wandered downstairs to meet Kevin at 9:00.
Kevin, however, had already eaten. So while he went back to his room, I breakfasted alone on the Marriott's fresh fruit and hot cereal bar. Everything tasted great, and after the hectic schedule of the day before, I was content to simply rest and eat.
 | I spent several minutes in the hotel store, where Harvard shirts and Boston sweat shirts abounded. It had been chilly in the lobby earlier, and I worried that I had not brought along anything truly warm. Apparently, "mild" in a local Boston weather forecast was about 20 degrees cooler than "mild" in a Raleigh NC weather forecast. The young lady at the register, Marguelina, was so cheerful and affable that we chatted away until Kevin came down to meet me for our big day out. I decided to put off purchasing a shirt for the time being, but I Marguelina and I parted friends, and we spoke to each other every morning of my stay. |
Kevin and I trekked out on foot and descended the great spiraling drive that ran down the steep hill. Just below the Marriott on the huge, rugged hill was a vast parking garage that looked completely deserted. I named it the haunted garage, but I noticed that if you used the stairs inside that dark building (which were partly visible even from a distance on the outside), you'd get up the hill as quickly as climbing a ladder straight up instead of taking the long, steep walk on the drive. But it really made me nervous to see that silent, dark, deserted building.
At the foot of the hill we navigated our way to the subway station of the Boston T. We unconsciously picked up the Doctor-Companion mode of journey, with Kevin doing most of the navigating while I observed details around us and occasionally pointed them out so he could consider the finer points of finding the main entrance, crossing the least busy street, etc.
We got inside and he once again got us through the maze of finding the Inbound track. Shortly thereafter, we were skimming along in a subway car. We reached Boston Commons about 30 minutes later.
| Our goal was to walk Boston's Freedom Trail, which is a narrow brick path that leads tourists right through the city to Boston's many historic sites. I bought a tour book to help us along. After getting our photo snapped with a colonial gentleman, Kevin and I started out. We wuickly made our way to the site of the monument to the famous 54th regiment, the "negro regiment," that set out as the first black regiment of the US army. They fought for the Union in the Civil War. Other highlights of the journey included a cemetery where Ben Franklin and the victims of the Boston Massacre had been laid to rest. We walked up Beacon Hill as we followed the brick trail. |  |
 | Boston amazes the eyes of a North Carolina girl. Vast, skyscraping structures of girders, concrete, and greenish glass loom right over the rooftops of narrow, immaculate brick homes that line narrow lines with brick sidewalks. The everyday life of simply being in upscale, tightly-packed Boston rubs shoulders with the treasured memories and sacred realities of our nation's history. A corner fruit market abuts the meeting house where Sam Adams and the Sons of the Revolution declaimed against the tyrannies of King George. A few buildings away, harried office workers rush back and forth in front of a round subway vent. Behind the circular, enclosed vent lies the tombstone of the woman on whom Nathaniel Hawthorne modeled Hester Prynne.
The tourists, wearing bright clothing and walking shoes, with cameras hung round their necks, lumber and amble along. But the residents stride swiftly, with an agility that comes from years of zipping around hordes of awe-struck strangers. And every now and then---babbling and declaiming---a person afflicted with insanity goes by. We passed beggars who held out empty cups. Kevin commended me for giving a few dollars, but he told me I wouldn't have enough money for all the beggars I would meet, and he was right. |
It was getting ridiculous to be so amazed at everything, but I was amazed. Wonder, fear, and dismay came by turns. As we walked along the narrow, steep, brick sidewalks of Beacon Hill, I pointed out "a narrow alley" to Kevin, as well as "a dark doorway". Oh, Doctor Who stories are made of things like these! For a short while the century-old architecture of the cramped lanes fascinated me. But after ten or twenty minutes of hiking thoroughfares no wider than a kitchen able, I felt too closed in.
"How can people live like this?" I demanded of nobody in particular.
 | We lunched in the Quincy Market and then visited Paul Revere's House (the outside of it---going inside cost money), and we followed the trail to the Old North Church (which still has services). Then Kevin wanted to see the new suspension bridge for I-93. It took about 20 minutes to navigate our way to it, but we found another bridge that admitted pedestrian traffic, and this afforded a good view of the new bridge. Kevin got his pictures. The day, to my surprise, had warmed up quite a bit and had a touch of mugginess to it. |
| Against Kevin's wishes we then back tracked our entire journey and found the Cheers bar and restaurant (The Bull and Finch, in real life). By the time we got there, we were both hot and sweaty. So I bought us something cold to drink inside. The Bull and Finch, by the way, is the Cheers exterior, but the inside looks nothing like the interior on the television show. However the proprietor's have made the most of their sudden fame. The menu fronted simple meals that were actually nicer than what you would normally get in such a place. They are well beyond mere sandwiches and burgers. And the bar space is minimal compared to the table space and booths. But everything is pretty cramped inside: partly because the place is not all that big, and partly because so many people come to see it. You can also buy shirts, glasses, mugs, caps, photos, pamphlets, etc of the place "where everybody knows your name" from the tiny gift shop inside. I wanted to make a purchase, but the tiny store area was so crammed with people that I decided against standing in line. |  |
We'd been walking the hill of Boston for four hours. I was limping slightly as we hurried back to the subway station. I promised Kevin that when we got back to our station near the hotel I would hail a cab and pay for it (in return for the long jaunt to Cheers). The subway ride was surely welcome, and now more people crowded into the cars. A few had to stand while we traveled along, and everybody kept the deadpan, bored expressions that signal close quarters among strangers. Kevin and I were also pretty quiet, tired out from the day.
 | There were no cabs at the Quincy Adams station, so we had to take the hike back to the hotel, and that long, steep hill was so daunting that when we got to the haunted parking garage, Kevin said he was going to check it out to find a faster way to the top of the hill. I was truly a little afraid of the place. It was after three in the afternoon, and there were still no cars inside the big structure. But I followed him. This is how Doctor Who stories start, I thought. The weary travelers go into a huge, dark, empty building and get disintegrated by daleks hiding inside, or whisked off through a time portal that opens up unexpectedly, or changed into horrific monsters by some viral sludge spread on one of the walls. It'd be a heck of a way to end a day in Boston. |
But inside, everything was cool and dark. I would not take the elevator up, for if it got stuck, we'd be in real trouble. Kevin was agreeable to my preferences, and we took the steps. In a moment or two we emerged onto the top deck, crossed a covered walkway, and came out in front of the hotel.
I felt ready for a shower and a nap. But once I'd gotten cleaned up and into cool pajamas and was ready to sleep, Kevin called to tell me the dealers were setting up their tables. So I got up, put on clean clothes, and went down to the dealer room.
By the time I got there, Kevin had set up the small table. I counted inventory for him and logged it on the sheet. One ambitious fan came in and bought up one each of the news letters and fanzines. He plopped down $100 on the spot. Ten minutes later, another fan bought up $50 worth of stuff. One that cheerful note, we closed up the table and went to dinner.
After dinner in the small Kilroys pub, Kevin and I split up to go to our rooms and get ready for the Insiders party. If you have any experience with cons, you know that most events open 20 minutes late. Yet at eight o'clock sharp we were both downstairs at the doors.
So we waited for the standard twenty minutes for the hotel people to get set up properly inside. The celebrity guests went in before us. Kevin and I both had come especially to see Lis Sladen of Sarah Jane Smith (companion to both the Third Doctor and the Fourth Doctor. She came down just as the doors open. I saw a figure that looked like her, but I wasn't sure. But as she got into clear sight of the doors to the party (and the line of guests), she took on the bobbing stride of her character: Sarah Jane's bouncing, upbeat walk.
 | It made me smile. It was a mark of the hard work ethic that the British actors always put into these conventions. They treat a con with the same respect as a theatrical role, and they put everything into it. But I also noted that for her, this is very much an acting role---a task that requires her (and all of them) to put on a public face rather than allow her to be herself. As I have considered the promotion side of VALKYRIES, it's this aspect that has held me back. Already people ask me if I am Tracey Jacamuzzi. How much harder to distinguish Lis Sladen from Sarah Jane Smith. |  |
After the celebs had gone in, the doors opened and we entered. Everything was still really hanging fire and a couple of the guests wanted to get something better to drink than water or soft drinks, so I showed them the way to Kilroy's.
When I returned with a Bass Ale, Lis---who already knows Kevin from the fan club, was sitting by him, and he asked me to sit on his other side. He introduced us, and typical of gallant Kevin, he mentioned the Always the Third Doctor web page.
I gave Lis a small book on the Chinese astrology of the Rat, for I had seen some where on the net that her birthday was in a Rat year. She thanked me very kindly but told me that the net date is wrong. I shrugged it off with a laugh (for the possibility had occurred to me). But she asked about her daughter's year of birth. And for a couple minutes I told her a little bit about Chinese astrology.
But the others wanted to talk to her, so I joined Terry Molloy (Davros from Doctor Who) and Erin Gray (from Buck Rogers). We spent nearly thirty minutes talking about books, religion, and history. It was terrific. They are both tremendously well read people. I think a discussion outside of fandom was the last thing they expected. I also told them briefly about documenting the abuse and lack of accountability in the IFB movement. One big reason I went to the convention is that my doctors have told me to get away from the mess periodically and relax.
Then I went back to Lis and asked her about the character of Sarah Jane Smith. Of course, she gets that question a lot, so she gave me a thorough but standard answer. Kevin chimed in to help, and then Lis thought a little and talked about the need to make each episode have a real hook in it. There has to be enough there to catch the reader or viewer.
Even if the viewer never sees the next episode, that one episode should be enough to make him think it was good---that was her opinion, and it was a very good one. "Of course," I told her with a smile. "I want my readers to come back for the next episode."
| And then I told her what was a bit more difficult for me---that I'd gotten so attached to Doctor Who because, when I was 12, my father mistreated me. I'd gone numb in the inside, just doing all the things that I was supposed to do, but numb. Until I walked into the family TV room and saw this odd show about this old guy with white hair and tremendous energy battling hideous creatures called "primords" (from the story Inferno).
"I'm sure it had to do with my father and what I was going through," I told her, "But I was hooked from that point on. It was just what I needed. It took me away, and it opened up a new world to me." |  |
She took my hand when I said this.
"So thank you---" I began.
"But dear, we were paid---"
I realized the burden I had just put on her. "Yes," I said right away. "It wasn't a ministry. I know that. It was a job. But thank you for doing it so well and working so hard at it. Because you made something that worked. And it helped me."
"You know," she told me. "We get a lot of letters similar to that" [to my experience of Doctor Who].
I nodded. I did know that. In fact, caregivers of autistic children in Britain noted that many of the children responded to the Third Doctor's face when he came on the telly. In some places of child care, putting on the Doctor at 5:00 on Saturday evening was part of the routine.
She spoke then about the moral goodness of the show, and the efforts of Barry Letts and others to keep it on a firm moral footing, to keep it effective for young viewers.
Then talk turned to lighter things. I'd said my part, and so I stood after a few minutes and said good night. My feet were aching and I was quite ready for bed, and I was glad that I had found the courage to say it out loud to one of the people from Doctor Who.
