A much-abridged and very after after-action report.
It came to pass that as the month of March drew towards its close, the fair warrior maid Kate the Impaler did once more saddle her trusty steed Toyota Camry and set forth unto that place of celebration and nexus of dimensional confusion, the Convention of Luna.
And lo! Though the guidance of her guardian angel of travel, the mighty (if somewhat eccentric) Garmin, did take her unto the very gates of the dread horrors of the deepest pits of Hell (otherwise known as the outskirts of NYC), she did reach her destination unscathed, and suffering only the monetary damage occasioned by the fees the gatekeepers did require to allow her and her trusty steed to continue their journey (and there was great lamenting from the denizens of the fair warrior’s purse, separated as they were from their brethren) (yes, I’m stingy. And I don’t use cash often. My paper money gets really close because it never circulates).
So Kate the Impaler did stable her trusty steed in the facilities provided, and present herself unto the masters of accommodations so she might avail herself of her promised room. Long experience with the Convention of Luna did warn her that this would be the last she would see of organization until her departure three days hence, for the inter-dimensional portals so beloved of the Convention did also swallow all plans and destroy all attempts at organization within moments of arrival.
And so it proved, yet the Convention staff did prove equal to the challenge and remained cheerful and helpful throughout.
Though panels did move and shift through the inter-dimensional portals and scheduling did go awry, the warrior maid did locate all her panels, and audiences did appear to enjoy them – though some audiences were, alas, almost intimate enough to justify the bar rule (though none did call it, for audience numbers did – barely – exceed panelist numbers).
Thus it was that upon the closing of the Convention, Kate the Impaler did offer her assistance unto the small band of volunteers in the herculean task of cleaning the Con Suite (and locating homes for the remains of feasts worthy of kings said volunteers had produced during the Convention), wherein she remained until exhaustion drove her to her room.
(Yes, it was a good convention, and a lot of fun. I’m currently too brain-dead to remember more than that. Sorry)