You know I was worried. You know that I was secretly thinking I was going to hang out in my room all weekend. You know that those first couple of hours in the swag room were just awfulā¦that I actually did the thing where I had a plateful of cucumber with Ranch dressing and was all forlornly gazing around and not talking to anyone because I was too shy. You know I didnāt think it was going to turn out well.
I mean, first of all. That early flight from Seattle? Oh, man. I found Sundry and we checked in and went through security and made it to the gate and got on the plane and the whole thing was a blurā¦I was so tired. I went in to JournalCon,with a sleep debt, and thatās a crying shame because we know how I love sleeping, bed, and all things associated with sleeping and beds. But thatās okay because I am a hard core punk rocker in red suede sneakers and a hoodie sweater who brings her knitting with her on the plane. Also, I was with Sundry and she was there to share my pain. Also, to share all these embarrassing personal facts about my life I chose to divulge to her on the planes to Austin. On the flights there we sat together in the exit rows which had only two seats in them and it was like we were on our own special little flight there. It was great. But still, early.
I have to give love to my girl Sundry right now though. This will one of the themes of this entry, and I hope you donāt mind if I get a little maudlin right here for a minute. Sundry, simply put, is the best. The best ever. She put up with my mewling about how I was scared of everyone and she sat with me and whispered with me and laughed at a lot of my stupid jokes. She looked great in that denim skirt.
Anyway, do you know what the first thing I did was when we got to the hotel and saw some real live journallers standing around? I introduced myself to Weetabix and had the following conversation. I wasnāt sure how it boded for the weekend, but it turned out to be a very good indication of the rockinā times to come.
Weetabix: Oh, right, Chiara! Iāve read your journal. I liked your Burning Man entries.
Inside Chiaraās Head: OH MY GAAAAAAAAAAAW WEETABIX READS MY JOURNAL!
Chiara: Oh, so youāve already seen my belly then. Can I see yours?
Weetabix: No, girl. Thatās too personal. But you can maybe see my boobs. Like maybe later tonight.
Chiara: Great!
I have to admit those first couple of hours in Austin were, interesting boob-related conversation notwithstanding, a little lame. Sundry and I walked around 6th Street forever, trying to get some lunch and ended up all exhausted and disheveled, in the Hard Rock Café¬ snoring over our overpriced salads and fending off the advances of the server, who just wanted us to get some margaritas already. I was feeling just sort of ridiculous, like here I was in the hotel and all these people I recognize but didnāt know and hadnāt met kept streaming in and I felt like a grubby little kid for some reason, hanging around on the playground where all the seventh graders go. We went and hung out in the Omni bar, me coughing delicately and waving away cigarette smoke and not being able to believe that people are actually allowed to smoke inside in Texas. I met Pineapple Girl and some others but still felt out of it. Felt out of it later in the swag room, where I met M.Giant and Rob (who later told me I had nice nostrils. One of them pre-verts, Iām telling you.) and Mo and lots of others. I liked them all and thought they were all cool but I couldnāt really get into it, you know? I was shy and close-mouthed and sort of sullen.
It got better though. It did. After dinner I was going to go to bed (see: 6:00 am flight from Seattle) but hung out at the bar some more and got to talk to some more folks and start to feel a little more comfortable, as if I was with people that I liked and knew and could get along with. It was so cool to be around people that knew a lot of the same stories I knew and that Iād talked to before on the forum. It was around the time I learned that Gwen and I have the same glasses that I stopped caring about being a little grubby kid on the playground and started just enjoying everyone, and thatās when I knew coming to JournalCon had been a good move for me. Overwhelming, yes. Exhaustingā¦well, just read on. But certainly the right thing to do this past weekend.
Because Saturday was some kind of wonderful. Itās hard to believe it was just one day, because it felt like it lasted forever, and that it was two days ago, because I just canāt remember it very well. I went to several panels and met some more people and told secrets and whispered and went to lunch and then to Sundryās panel. She did me proudā¦my only beef was that she didnāt talk as much as I wanted her to. Also, that she didnāt do the whole panel in a pirate accent, as I had heard rumours that she would. On that panel also was LadeeLeroy, who gave me sort of a funny feeling in my tummy, like when you climb the ropes in gym class. That feeling got only stronger and funnier when I saw her perform some bits from her show in a special JournalCon-only performance. Seriously. That girl. Oh, man. I am making plans with several other journallers to marry her and share her out equally during the week. Right now I think I have Tuesday nights.
I went to dinner with the Mathletes, bless their adorableness, and had as much ginger ale as I could hold, thanks to a very attentive waitress. Seriously, I had to really watch my ginger ale consumption over thereā¦every five minutes I had a new glass in front of me. Meanwhile, Erin and Sundry had to wait eight hours for their dirty martinis. Clearly they ordered the wrong drinks. Ginger ale. Itās where itās at. No, wait, I lied. Where itās really at was watching Allison get her surprise guitar from all the people that love her (which would be everyone, of course). I know I was wiping away the tears, and I also know I wasnāt the only one.
After the fantastic show (where I didnāt talk nearly enough with either Melissa or Eliza. In fact, that was a theme for the weekend. Everyone was great, and I didnāt get a chance to talk to everyone I wanted to for as much as I wanted) we headed over to some outdoor karaoke place, where it was a good thing thing that it was unroofed, because we would have blown it off. The karaoke DJ said heād never seen anything like it before. Iām guessing this is true. Iām sure heās never seen anything like women throwing their bras at Omar when he was singing that song designed with the grind in mind. Iām sure no one had ever uttered the phrase “United States of Awesomeā after singing āProud To Be An Americanā. (While humping the microphone stand, no less.) Iām sure no one in the history of karaoke has ever sung āLove Shackā the way Allison and M. Giant did, and I know for a fact that āOne Night In Bangkokā is forever ruined for me from now on because once youāve seen Monty do it? There is no subsitute. You will never listen to that song again without thinking of him going āSo go back to your templesā¦your massage parlorsā¦your JournalCon.ā Same with Hannahās rendition of āHopelessly Devotedā, which included an interpretation of that touching scene in Grease with the stationery and the kiddie pool. Also, Iām sure that karaoke DJ didnāt know that āNothing Compares 2 Uā as interpreted by TranceJen, is in fact a sing-along song. Yeah, well, it is in Texas. Thatās all Iām saying. Hint: for those of you trying to get extra bang for your karaoke buck, either dance with AB and Emily (they might grope you, though) or do something āinterpretiveā with the lovely and amazing Mo. Itās the only way. I have rarely had that much fun with people I had met only twenty-four hours ago. Part of it was that going out and being crazy is very much against my general way of life. I mostly like to be in my pajamas with a book by 10:30 every night. I just had so much fun, laughing and screaming and dancing and yelling and making ridiculous faces for all the photos and gossiping and loving everyone I was with.
Now, you know I donāt drink. You know I am a model of temperance, and that I ordered only cranberry juices from the stunningly handlebar mustached bartender the whole night through. While itās true that I screamed and yelled and cried for seven or eight hours Saturday, and while itās true that I presented Hannah with a rose to symbolize my love for her (which had, in turn, been previously presented to me by Sundry, who got it from I donāt know where), and also that Chauffi freaked me during āBaby Got Back,ā itās not true that I deserved the hangover I woke up with Sunday morning. I guess it was cheaper and better for my liver than waking up with a for real drunken hangover, but man. Hoarse voice and headache and light-sensitive eyes and the whole fuzzy āWhaā happened?ā conversations and everything.
We ordered room service and packed up and I watched Sundry do her hair and borrowed some of her hair product and finally went downstairs to hang out and say goodbye about an hour before we had to leave for the airport. I think by that point people were very tired (and possibly hung over for real, unlike me who was hungover for not-real) and everything was sort of scattered and a little sad and weepy because all these new best friends were going away from each other and really, who knows when or if Iāll see some of these folks ever again, you know? I donāt think I would have survived another night of JournalCon but it did feel too short at the same time. We milled around and checked out and hugged and took pictures and then got a cab and then we were at the airport again , walking very slowly and tiredly.
Chiara I feel like Iāve been to war.
Sundry: Dude, Iām totally getting a soft pretzel.
And that was it. It was another one of those experiences Iāve been privileged to have this year, at the ABL 2003 and even at Burning Man. I loved everyone and everyone was the best and it was all so much fun and I never wanted it to end. I wanted to marry every single person there. I never wanted to come home. I wanted to be, for the rest of my life, the person I was able to be for (most of) the weekend: silly, giggly, affectionate with everyone, with a slight Texas drawl that I donāt know how I got.
And hereās what Iāve been thinking about today, besides all the beautiful journallers (seriously, how come all these web writers were so hot?) and the funny things people said and did (seriously, Omar did a spit-take in his panel. Of a Bloody Mary. He said it was like a vampire had found something very very funny up there). I was thinking that everyone has a story to tell, and that some people have a gift for writing it down. Someone said that if you happen to have that gift for writing, itās on you to get that out to the world, that itās not enough to just write it downā¦you have to take that second step and share it with folks. Your story becomes your art and you share it and give it life outside yourself. I thought about that, how online writing has let me learn all these stories that I would have never known about otherwise, has given me a bunch of truths I need in my heart. These stories have created communities that couldnāt otherwise exist, and have formed relationships that would ordinarily be impossible.
The other thing I thought about is about all those links Iāve put in this journal. Every single one of those people are amazing writers with the aforementioned great stories. I figured something out this weekend, which probably those of you who have been to JournalCon before already know: those journals are wonderful because the writers are wonderful people, pure and simple. Iām able to read all these people Iāve admired for so long with a completely new appreciationā¦I can hear their physical voices now, when I read, I can see their faces. I canāt do that with any of the published writers I love. Iām not ashamed to tell you how important this journaling thing is to me, how grateful I was to be able to finally hear the voices underneath the stories Iāve been reading for all these years.