I promised to blog from Denvention, and then I didn't, and I'm sorry. But the Hyatt wanted $10 day for Internet access, which I refused to pay on principle. I'm not sure information wants to be free, but wifi should have been considering the room rates. So now I am sitting in the Denver airport, where the wi-fi is free, wondering how to compress an entire Worldcon into a single blog entry.
It was spread-out. It was slightly, but not majorly, disorganized. It was a lot of fun. I lost a Hugo. But I expected that, since I was after all up against Connie Willis, who is not only the crowd-pleaser of all time but also on her home turf. To ease the pain, I had bet against myself, and thus ended u[p $25 richer, if one Hugo poorer.
The Sheraton was the party hotel, but since all of the parties were very crowded and very hot (the Sheraton was having AC problems; at one point a hotel worker actually poured ice into the AC ducts, in front of the blower), a lot of action took place in the Hyatt bar. There, perched on high stools, people met and drank and talked and circulated, my favorite part of any Worldcon. I think of SF cons as the equivalent of mountain-men jubilees in the nineteenth century. You spend a long stretch alone hunting furs (or writing stories) and every once in a while you just have to come down from the mountains for an intense spree with your own kind. Trade your furs, carouse a bit, make new contacts with the traders (BLOCK THAT METAPHOR!)
The Hugos were run capably by Toastmaster Wil McCarthy, who brought the program in under two hours. The panels all started on time. The Green Room had good coffee and Danish and fruit. My best panel was Monday morning with Jim Morrow and Harry Turtledove, on the subject "How Will The Twentieth Century Be Remembered In the Far Future?" Or something like that. We didn't, of course, stay on topic, but we did stray into some interesting by-ways. Jim and I disagree on almost everything, which is the best way to have a lively panel.
By Sunday night, however, I was exhausted, peopled-out, and tired of living out of a suitcase. Back to the mountains to hunt furs.