Josh Play Gay motss.con.vii

Las Vegas, NV — October 6-10, 1994

Ah. I haven't had this much fun since Portland, OR, 1992. Here's my con.report... This message is about 200 lines long, plus headers and signature. Some names have been named, but by no means all.


Thursday, October 6

Oi. Up at 0445 for a 0530 shuttle ride to the airport for an 0735 flight. I am not a morning person. Flying Cattle-Car Airlines, with a plane change in Denver. I hate board-by-number. I hate having to change planes. I hate airline food. Luckily, I'm not afflicted or inflicted with that last; I get a Sara Lee danish on one flight and a packet of peanuts on the other. I will admit — we arrived on time. Both times.

So, get my luggage and the rental car, drive to the Continental (Hey! Nobody told me Paradise was one way the wrong way! Grumble), check in (and run into Scarlett O'Hansen changing his room and chatting with Mike, the desk clerk; nice guy), unpack. Go to lunch, meeting the Early Arriving Motssisti and terrorizing the wait staff. Was nice to put faces to names (and addresses :) ).

Split up and get ready to go to con.central for the Bear Float. Arrive, meet lots and lots of bears. Eat lots of pizza. Drink lots of caffeine (it's been a long day, what with up at 0445 and then going west two time zones). Frolic naked in the pool with lots of other naked bears. Congregations and bearclumps test the Ursine Velcro Effect (UVE) at the deep end of the pool. (Result: Wet bear fur doesn't always stick together while under water.) Various and sundry unspoken yet quite enjoyable activities take place. The "First Pool Rule" is coined: No coming in the pool. Nobody passes out from asphyxiation and nobody drowns. And nobody violates the First Pool Rule.

After becoming thoroughly waterlogged, head back to the hotel (following another departing vehicle; I've got no sense of direction).


Friday, October 7

After not enough sleep, decide against going on the hike (mainly because my ankle is acting up, and hiking up and down cliffs isn't a good idea when one's ankle is about to stop working). Go to a brunch with Furr at Lenny's, uh Denny's. (<Shrug>. Typical food, and he had his reasons, so what the heck.) Do some shopping — books and CDs and records — and then back to the hotel for a quick Sanity Nap before going to con.central for the pool party.

Ah. More people, more food (the fabulous burrito bar as well as leftover pizza from the night before), lots of fun. Meet the newly- arrived folks, including Ann and Sammie. Got the con.packet and my t-shirt; nice job, guys! Am glad I ordered the white instead of the black; the colors did come out better. :-) Overhear some people discussing Austin as the next con.location and ask them to wait until this one's over before the next one gets set up.

After a swim (naked again, of course), with minor frolicking (nowhere near as intense as last night, although we did notice fabulous breath control being exhibited in the deep end by Alan and Chuck), head off to Mystere — fanfuckingtastic show. I enjoyed it immensely. (My one objection is that I thought the drums were too loud, but that's always been a pet peeve of mine.) If you get a chance to see this show, go.

Back to the hotel and to bed, except: I'm starving! I don't feel like bothering with clothes, but damned if I'm gonna pay a $3 surcharge on bad food just to get room service. On with the motss.sweats (thanks, BBC! Great job, lo these many years ago), down to munch a late dinner around 1am. Meet up — after I'd gotten my food, of course — with the de facto Women's Event, and chat with Ann, Sammie, and the newly- arrived Stephanie. Neat folks. Wish I were more awake to enjoy it better.


Saturday, October 8

Drive to con.central, then out to Lake Mead. Picnic (thank goodness for fast food carryout!). Naked swimming in a cool man-made lake. (That's cool temperature as well as cool "neato peachy keen.") Again, a con event with naked bodies in the water and Nelson and Sim peeling mangoes and persimmons. Yum. (Haven't done that since Portland. And the water was MUCH warmer than in Portland, too. :-) )

After we'd all had enough fun in the sun, we headed back — in drabs and drips, instead of a mass rush — and eventually all (even those not at the beach) met up at Wild Bill's for dinner. (Well, almost all. A few people didn't make it to dinner for various reasons.)

On the way — five of us in one car — we managed to do some fabulous straight-wrecking. This van was stopped next to us at a light. The blonde woman in the van started by looking at the scenery but looked down into our car when we were stopped. (Las Vegas has long lights!!) So, Furr and Jeff decided to have a little fun. Furr started pinching Jeff's nipples, and the blond woman's eyes got real wide. She kept looking. Furr and Jeff started sucking face. The blonde got this look of absolute terror/horror and turned away in shock. The passenger-side front seat passenger (I'm told he was male; he looked androgynous to me) leaned out the window, staring into our car. I smiled and waved; Furr and Jeff (in the back seat with me) continued to suck face. The bozo in the van made a jacking-off motion with his hand, smiling, then converted it to an upthrust middle finger as we drove off together. Ah well. If you don't wanna see guys making out, don't look into their cars.

We, with a large birthday party (multigenerational family event), took over one entire (large) corner of the place. Great food (plenty of it, too), great company (even if we were scattered at four tables). Grand entertainment — Chris and Eric (2/3 of our hosts) are friends with Donna, who sings with the c/w group that performed; she was kind enough to sing "Constant Craving" by k.d. lang during one of their sets (and you know she was singing it to our group!).

After dinner, a bunch of people go off to see the wizard, uh, movies. I understand Priscilla and Ed Wood were the choices. I, with a group of bears, do some shopping around the Excalibur and wind up doing some minor gambling before going back to the Continental and to bed.


Sunday, October 9

Champagne brunch at the Rio. Nice brunch — not fantastic, but pretty good. Especially for $7. We had four? five? tables scattered all over the restaurant, since they couldn't seat us together. (I'd've said "wouldn't" while in line, but after seeing the place, well, I'll be nice and stick with "couldn't.") Instead of doing the strip strut, since most of us had already done the strip during the weekend, we wound up back at con.central. Owen regaled us with a fantastic magic show, as some others have alluded to. (Owen, return Clay's bra to him, huh? :-) ) We devolved into an impromptu pool party. "Ev'rybody in the poo'!" will stick in my mind forever; thanks, Sammie! We more or less stayed put for the rest of the afternoon, just socializing. I think we finished the leftover pizza and the chips and salsa. (I wonder how much beer we left behind.... :-) ) People left as they had to catch their flights or other transportation home.

Around 6 or 7 or so, a lot of us wound up going to dinner. I went — with John and Michael and Aric (and six others who got their own table, and who sat down before we did even though we got there first, which is why I won't dignify them by naming 'em here) — to the Palace Station seafood place, where they had a pound of crab legs for $12 special. Urp. We also, in addition to what I thought was faaabulous food, got faaabulous service from a gorgeous hunk of waiter named Jonathan. (Yes, someone other than myself left him a note. I won't quote it yet, nor tell who wrote it, but will if I get enough in bribes. :-) )

After dinner, fourteen or fifteen of us met up at the Luxor for the "Search of the Obelisk" ride. Cheesy — okay, downright terrible — acting on the tape loops was just too funny for words. A couple of specific funnies, though — We're in the antechamber (our group of fourteen, a group of four, and a group of five (the latter nine not being motssisti)) and the reasonably attractive young woman is going through the spiel about the elevator problems and so on and so forth, and winds up by asking us if there're any questions. Stephanie calls out (in a voice meant to be heard), "Yeah. What're you doing after work?" We all laugh hysterically, the poor tour guide ducks behind her podium (hiding from us?), and sends us on our way. As I passed her I told her that Steph was serious. (On her way out after she got off work — when we were all standing by the gift shop trying to figure out what to do next, she managed to walk by without making eye contact. Steph elected not to pursue her. (She was a bit straight-laced, not to mention definitely straight.) Ah well.) We were amused.

After that, we pretty much split our separate ways, and I wound up back at the Continental.


Monday, October 10

7:00 am. What yutz decided this was a decent hour? Oh well, I understand our hosts need to get to their respective jobs, but still... 7:00 am is not an hour for someone to be awake, unless one's still moving from the night before. (Like I said, I'm not a morning person.)

Anyhow, breakfast. IHOP. 30 had said they'd attend. Shawn commented he expected 15. We got 18 who showed up. BBC ordered his usual — chocolate chip pancakes ("They're just as nutritious as ordinary pancakes!"). We started a couple of rumors (I'll let others determine which ones they are, as well as which ones are true or truth-based or outright lies), ate a lot of food, and ever so slowly parted. Some of us had morning flights, others wanted to go to the Liberace Museum ("You mean Liberace was gay?!"), and so on.

I wound up back at the Continental, said goodbye to everyone there again, and then took Sammie to the airport to catch her plane. (Hey, Sammie, didja catch the flight? Traffic in the airport was nuts!) My own flight left in an hour or two, so I turned in the car, gambled away some quarters and nickels, ate lunch (a good thing, too; nothing but peanuts and Pepsi on the two flights back to Chicago, which started out leaving Vegas 20 minutes late but actually landed at Chicago Midway on time), and headed home.


Tuesday, October 11

Feeling very tactile-ly deprived. Missing y'all terribly.