|Type:||fan-run fan con|
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About eight months ago, I left the environs of Ann Arbor, swearing never to return; U of Michigan had thoroughly depressed me. Well, more fool I, I returned there for Confusion, brought to you by Cap'n Ro and the Stilyagi Air Corps.
There must be something in the air, a general miasma, or perhaps curious vibrations from the accelerator in the basement of the physics building, something which causes the omnipresent screwing (authoritative, not amorous) in A2. I first got it in that city from the U, one reason I left, but the Hilton Motor Inn, the site of the con, was obviously another experienced master of the art. Exemolum gratia, a friend of ours held a confirmed registration for a single $18 per diem; when she went to pay the bill, they wanted $30 a night. We were promised a quad at what I was later told by D. Goldstein, who'Ka'd made the ar rangements, was $21 per night; when I registered, I was informed the price was 38 bucks "plus tax". Jolly. Then, Friday night, the blasted night manager, who finally figured out that we were a convention, called in the state cops. Seems he thought we were Shriners or something, arid was fearful of damages (which was, by conend, maybe 3 water rings and a dropped ash; fen are usually not terribly destructive). Eight bills for the banquet, shorting on towels, only three keys to the four (well, eight) of us—in all, not too cool.
The con, however, was a different matter. Avoid the panels ("Laser Fusion Technology!"), hit the Art Auction only to bid on Randy Bathhurst and Phil Foglio ($25 and $21 respectively; cheep at half the price), sleep all afternoon 'cause nothin's goin' on, and be ready for the evening, because that's when it all comes down—sort of a Nytecon. Any time you can gabble with Fredrik Pohl, Gordie Dickson, Lloyd Biggie, Cy Chauvin, Joe Haldeman, Rusty Hevlin, Howard DeVore, Ann-Hawkeye-Anne- Jubei-Ann-Bork-an'-Yang-plus-De, Randy B, ol' Phil, Todd Bake, Leah Zeldes (big name neo), Roger Sween, Marty! Coady and sib., Sharon Ferraro and even little Larry Downes till four am is a not bad con. More is less, or something. NB, Dominoes is the best delivered pizza in A2.The only other problem was that typical of January: Plague Con. A lot of people came sick and more left with colds. I myself arrived with the jumping cold robbies, and didn't feel any too good leaving. Then there was FondleCon I. Obviously, it's all a plot on Ro's part to kill off most of fandom thru complications of Type B, so he can be the only trufan in the lower peninsula, mainly cause he's the only fan in the lower peninsula. But what the hell, it's training for Worldcons.