>> self-portrait




chronicling my adventures at the 2003 journalcon in san francisco, ca.

journal entries

part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six


photographs

part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six
part seven
part eight
part nine
b&w alcatraz shots


links

journal con
other attendees


credits

blogskins
w4rnawarni
pictures & text © 2002 lmj (hez)

journalcon 2002


Part One: Getting There
So, JournalCon. Where do I begin? So much happened in such a short period of time. I met so many wild, wacky, wonderful people and did so many fun and interesting things, I'm not sure I remember it all. At least not clearly or in the correct order. So, in my typical haphazard narrative fashion, I'll just start at the beginning, and see what happens.

Friday morning mom and I got up around 8:30, had coffee, and finished packing. The night before I had been up until eleven working on my swags and gathering outfits to wear in SF. Everyone said it's cold in SF, and to expect fog. I packed accordingly: my faux suede top, blue-and-white-striped sweater, thin white sweater, long denim skirt, flared jeans, flared glitter jeans (which, had I known i would be getting glitter anyway, i wouldn't have bothered packing!), some gym clothes (just in case I decided to check out the hotel's fitness center), and five pair of shoes: my good walking sneakers, my Sketchers casual sneakers, my floral Doc Martins, my brown boots, and my chuncky Mudd shoes. I also threw in a raincoat and my black leather jacket, because, you know, it's SF, and it gets cold there.

I tossed tons of make-up in several plastic zip lock baggies (none of which I used more than once, but more on that later), and spent about an hour hunting down my old crimping iron. I got that thing back in 1985 when crimping your hair was THE thing to do, and I've noticed recently that the crimped style is coming back. Always one to follow the current fad, regardless of my age, I wanted to sport it again, but I never found the iron. I probably gave it to Goodwill or threw it out. That was back in '85, after all. Who'd've thought the eighties would come back so soon?

Anyway, I packed all my crap, we loaded everything in Lexie the Honda Civic, checked, double checked, and triple checked the house, then took off. I had my Map Quest maps showing turn-by-turn directions to the hotel, and felt very confident that it would be a straight shot trip. We stopped for lunch at the Applebee's in Gilroy, but didn't bother looking around the Outlet Center; we decided we'd do that on the way home. I wanted to be at the hotel by the 3PM check-in time, so I would have time to shower and get ready for the evening. Things went smoothly until we got unto SF. Mom was reading the Map Quest stuff, and for some reason I turned left instead of right, and then we were screwed. We ended up down by the ball park, and when we tried to turn around and go back, we got sucked into a one-way street situation that took us over the Bay Bridge into Oakland. As much as I like the Raiders, I really had no desire to visit Oakland, CA, but there we were. We stopped at a Motel 6, and asked for directions. They were simple and concise enough directions, but my brain wasn't functioning at it's normal brilliant level, and I ended up making another wrong turn. We stopped at a gas station this time, and mom insisted I go in a buy a "real" map. The Map Quest thing was completely worthless to us now, and the little map the lady at Motel 6 gave me was too vague. So, I bought a "real" map, and got "real" directions from the cashier, and, once again, we were off. This time I got it right, and a few minutes and two dollars later, we were back on the Bay Bridge headed into SF. The next fifteen minutes or so are a bit of blur, but by some miracle I happened to look up as we were driving down some street, and there was the sign for the Galleria Park Hotel! I quick trip around the block, and we were there. I was literally shaking from the adrenaline as I got out of the car. I'm not the best driver in the world, and I'm not very happy driving in city traffic. Freeway traffic is bad enough. Zoloft or no Zoloft, I was pretty stressed.

The staff at the Galleria were fantastic! Cheerful, enthusiastic, helpful. Where did they find all these people? A young man cheerfully helped us unload our bags, then took Lexie down into the dungeon, uh, I mean garage, which I'm sure is very nice. The folks at the front desk were equally chipper, and got us checked in quickly. Another nice young man grabbed our bags, and we headed up to the room.

Our room was tiny, but nice. Mom kept saying the place reminded her of Grandpa's hotel. That would be her grandfather, not mine. The one disappointment: no bathtub. Just a shower stall. Both mom and I had been looking forward to soaking in a tub with some fancy bubble bath, but it was not meant to be.

As much as I wanted to just collapse and go to sleep, I didn't have much time before registration, so I jumped in the shower for a quick scrubbing. Not that it made much difference: SF was unusually warm and humid the entire weekend, and I spent every waking moment sweating like a whore in church. Putting on make-up was a challenge, as it kept dripping off, and I eventually gave up. My hair never did get totally dry. The outfits I'd chosen, which at the time seemed cool, funky, fun, and appropriate for the chilly SF evenings, were now hot, heavy, confining, and totally unappropriate to the apparent heatwave blanketing the Bay Area! But, there was nothing I could do but grin and bear it. Or sweat it. Or something. Moving right along . . .

Part Two

Cheers!
lmj (alias hez)