Dearest Rachel –
There is a story about Voltaire that tells of him being invited to a party by some of his more… libertine… friends. For all intents and purposes, this was basically an orgy. The story doesn’t relate as to whether he actually participated in the events of the night, but one is left having to assume so, partly because a.) Voltaire was French, which, now that I think about it, is probably racist of me to say (no matter how likely true it may be), but b.) more to the point, he was invited back the following night to another such party, so he clearly impressed his friends somehow.
However, he declined the second invitation, with his traditional wit: “Once, a philosopher; twice, a pervert.”
So how does this story apply to my present circumstance? Well, suppose you show up, but don’t quite participate… does it count against your second time?
***
Of course, these are nothing like those libertine affairs (eh? eh?) that Voltaire was invited to back in eighteenth-century France, but the parties as held on the hotel patio on Thursday night tend to be particularly unrestrained, especially in terms of the flow of alcohol. I’m not entirely sure why, but perhaps this is when the diehard otaku (or at least the convention fans and staff) congregate, and as such, there’s a certain elevated level of… could I say ‘trust,’ here? The crowds are bigger on Friday and Saturday night (especially Saturday, as everyone pours out of Main Programming after the cosplay competition onto the patio), but somehow, there’s less to go around, or what there is has to go around among that many more people, so it’s not quite as prevalent.
It’s not exactly my scene – and come to think of it, it’s probably one more good reason for the girls not to have come (although one wouldn’t have expected them until Friday in any event; they would have missed this particular unofficial ‘event’ by default). At the same time, there is always the sense in the back of my mind that one can’t spend the entire evening shut up in one’s hotel room, regardless of how nice it is; one has to get out there amongst the crowd in order to fully experience – and, presumably, enjoy – the event. So, after describing the room to you as best I could, I closed everything up and headed out there, just to see what might be going on.
In all honesty, I think I’ve seen more happening in the past.
I hung out by the group with the karaoke machine; I did not, however, sing. I have to admit to not recognizing but one song (and that one, Weird Al Yankovic’s “Dare to be Stupid” I wouldn’t know enough words to sing along with; not that the guy singing seemed to either, although he was singing at a clip that might have fooled anyone who wasn’t paying too much attention, or who was no more sure of the lyrics than myself), and at any rate, there were enough people taking their turn that there wasn’t a requirement for me to join in, although I was waved over to the table after flopping down on a bench a couple yards away. Like Voltaire, I was invited to join the festivities.
Unlike the philosopher, I stuck to observing. I threw in the occasional comment where I thought it might fit in, and may have discovered why it’s sometimes called ‘dry’ wit; cracking a joke when you’re the only one completely sober allows you to deliver it such that the victim never sees it coming until it’s too late, thus magnifying its effect. It’s really quite gratifying, in terms of reception.
However, most of the crowd seemed to know each other better than they knew me, or vice versa, and I found it difficult to keep up with any of the conversation. It was also quite loud, thanks to the karaoke machine – and the acoustics of just being outside. For that matter, the outdoors rendered this uncomfortable in a few other ways, as it was still over eighty degrees even as midnight approached – and because of that, about a half-dozen guys at my elbow began to peel off their shirts in response. Now, I know I still need to lose a fair amount of weight, honey, even after what I’ve managed thus far, but some of these fellows… well, they wouldn’t make me look like an Adonis in comparison, but they could at least give me a confidence boost, especially taking into account that they all have to be at least a decade or two my junior.
I know you were the social one of us, but I really don’t know what you would have made of all this. But I figure I might as well tell you about it all, and you can come to your own conclusions as to what to make of it… and me. I don’t think this makes me a lush, especially since I didn’t bother to drink anything (not even water, which they had in copious amounts, to stave off hangovers – I might have disappointed Lars by that), and I was no pervert, as I literally kept my shirt on. But am I still a philosopher? I leave that to you to decide.
For now, I’m going to catch some shut-eye. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 