From: coren@osf.org (Robert Coren)
Subject: Portland reflections (long form)
Organization: Open Software Foundation
Date: Thu, 30 Jul 1992 23:11:56 GMT

What can I say? To start with, I'm glad last year's con was in
Toronto, because it needed to be near enough that I could convince
myself that it was worth the trip for a weekend. And I had such a
great time in Toronto that I wasn't going to miss the next one, no
matter how far away it was.

And so I went to Portland....

In order to be sure that we were properly rested for Bagby (and also
because of what was available at cheap fares), we arrived late Tuesday
night (where "late" means midnight PDT, i.e., 3:00 AM EDT). Talk about
forcing jet lag. Shared the plane with John Dorrance for the second
leg of the flight, but didn't find out who he was until we got off the
plane (I had my suspicions, however, as I watched the passengers board
in Minneapolis; I was right, as it turned out).

Wednesday morning: overcast skies. Checked the newspaper for the
results of the Red Sox game (they lost) and the weather: morning
clouds giving way to partial sunshine, with sunny and warmer weather
the following days. While sitting in our room getting ready to go out,
spotted Ri-Jen, John D., and Nomad chatting on the opposite corner;
after John and Nomad departed, we hailed Ri-Jen, who was intercepted
on his way across the street by a passing motorist. This, it turned
out, was a Historic Meeting, but none of us (including the principals,
I believe) knew it at the time.

Finally decided to head out to Powell's, reputed to be a significantly
large bookstore. I have never been in such a place in my life -- rooms
and rooms of books as far as the eye can see or the mind can reach,
and all available! We were there for about an hour and a half. I got
out for only about $60. Then we had lunch, by which time we were
sufficiently exhausted :-) that we decided to go back and take a nap
before Bagby. No sign of the sun, by the way, but there were a few
spots of rain to make up for it.

Bagby. About 20 people had showed up by now (some familiar, some not),
and we gathered in the hotel lobby to wait for Alan, and dither about
how we were going to get there. Eventually we did, through the drizzle
and into the hot tubs, where a good time was had by all (except the
occasional straights who wondered what the hell they had wandered
into, and wandered out again forthwith). Fourteen naked men in a tub
designed for eight will have that effect (I don't think very many of
them got as far as the end solo tub, where Chris and Ri-Jen and Arnold
-- well, never mind.) Got home at about 1:30 A.M. Glad Fred was awake
enough to drive (I certainly wasn't).


Thursday morning: overcast skies. Checked the newspaper for the
results of the Red Sox game (they lost) and the weather: morning
clouds giving way to partial sunshine, with sunny and warmer weather
the following days. Went for a trolley ride with eminent trolley
mavens Dave and J.T., and came back to join a group dithering about
where to go to lunch, and what to do about the fact that Nelson hadn't
shown up. We eventually figured he was a reasonably smart lad, and
left a note at the desk identifying an Indian restaurant. As we were
wolfing down our lunches, a very tall young man with *Big* *Bare*
*Feet* entered, and we knew our little stratagem had worked.

Despite the non-appearance of the sun, a few of us went off for a
drive to the coast. Nelson demonstrated the advantages of
shoelessness, as he disappeared around bends where the rest of us
dared not venture. We passed through about 5 different weathers on the
way back, but Portland was its usually cloudy self. And all this time
the con hadn't even officially started yet!

Got back in time for the Grand Opening (i.e., about 45 minutes late)
and were astonished at the number of people present, sitting at tables
and trying to find enough chairs, starting on food and waiting for
Alan. Since Alan had the name tags, we had to introduce ourselves,
which led to several conversations of the form, "Hi, I'm Robert Coren."
-- "Yes, we met last night." -- "Oh. Well, in the light with clothes
on you look different." After dinner, group pictures against the
peeling wallpaper, which had to be repeated when Tony and Martin
walked in just as we were almost finished. This was followed by the
obligatory bar visit (I *never* go to bars -- the last one was
probably in Toronto). An early night -- only about 12:30.


Friday morning: overcast skies. Checked the newspaper for the results
of the Red Sox game (rained out) and the weather: morning clouds
giving way to partial sunshine, with sunny and warmer weather the
following days. Right. Some brave souls followed Mark Morrissey on a
waterfall hike (scheduled to depart at 9:30, still dithering at 11),
but I'll let someone else describe that, since I (like most people)
settled for the lesser challenge of Washington Park.

And glad I did, too. Beautiful place, nice view of the city, and a
great bunch of folks. "Our place" marked with two big gorgeous soc.motss
banners. Reminded myself that it's easier to catch a frisbee if you're
in practice (I wasn't). While I was wandering through the Rose Garden
with John and Harry and Randy, the sun started to break through, and
by 2:00 it was bright and beautiful, and stayed that way for the rest
of the trip. (The forecasters just had to tell it a few times before
it sank in.)

Managed to sneak in a nap before going to Alan's. The sun having
broken pattern by shining, Alan broke pattern as well, and was already
there when we got there. :-) A very pleasant evening. Mike Simpson
spent what seemed like the whole time crouched over a hot grill,
cooking for everyone else -- but he cleverly made more food than
necessary, which meant that he got to eat what was left. I'll let
someone else describe Tom's "Safe Sex Workshop", since I missed most
of it; by the time I checked in, he'd done all the fun parts, and the
room was hot as hell -- from lack of ventilation rather than anything
more enticing. Another early night -- I *think* we got back before
1:00.


Saturday morning: sunshine. The hell with the Red Sox, and the weather
was obviously perfect, and planning to stay that way. A bunch of us
finally decided to get breakfast somewhere other than the Riverside
Inn (which turned out to be slightly more difficult than anticipated,
but rewarding nonetheless) and headed over to the waterfront to march
in the "No on 9" parade (against a truly horrendous proposed amendment
to the Oregon constitution, about which anybody who's been reading
this group presumably knows already). It was a quiet, rather decorous
march, but well over 1,000 people showed, which was pretty good
considering the almost minimal publicity.

After the march we headed out to Rooster Rock. Nelson assured us that
the rock formation after which the state park is named was originally
designated "Cock Rock" by Lewis and Clark, and, judging from its
appearance, one rather suspects they were not thinking of barnyard
fowl. In any case, it's a suitable name for a "clothing-optional"
beach :-). Considering that we were totally exposed (in all senses of
the word) for the hottest part of the day it's remarkable how little
serious sunburn there was. I guess SPF 39 *does* work. George M.
accepted the challenge to prove that his reluctance to enter the water
had nothing to do with an unwillingness to remove his clothes; I
wonder if the four very slender, very tanned men and women who
happened to be passing along the beach at that moment thought that the
dozen naked men standing waist-deep in the water were applauding for
*them*. A lot of photographs were taken over the course of the
afternoon; I think Steve is going to have to set up an R-rated section
of the motss archive. (I *want* to see the picture with the block of
ice; I missed that bit.)

After we returned home, we joined a group who had agreed to meet at
Alan's in order to dither about where to have dinner. Most of us ended
up at a very nice Greek restaurant, with a waitress who handled our
ever-expanding group with great aplomb (and a female belly-dancer who
knew enough not to bother with us). This restaurant subscribes the to
belief (which I share) that garlic is *very* good for you. Some
people, after dinner, decided to go off to Powell's for who knows what
unspeakable debauchery; I settled on an early night, for a change.


Sunday. Dim Sum at the same place as the opening night ceremony. They
either love us or never want to see us again. Yet more photographs.
Some people had to leave at this point, and the first set of many
fond/sad farewells took place. Went out to the coast again (hadn't
seen it in sunlight yet, and a lot of people were headed that way).
What with the diversion for the cartoon art show (and the soc.moo
photograph under the barn with the cow painted on it), we didn't
actually have a whole lot of time there before we had to head back to
make it in time for the dinner at Old Wives' Tales. (We would have
been on time, too, if not for the Traffic Jam From Hell on Route 26.)

Somebody had the brilliant idea of going elsewhere to get dessert --
it's a good thing they also had the brilliant idea of getting takeout,
so that those of us who didn't care about dessert could start staking
out space in Waterfront Park (and besides which, the dessert place
turned out not to be open Sunday evening). Here we played our last and
greatest round of Wreck the Straights (the spirit of Fruitbat presided
over much of the con -- there were even mangoes), as more and more
queers gathered at the edge of the fountain. (The sight of John D. and
Nelson skipping along the path hand in hand helped us clear the
perimeter, I think.) Marc serenaded us all on his violin (with Harry
singing the cello parts), and a lot of hugging ensued. One hapless
stranger, who had sat down on a nearby bench when only a few of us had
gathered, bravely refused to give ground, until he was defeated by the
Moose Song (15 queers in a group hug singing, "Moose! Moose! I'd like
some Moose! I've never had anything quite like a Moose!").

Eventually, however, we decided it was cold, and headed back to the
hotel, with a side pilgrimage to The World's Smallest Park (24 inches
in diameter). Cliff and Ellen made their room available, so that we
could find out the answers to the following questions: (1) How many
queers can fit in one fairly small hotel room? (2) How many of the
queers in (1) can fit on a double bed at the same time? (3) How long
will it take all the queers in (1) to exchange hugs in all possible
combinations?

Alas, it was eventually time to leave. We had a noon plane, so we had
to miss the final "unorganized brunch", but we hear that people were
planning to meet in the lobby at 11:00 to dither about where to eat.
Which leaves one last statistical question: how many queer-hours did
we spend standing around in a loose circle trying to decide what to do
next?

It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was fantastic. I can't wait for
the next one.