Day 342: Freak Flags Flying

Though my friend David hasn't really made a whole lot of blog appearances, I'll have to say what he's lacking in quantity he's definitely making up for in quality: drive-in movies, glassblowing, and his idea for Day 342's thing I've never done before: DragonCon.

According to the event's website, DragonCon is, "The world's largest fantasy/Science-Fiction convention held annually in Atlanta every Labor Day weekend."

Now having attended the festivities, I think I'd like to rewrite a more appropriate description. I'd call DragonCon (sorry, Mom), "The weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen. So fucking weird."

I'm not sure when he came to love DragonCon, but David and his brother (who flew in from New York City exclusively for the event) are big fans. They've attended in years past and had already hit downtown for Friday night's festivities. His brother opted to sleep in on Day 342, but David picked me up nice and early Saturday morning so we could catch the parade.

"It's the best people watching ever," he said to me as we made our way downtown.

"Better than the airport?," I asked.

"Oh yes. Way better."

But when I pressed David for more details about what exactly happens at DragonCon, he couldn't really elaborate.

"But what's it for?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"I mean, what's the point of the costumes? Is there some sort of contest? Is it a convention? Are there classes that people take?"

David paused and stared at me, like I had backed him into a corner with my line of questioning.

"I really don't know," he said calmly. "To me, it's just a bunch of freaks dressed in costume."

That sounded good enough for me, though since I'm not really a Halloween person to begin with, it was hard for me to imagine why anyone would enjoy dressing up in costume for seemingly no reason at all.

Traffic was terrible on our way downtown thanks to DragonCon and plethora of other events going on downtown. We got stuck at a red light for several minutes and had to watch part of the parade from the car. From what I could tell, it looked like a normal parade with floats and bands, lots of little kids watching. And then I looked out my window and saw people on either side of the street wearing animal ear headbands and angel wings, holding wands walking towards the parade, and I had to consider that this parade was actually very different from anything I'd ever seen before .

We parked the car and rushed over to the parade. What surprised me the most right away was the amount of people that this event had drawn. I was there simply as a spectator, and I had to assume that others were also, but mostly these people had come out, in costume, to fully engage and embrace DragonCon.

Because we arrived late, it was difficult for me to see a lot of the parade, but based on what I had seen so far, there was no doubt Atlanta had been overrun by people with extremely vivid imaginations, and their creativity had manifested in costumes and dragon floats.

The highlights of the parade for me were the "cast" of Shrek including an over-sized Gingy, and the "cast" of Back to the Future and the Delorean. The parade ended with the "cast" of Star Wars and a George Lucas lookalike that left everyone in the crowd asking each other, "Is that him?!" "There's no way that's him!"

David and I laughed about how many of these parade participants were leading double lives.

"What if you saw your straight-laced boss, or your physician out there, dressed up like a Gladiator?," I asked him.

And I tried to imagine what I would say if I saw mine.

David explained that four downtown hotels are where all of the DragonCon action happens. The Sheraton, the Hilton, the Hyatt Regency, and the Marriott Marquis all happily play host to the event, so after the parade was over, we walked over to one.

And here's when things really got weird.

To say that walking into the lobby of a DragonCon hotel was scary might be going a little far, because there was absolutely nothing to be scared of. But I was beyond overwhelmed. As far as the eye could see there were people dressed in costumes, walking around like it was no big deal.

There was a part of me that was frightened by the horror-themed costumes; I felt a little bit like I was back at the Netherworld Haunted House, and worried that someone might get in my face and try to scare me. But these costumed creatures were jovial and friendly and for the most part, kept to themselves. Except when asked to pose for a picture, which they all happily and often did.

After spending a day there, I know now that I could write a book entitled, Things Overheard at DragonCon, but I burst out laughing when I passed by a guy dressed like Harry Potter tell his friend wearing a cape, "Buy a rocket, the end is near."

The nerdiness of DragonCon was completely living up to its potential. And most participants own it. One woman wearing a "Nerd Convention" t-shirt holding a plastic sword said, "I feel so powerful with this thing!"

The women were absolutely rocking this event, wearing platform shoes and tight outfits posing for pictures with men whose tongues might as well have been dangling out of their mouths. In a world that might not accept their quirkiness and unconventional beauty, they are accepted and appreciated here and it made me smile.

We took a break from the hotel hopping to eat lunch outside, where we could thankfully continue the people watching.

It occurred to us while eating that ESPN's Gameday show was taping downtown for the UNC-LSU game, so in addition to the DragonCon crowd, football fans were starting to fill the streets. For us, it meant we got to see the merging of two very different kinds of people. Seeing the oxford shirt preppy fraternity guys walking down the sidewalk with guys dressed like superheroes was comedy all its own.

All nerd jokes and judgments aside, I had to wonder at what point in our lives to some of us go in one direction and others go in the direction of DragonCon. If instead of taking me to the beach or to South Carolina football games on weekends, my parents brought me to science fiction/fantasy conventions, would I be among these women dressed up like wenches? And at what point does someone cross the line from liking the movie Shrek and wanting to dress up like Shrek to march in a parade? Why do some of us play poker and some play Dungeons and Dragons? When it comes to our interests and our freakiness, is it nature or nurture?

And is there ever a chance that someone can be a member of both teams? I spotted a big guy in an Auburn hat, who I assumed was like David and me, and just around to observe. But when he accidentally bumped into me and said, "Excuse me mi lady," as if he was from another century, I had to then assume that he was one of us and one of them.

David saved the best for last for after lunch. He'd been building it up since he picked me up, telling me about this room he and his brother had accidentally stumbled upon the night before. The basement where the ultimate DragonCon weird goes down and the weirdos come out to play. Literally.

On the way there, there was more people watching, more posing with wizards and superheroes. I overheard a young kid speaking very seriously to another.

"Well, no, because there are no living people on that planet."

Are these people serious? Who talks about this stuff?

We took an escalator downstairs to the basement where there were rows and rows of long banquet tables and stacks of games on each of them. There were games that I recognized, like Monopoly and Apples to Apples, but they were abandoned. From what I could tell no one was playing with them.

David seemed a little bit disappointed, explaining that the night before the "game room" was filled with people all playing different games. I hope he didn't think that I wasn't absolutely impressed with what I was seeing, because I definitely was. Freaked out, but definitely impressed.

In fact, I had to remind myself to not let my mouth gape open in amazement/shock/horror of the nerdiest people I've ever seen sitting at tables playing Dungeons and Dragons, Risk and a whole slew of other games that I'd never seen before and probably wouldn't understand.

We walked around the perimeter of the room, and then snaked in and out of the tables observing. I planned on smiling at anyone that I made eye contact, but that would've required anyone looking in our direction, which did not happen. The people playing these games were completely oblivious to us. They were so wrapped up in what they were doing, they didn't even notice that I was staring and trying to stifle laughter at what I was seeing. It was as if they were acting like dorks; like they should've taped their glasses and wore pocket protectors.

But they weren't acting. They were serious. Very serious, in fact. After an eternity of staring at a large sheet of paper with coordinates and ships on it (almost like Battleship, but not), someone spoke.

"Bring your speed down to 2. And see the major for your next assignment."

My eyes widened and I stared at David, and I couldn't hold my laughter. I quickly walked away from the table and headed towards the escalator, making that last quote the last of my DragonCon experience.

I still have absolutely no idea what DragonCon is for. I can't get anyone to verify if anything other than dressing up and gaming goes down there, so I've had to assume that maybe it's just an opportunity for the freaks of the world to come together to wave their freak flag.

And as someone who has been waving her own freak flag all year, I say, "Wave On, DragonCon!"

Day 341: Sometimes Losing is Really Winning

On Day 341, a group of work friends decided to blow off some steam over a couple of beers at the Bookhouse Pub.

I begged Amanda and her husband Stephen to come because I was not motivated to think of anything to do that I'd never done before and I knew she'd come up with something that would be highly entertaining to write and read about.

I think Amanda was upset that I'd yet to actually go out with anyone that I'd met online at Plenty of Fish.com, because she was using this "blog-fan's choice," as an opportunity to force me out of my dating shell. Her goal from the start was to find someone that I could buy a drink for or give my number to or use a cheesy pickup line on.

But my experience with meeting cool guys worthy of such tactics is that those kinds of meetings rarely happens when I (or in this case, Amanda), is looking for it. I usually encounter interesting, attractive people that I'd like to get to know better when I haven't showered, my hair is slicked back into a ponytail and my shirt has holes in it. I was coming to this bar from work, looking relatively presentable, so I knew my chances of meeting anyone worthwhile were slim to none.

And sure enough, I was right.

I would've done any of those things Amanda was suggesting, but but neither of us could really find anyone worthy of sending a drink or giving my number to. Despite her persistence with a guy that looked like former CNN television anchor Rick Sanchez, we abandoned this mission and moved on to something else. (Later I saw that he had a wedding ring on, so it obviously wasn't meant to be.)

What else can be achieved in a bar that I hadn't done before? In my almost-30 years had I done all of the inappropriate, regret-the-next day bar activities? Certainly not.

The night was starting to wind down and there were friends at my table ready to pay their checks.

"I still haven't played credit card roulette," I said out loud to the table to no one specific.

Credit card roulette involves handing the waitress a group of credit cards to choose from. Whatever card she chooses has to pay the whole tab. If I was going to make this Day 341's "thing," the rest of the group had to be on board and willing to play.

Luckily, I'd suggested we play on payday, so all of our checking accounts were in good shape for this kind of game. Timing, I continue to realize, is everything. With everyone then feeling generous (and perhaps a little tipsy), they said, "Sure!" Day 341's thing I've never done before was to play credit card roulette.

If you play the odds, which I don't because I'm not entirely sure I know what that means, then credit card roulette is really a safe bet. With eight cards in the pile, I had only a one in eight chance that my card would be chosen. Even when we decided to choose two cards to split the check (the bill was significantly higher thanks to some fancy, expensive tiki drinks, commemorative glasses included), the odds were still in my favor.

That's the thing about credit card roulette: if your card is the one chosen, you must pay for everyone's purchases, regardless of how ridiculous they seem (Tiki glasses? In a beer bar?).

I digress.

By splitting the check between two people, the odds moved to one in four. There was a 75 percent chance that I would not have to pay for my (or anyone else's) drinks. I like those odds.

But with any gamble, there is always a chance you could lose. Or win. Here's something I'm still not clear on--if my card got pulled and I had to pay, does that mean I "won" credit card roulette, or did I "lose?" Being chosen makes it feel like I'm a winner, but paying for everyone makes me feel like a loser.

Everyone laid their cards face down on the table. When the waitress returned, we explained to her what we were doing and she returned with the bill and two pint glasses. She gathered the cards and put them in one of the glasses, turned the other glass upside down to cover them and then shook wildly, mixing up the cards.

She reached her hand into the glass and pulled her first card.

"Devon Sayers," she said, unsure of how to pronounce his last name.

The whole table, except for Devon, erupted into thunderous applause and shouting.

I love credit card roulette!

She covered the remaining seven cards with the glass and shook again, drawing another card from the pile.

"Carolyn Cremen," she announced.

Again, more applause and shouting, at least from the six of us whose cards weren't picked.

Carolyn and Devon took their loss (or win) in stride, and happily posed for pictures while signing their checks. I posed for a picture with Katy, happy that my beers were paid for and my checking account remained untouched for another night.

I'm not quite sure how I would've felt if it was me who had to pay, but from where I was sitting, credit card roulette is a great game.

Losing never felt so good.

Day 340: Filet of Gross

At least once a month, my friend John sends me a picture text message around lunchtime with various captions.

"Mmmmm . . .wish you were here!"

"Delish!"

"About to dig in."

His written message is always different, but the picture, of a McDonald's Filet-O-Fish sandwich, is always the same.

Yes, that's what I wrote: A Filet-O-Fish sandwich. From McDonald's.

The first time he sent me this picture, which is now an inside joke between us that has been going on for years, I was confused. Why is John sending me a picture of his lunch? And, more importantly, why the hell is he eating a Filet-O-Fish?

Our friendship has evolved over the years, and so has my understanding, or at least acceptance of his feelings about the popular McDonald's menu item. He loves it. He craves it. Since he tries to abstain from eating meat during Lent, he may eat it upwards of once a week sometimes.

I'm a seafood snob as it is, refusing on occasion to eat fish at the nicest restaurants simply because I was in a landlocked state; eating seafood prepared in a deep fryer at McDonald's is almost too much for me to even think about.

I've turned up my nose at John's decision to eat the Filet-O-Fish so frequently and with such gusto, but my judgment was based on nothing. I'd never actually tried it, so how did I know if it was as disgusting as it appeared? John pointed out to me that for someone who claims she's open to trying new things, refusing to try the Filet-O-Fish is really not fair.

And he's right.

So on Day 340, I decided to table my judgment, if for only an hour, and try a Filet-O-Fish from McDonald's as the thing I've never done before.

I sent John an email that morning with the subject line, "Filet-O-fish?"

He responded, "Lunchy?"

And I said, "Yeppers. 12:30pm in the parking deck."

John never asked, but if he wondered why on this day I decided to put aside my strong adverse opinions about the Filet-O-Fish long enough to give it a try, I'd have to admit there really wasn't a good reason other than I had the time to go to lunch with him, and, thanks to Whynatte, I would've eaten anything so long as it was battered and deep fried.

The stars had really aligned in favor of the Filet-O-Fish.

I met John and our friend Kim in the parking deck and we walked to the downtown Atlanta McDonald's. I laughed as they weaved in and out of traffic, through parks and on sidewalks I'd never seen before; they walked with purpose as if we were headed to claim some grand prize, and the prize was a McDonald's value meal.

This was the first time I could remember ever being out in downtown Atlanta at lunchtime; I had no idea there were so many people out and about. Business people, elderly people, homeless people, kids and parents filled the streets.

The same people filled McDonald's too. The restaurant was packed and loud. There were adults shouting, kids crying, homeless people talking nonsense; perhaps everyone was interested in trying the Filet-O-Fish that day. The lines to the registers were long and didn't seem to be moving very quickly.

John, Kim and I got in what appeared to be the shortest line and observed the insanity going on around us for a little while. I told them about my regrettable encounter with Whynatte the night before, and Kim confirmed that she really is the busiest person in Atlanta. When the line we were in didn't really move after 15 minutes, we considered either changing McDonald's, or going somewhere else entirely. Thankfully, Kim and John knew I had a mission to accomplish and exercised patience, but none of us could ignore that we were witnessing truly some of the most inefficient employees we'd ever seen. A manager jumped in to help expedite the process, but the lines still just creeped forward.

The slow-moving lines allowed John to share the story about how the Filet-O-Fish was created. According to him, a franchise owner in Cincinnati came up with the idea for the fish sandwich after suffering low sales during Lenten season from the heavy Roman Catholic clientele who didn't eat meat on Fridays. His idea got entered into a contest against another man's idea for a grilled pineapple sandwich. The rules of the contest were that whoever sold the most sandwiches on a particular Friday would have their sandwich idea added permanently to the McDonald's menu. The Filet-O-Fish won in a landslide. I checked John's story to see if what he was telling me was factually correct, and short of a few details, it was. Here's the real Filet-O-Fish story.

I don't know how John knows this much information about all of the food that he eats, but his little anecdote helped kill time before it was time for me to order one of my very own. I both proudly and reluctantly ordered the Filet-O-Fish value meal.

The three of us sat down next to a window and out of the chaos. I unwrapped my sandwich and fries, and laughed that everything I was about to eat was golden brown, fried to perfection. Regardless of how it tasted, there was no denying that this meal was the exact opposite of the colorful food nutritionists encourage people to eat.

John picked up his sandwich and showed me that he went for the double fish filet, so he had two fish patties on his bun. The smile on his face could not be tamed, and he happily dug right in.

Kim opted for a Happy Meal, apparently as scared as I was by the idea of fried fish from McDonald's. I guess she'd prefer to be scared by the scary dolls that they are putting in Happy Meals these days. She gave me the doll and I've kept it at my desk since that day as a reminder of our little outing.

With nothing left to do or talk about, I picked up the sandwich and took a bite, under the close watchful eyes of John. I find eating in front of someone who is waiting for a response terribly awkward. They are waiting for you to react or say something.

I chewed slowly and smiled at him, trying to find the words to accurately capture how I felt. Nothing came to me. I wasn't utterly disgusted like I thought I would be. But my world didn't really change for the better either.

I can say that all of my negative commentary about the Filet-O-Fish was misguided and unfair. In facet, I don't know that it's worth so much attention, positive or negative. I mean, it's a fish stick on a bun for goodness sake, with tartar sauce and a slice of cheese. I'm not sure I understand the cheese, and tartar sauce in general kind of sicks me out if I think about it too much, but I ate the whole thing. I'm quite certain that had nothing to do with the Filet-O-Fish, though; I would've eaten just about anything deep fried on that day.

I support John and would be happy to accompany him to McDonald's anytime he needs a fried fish fix. But I think I'm going to have to keep any of my fish purchases grilled and not served in a cardboard box.

If that makes me a snob, then so be it.