Bartfest Trip Report
by Isaac Peterson
I can always tell who is going to be sitting behind
me on an airline
flight. All I need to do is find the loudest, most obnoxious jerk in
the terminal, the one who has something to say about everything, but
nothing really to say about anything. Sure enough, that was the guy
behind me on the flight. I always take CD's, a Discman and headphones,
though, so it was okay. I just turned up the headphone volume to
"liquefy" and hoped this guy didn't use up all the oxygen in the cabin.
I'm going to Vegas for Bartfest to meet Bartcop and a lot of the
readers and contributors(!). I can't really afford to do this, but for
a chance to see real live people who also hang out in Bartcop's
neck of the internet, I can't afford not to go.
I get to the Rio hotel, and check into my room. Not really a room,
though-my apartment would fit into this place, and there'd be enough
room left for most of yours, too. I'm looking around the joint, and
there's a safe built into this place; how cool is that? They've got all
sorts of things in this room that I don't have at home, like an
iron. The round white mints they had in the bathroom taste an awful lot
like soap, though. I can't eat more than two of them.
I got in early on Friday, and I'm trying to find someone that was part
of this Bartfest thing. BC was held up checking in, but I have his cell
phone #, and call a few times until I find out the hotel is charging me
$12 every time I call his number from my room phone.
The casino is huge; you can walk around inside for an hour and not know
where the hell you are. I decide that if I ever want to go into hiding,
I could just go hang out in casinos on the Strip. No one knows who you
are, and don't look at you twice, because they don't give a damn.
So I finally hook up with Mr. and Mrs. Bartcop. Mrs. Bartcop is a very
nice lady, has a great smile, and is real warm and cheerful, and a bit
on the quiet side. A group of us take a cab to meet up with the crew
for some food and drinks at the Pink Taco.
I walk in, and am blown away by how nice everyone is. And how much they
can drink without seeming to be drunk. My kind of people, these Bartfest
folks
(Bartfesters?). I get my daily ego stroke when I introduce myself and get
asked
if I'm THE Isaac. Well, I sure am the only one here. What a great crew.
(I have to correct one thing. I did fork out some cash at the end to cover
the
outstanding balance of the check. The waitress came up with a revised bill,
and I covered it, but I was handed enough the next night that I ended up
getting covered).
Pat LV is just great!
I walk out and can't find the bus. I was too long inside the restaurant,
and it looks
like they left without me. But that's okay, because I'm in Las Vegas on
a weekend!
The City That Never Heard Of The Word "Excessive"! Besides, I brought a
book with me.
But everyone is cool enough to notice that I'm not on the bus, so they
waited around. I think I'm going to love this weekend. We take a tool
around the Strip for sightseeing, but most people seem to be more wrapped
up in schmoozing. I'm seat partners with my old buddy Jim Higdon,
and by
the amount of laughing going on, everyone's happy and feeling no pain.
I must have had a good time, because I woke up the next morning
smiling. Maybe I can get someone to e-mail me the details. I am almost
hungry enough to try another of those mints in the bathroom-the maid
has left some more, and I don't want to make her feel bad...
The day is a blur, no big happenings, but no big deal; the main deal is
for later that night.
We have two adjoining suites in the hotel, and they turn out to not be
big enough. The joint was jumping. I met a lot of people that night,
most of whom I didn't know. But I was blown away to be hanging with
this crew. I met Kevin Cunningham (the PoliticalStrikes
Guy), and he
has samples of some of his biggest hits. Daily
Brew Doug was there. I
hang with Bob Witkowski, who does At
Wit's End. Wolf the cartoonist is
there. The above mentioned Jim Higdon is there, and still appears to be
feeling
no pain. And I finally got to meet Marty
from Bartcop's entertainment page.
She is hands down one of the sweetest people I've ever met, and has a smile
to match. Everyone was great, just great. I've never been treated
so well by
people who don't owe me money. One who stands out in my mind is Debbie,
a real together lady who's an airline pilot. If I forgot to mention anyone,
sorry about that. (Hi Lynn!)
Marc Perkel is there, and I'm
glad I get to talk to him. Marc is one of
the most upbeat people I've seen in a long, long time. Marc tells me
he's going to run for president in 2004, which is great news to me,
because now I don't have to do it. It would interfere with my plans to
sit around on the couch eating potato chips.
Three hours isn't enough-some people were only there for Saturday, and
I didn't get to meet nearly everybody. The consensus seemed to be that
this thing should happen more often, and I agree.
Before we split up, we went downstairs for Roulette. The woman's name
who won was Allyson, I think. I didn't get to meet her, but she seemed
like
a heck of a great lady. Three hours was nowhere near enough time
for this thing.
I stayed for a couple more days, but it was pretty low key after Friday
and Saturday. Got to hang out some more with Daily Brew Doug, Slab
from
the BC Forum, and a really great guy named Andy from Texas.
At the airport, I see lots of people from the flight out, including the
loud guy
that sat behind me. Only this time he's in the seat next to me. Oh well...
My impression of Las Vegas? It was okay, I guess. It wasn't as much fun
after all the Bartfesters left, but it's okay. Las Vegas is kind of like
a slow
weekend at the Bartcop Mansion.
isaac
I report. I decide.