So, if you thought this wasn’t the universe where you can get drunk with actors that you adore in hotels relatively near you then you are wrong, because it is that universe, and it is amazing
I also think I have figured out why I love Doctor Who conventions: I am one of the more socially adept people there (hang with me here) so the celebrities don’t see me as a threat until I take this opportunity to prove my previous statement wrong by putting my foot in my mouth (picture Frazer Hines suddenly having somewhere else to be as I attempt to explain my weird inside joke of “Robot Tippin’ with Jamie McCrimmon” while he backs away muttering “yes, yes I did push a Quark…”). I have now learned to stand silently with my arm around Gina while she looks pretty and charming and says wonderful things and draws them in like the bio-luminescent hangy-bobber in my deep sea fish maw, mwuahahahahahaha.
I did not plan this. It happened. Anyone would take advantage.
Since I have no talent of my own and remain a life leech, if you will, an incubus, I must ride other people’s coattails to glory and whose better to ride than my own beautiful wife, Gina?
All in all my latest trip was amazing and fantastic and exceeded my wildest expectations. Any gathering of old actors in a hotel is fucking HOT TIMES for debauchery. I may be done going to the larger conventions, where they crank you through the lines like Space Mountain, two hours in line for thirty seconds of screaming featuring the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Aerosmith. No, I want face time. Wine time. I want to talk European Politics with old guys who fired fake rifles at Daleks in quarries. Goddammit, I want to live.