Subject: TAN:  LVNDFS - Perceptions and Illusions
From: "Drew Gillmore" <d_gillmore@hotmail.com>
Newsgroups: rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan
Organization: Drew's Reality

The Wheel turns, and Socials come and go.  Eventually, someone gets a
bright idea for another Social and there are lots of things that happen.
Small furry rodents twitch their whiskers in fear that is often mistaken
for anticipation, and five thousand miles away a raincloud that was about
to drop its load on a parched desert decides that it would be better off
going somewhere that it could make a small difference in the climate but
proceeds to get burned off before the end of the thought reaches through
the silver lining, and the desert is left cracked and wanting.  Which has
nothing to do with our Social other than it kept what little moisture in
the air that would have been in Vegas away.

The Idea for a National Social was brought before me a little over a year
ago, and me not being one to stand in the face of Fate and spit, as Fate
is much akin to the wind in the regards that it usually flings much that
you fling at it back at you with a little added interest, I decided that
the National Social must happen.

Before I go much farther, let me first disclaim everything by saying that
none of this was My Idea.  The Idea of a National Social has been around
longer than I, and what we did there was stolen largely from other events
that I have been to, and advice from people that had been to other events
in the past.  I was simply the instrument of execution.

Now then, on with the report.

My flight left Dallas in the late afternoon on Wednesday the 28th, and
promptly got started on the wrong foot when I struck up a conversation
with the lady sitting next to me only to realize that not only was she a
Christian, but she was also a Mary Kay Salesperson.  She proceeded to
spend the rest of the flight trying to convince me to sell Mary Kay until
I let it slip that I was no longer a Christian, at which point she stopped
trying to convert me to a capitalist viewpoint and decided that a
self-sacrificing life was the one for me.

Having decided previously in my life that did not want to be a Salesman
for Jesus, I largely dodged her attempts at conversion and did my best to
impart the Tao Of Drew unto her.  My efforts were wasted and I was
accosted by the couple in front of me and behind me as I deplaned, and
emphatically told that they would "pray for me".  I thanked them
graciously, agreed to sample some Male Hygiene Products for Jesus, smirked
my knowing smirk and got off the damn plane.

After a two hour lay-over in St. Louis, I boarded a plane bound for Vegas,
where I found McCarren airport to be *huge*.  Walk this way for a looooong
time past all these slot machines, and at the end you'll find yourself a
short two minute Tram Ride from The Cavern Of Baggage Claimage.  My bags,
surprisingly, were some of the first ones out onto the carousel and I
stood there in a dazed stupor as they conveyed past me.  I managed to
chase them down before they made a complete circuit and then decided to
make my departure from the Airport as huge screens decried
"Wheel....of.....Fortune!" as Las Vegas newest way to Lose your Money.
And it decried the fact over and over again.

The shuttle service from the hotel was cheap, and a ticket was painless to
buy, but like most shuttle services it required several people in it in
order to make a profit.  Due to this, I found myself in a shuttle with
people who were all staying in five different hotels.

Take a wild guess on who was the last to be dropped off.

Eventually, around two-thirty to three AM, I made it to the hotel.  The
first people I met there were Noell, Hawk and Tshen.  Bill Garrett was
around the corner, and commented on my excellent fashion sense.

They all followed me up to me room where I deposited my belongings and we
then proceeded to do something that we would repeat ad nauseum throughout
the Social:  We looked for somewhere to eat.

We found ourselves in the basement of Binions, at a restaurant that
advertised late night specials.  I ordered the $3 New York Steak, only to
find that they had no bacon bits for my baked potato and if I wanted
cheese on it, I would have to pay a dollar.

A dollar for cheese.  On a baked potato.  Welcome to Vegas, give us your
money.

I also found that "Burn it" translates to Vegasian Pratter as "leave half
of it uncooked and bleeding."  What do you want for three bucks?

Hawk and Noell ordered the Baker's Fries, the ones left over from last
week's fry vats, and Tshen ordered something called "Fruit Surprise", the
surprise being that some of it actually *was* fruit.  Bill ordered a hot
fudge sunday consisting of Hot Fudge, Whipped Cream, and some nuts.  He
swears there was some ice cream in it somewhere.  Noell paid the bill
(Thanks again, Noell) and we left the restaurant.

Having convinced ourselves that indeed, we were in Vegas, we departed and
headed back to our hotel, where I promptly stayed awake until the wee
hours of dawn.  Two and a half hours later my phone rang.

Here, all the details start to bleed into one another.  Here, we began the
activities that would set the weekend with a pattern that would become a
tradition.

A group of ten of us, consisting of Eric and Noell Milota, John and
Annette Dilick, John Novak, Bill Garrett, Hawk, Jim Hill, Dave Hemming,
and Tshen made the trek to the Strip with divided intentions.  Some of us
wanted to gamble, some of us wanted to smoke, and all of us wanted to eat,
excepting Bill, who wanted to gamble and then eat.  Getting a group of
people who are very opinionated and not afraid to share their opinions to
agree on what to eat and where to eat it, how long a wait is acceptable
and just what is considered food and what is not, and just how much is
affordable, is an exercise much akin to trying to get ten thousand
elephants to dance on the head of a pin in your right hand while
blindfolded with both hands tied behind your back, hopping on one foot and
reciting the Declaration of Independence.  It can be done, but it annoys
the elephants.

We splintered into two groups, the group that didn't care anymore and were
content with the line we were in, and the group that did care and didn't
want to be in that line anymore.  Hawk, Bill, Dave Hemming and Tshen went
off to find other venues while the rest remained to find that you *can*
screw up bread and beef and au jous, and nobody but me likes pickles.

We had agreed to meet at 2:30 near the Tram that took us back to the
Mirage, and after a slightly less than tasteful meal (Although I'm told
that Novak could actually taste the mountain of Blue Cheese Dressing he
had on his burger - Lesson for the Uninitiated:  When dealing with food in
Vegas, taste comes from the overdone.  When dealing with everything else
in Vegas, taste comes from the underdone.) We headed out to find some
place to lose some money.  My lunch was paid for by others, whom I never
did get to thank properly.  I believe it was Novak et al, and I greatly
appreciate it.

We found ourselves playing nickel slots.  I personally had never won
anything on the nickel slots, but was content to let go of five bucks and
try to enjoy myself.  We learned here that Annette Dilick is the Nickel
Slot Queen, John Dilick is the Quarter Slot King, and I found that it is
possible to win at those suckers.  I walked away thirty bucks ahead.  John
Novak proceeded to give us a demonstration in futility by dropping a buck
into a five dollar slot machine that went horribly awry when he won two
bucks from it.  Happy to have a 200% profit, he cashed out.  Watch and
learn indeed.  We all thanked Jim Hill for financing our winnings and left
for the meeting place we had earlier decided upon.

Much to Bill's chagrin, we all wanted to go back to the Nugget, as I had a
couple of things I wanted to clear up with catering and we all wanted to
see who had arrived by then.  Bill wanted to stay on the strip and gamble.

We left in the cars we came in, and Noell, Eric and I promptly got stuck
in traffic.  It took us almost an hour and a half to get back to the
hotel, and by then most everyone was meeting in Bill and Hawk's room.
There I found Trent Goulding (who would later become known to me as "The
guy that's asleep in the other bed when I come in), Ken Cavness, David
(CD) Skogsberg, Chris Mullins, and most of the rest of the people that
were already in Vegas and have been previously mentioned.  We sat there
for a little while and then Bill, Noell and I proceeded to the Casinos to
find some more ways to lose our money.  We ended up at a Blackjack table
in the Horseshoe, where I sat down to a learning experience.

This was my second time playing Blackjack in a Casino, the first being at
an Indian Reservation in California that lasted all of ten minutes.  Bill,
it seems, had done this before.  I felt like an initiate druggie watching
an expert shoot up, as the light in his eyes sparked and replaced the
vacant stare.  We had a blast, but it was rapidly approaching time for the
Reception.  Noell and I left, I cashed in my small winnings, and we went
to go check on the room set aside for the soiree.  Bill decided to stay
behind and gamble some more, much to our shock and amazement.

Jeff Morse was one of the first guests to arrive, followed by Rajesh
Vaidya.  At separate intervals, many more people showed up, including the
group that we had left in the room that had gone out for food, Sydo
Zandstra, his friend BJ Armstrong, Alaric, and various others.  As the
evening wore on, Chad Orzel appeared, as did Lara Beaton, Kate Nepveu,
Brian Ritchie, Dennis Higbee, the Loy contingent, Leigh Butler, Katy
Westerman, and Nathan Lundblad.  At present, there were a total of 32
people.

I was a little concerned about the Reception.  All I had arranged was a
cash bar.  It should have been easily apparent to me that thirty
rasfwr-jites plus source for alcohol equals lots of fun.  In fact, it was
so much fun that even though I had extended it two hours, we still wanted
to hang out afterwards.  We decided that we would go out in search of
adventure, and once again, our tastes varied and two contingents struck
out where one had been.  I'm told the other half went for food, while a
smaller portion went to gamble.  I ended up at a blackjack table seated
next to none other than Lara Beaton, and we proceeded to double our stakes
and cash out.  Others were present for a time.  Chad was there, and I
remember Nathan and Sydo at one point.  Noell contented herself to stand
guard behind Lara and I lest anyone decide that two high rollers of our
caliber were easy pickings.

Afterwards, we wandered some more, and I can't remember what else happened
other than once again I got to sleep in the wee hours of the dawn.  Once
again, like clockwork, the phone rang promptly at 8:30.  In my tired state
I mistook Steve Ginter for Steve Moss, and promptly wrote down that I
needed to call him about breakfast.  Calling the hotel desk later from the
lobby I learned that Steve Moss had not checked in, and it wasn't until
later when I was back in and tried the number I had hastily scrawled on a
notepad did I realize that it was actually Mr. Ginter that had phoned me.
Many apologies, Mr. Ginter.  I did not mean to flake.

Regardless, I gambled a bit more at the nickel slots, won a bit more at
the nickel slots, ended up with a group torn between food places and ended
up with the smaller group of myself, Eric and Noell in Burger King at the
Four Queens.  We ran across John and Annette Dilick with Lara there, and
satiated more of our gambling fixation with nickel slots after lunch.

Then it was back to the hotel to meet more people, where Trina Dykstra had
checked in, and Noell, Eric, Trina and Leigh headed off to find the
cheesier parts of Vegas.  I wandered a bit, doing this that and the other
thing.  Like I said earlier, it all bleeds together and sort of becomes
one large conglomeration of lights, sounds, and booze.

There was a contingent of the group sitting by the pool, I remember that.
And I remember Novak in bright blue swimming trunks, and I remember
thinking that I must be having acid flashbacks, except that I've never
done acid.

Somewhere in there Bill left with Leigh and Sydo for the strip, I
convinced catering that our dinner really started at five, not six, and a
few more people showed up, including Maggie and David.

I went to my room to change into what I had brought for the dinner, which
was something that I wear to work almost any day of the week.  I also
restrung my guitar, and debated about whether or not I could play over
forty people in a room and decided that if I brought it, I could always
not play, and if I didn't I would probably wish I had.

Two crucial plot points in one five minute period.  Damn I'm good.

It seems the small folding binder I had tied with the white bound collar
shirt and _navy_ pants automatically put the image of the wait staff in
mind.  Kate was the first to point out rather bluntly that I had no sense
of fashion after all, and I would have let it go had the next two people,
entirely unprompted, not commented on it.  The final straw was Nathan
Lundblad who looked at me, scanned my attire, and with his best "better
than thou" impression told me to "Bring me some wine, boy".  Seeing that
it could only end in me ripping the shirt off in the middle of dinner and
shouting "I'm not a waiter!  I only play one on TV!" I retreated to my
room and threw on a more obviously un-servile shirt.

But I didn't relinquish the pen or the pad.

Had I but known the going rate for strippers, I might have left it on.

A few people didn't show for the dinner, a few more showed up late,
confused by the front desk and signage from earlier in the day, and
despite my best efforts to convince people otherwise.  Pat O'Connell and
his wife Karen came, both Steve Moss and Steve Anderson were there by
then.  Amy Yost, aka Cassandra was MIA, so Lara and I proceeded to try and
get information on where the nearest internet connection was only to find
that Steve Anderson had brought his laptop and a national internet
connection with him.  We proceeded to check my e-mail and scour Deja-News
for information on her absence, and finally gave up after finding nothing
and sending an e-mail to her in hopes that if for some reason she couldn't
 make it, she could send us a message so we could stop worrying.

She showed up a little after eleven.

At this point, we had the total body count:  42.

Now there's irony for you.

Somewhere in there I picked up my guitar, and was promptly met with one of
the reasons that I never try to play for large groups.  Cries of
"Freebird!" went up all over the room, and then various cries for other
songs that I have never taken the time to learn.  Mark Loy requested an
original, and just as I got started, the changes started flying.

I never finished the song, but I made about seven bucks.  Not bad for
thirty seconds worth of work.

The group slowly migrated to the hall, and we were informed that the Keno
lounge would be a good place for a group of our size to congregate.

The Keno loungs was not, and once again, we splintered.  A large group of
us ended up in the cafe, where we had desert and drinks.  Trina had
already had her share of drinks and proceeded to convince everyone at the
table that she wasn't too drunk by passing out on the table.  I got up to
use the restroom at one point, and was accosted by Hawk, Novak, Tshen, and
a few others and then carried off like so much luggage.  I managed to
convince them that I wasn't a parcel to be bought or sold, or at least not
for less than five hundred bucks, and they put me down with a warning that
I would not be so lucky next time.

I proceeded back to my beer, and eventually somehow ended up in a Casino
somewhere where we all learned that sometimes, you should just quit
regardless of whether or not you're ahead.

Another dawn, the only difference being that I managed even less sleep.

I made it to breakfast with a group of people in the local cafe, and ended
up almost rupturing myself when the conversation turned to Religion and
Sex and Jim Hill quothe:  "You, your loved one, and Jesus standing at the
foot of the bed yelling "GET YER BUTT UP, SON!!!"

I still can't figure out which was funnier, the quote, or the way half the
people laughed their assess off and the other half looked kind of
confused.

There I received, in the words of the people who bought it for me, "The
least of what we could do for you."

It truly was.  It was the stark raving epitome of Vegas, all wrapped up in
a faux gold rose with a faux diamond spangled "JESUS" hanging from it.

There was a cockle in my heart somewhere that had the molecules bumping
together a little faster than normal, I'm sure.

It was, a really good gag gift, and I'm ever so thankful that they decided
that a condom labeled "CUSTOM MADE FOR GRANDMA" was just too good for me.

Breakfast wound down just as Amy appeared, and then Noell and Eric.  I
decided to sit through another breakfast during which Noell asked me if it
would be a Good Idea to try and get everyone together for dinner that
night.

"Er...sure, if we can get enough interest."

We did.

So we tried to arrange it.  We found shortly that no restaurant would take
reservations, and we decided to try for the Cheesecake Factory, as they
told us it would only be about an hour wait for seating.  We left a
message on everyone's room telling them to meet us there at 7:30, and got
there a little early to put our name down.

Somewhere in there a small group of us watched the Matrix.

Damn, that's a cool movie.

Almost everyone showed for dinner, but *gasp* a group splintered off.  It
was understandable, since many of them, including myself, had not eaten
since breakfast that morning, and the prospect of an hour wait was
daunting.  Some decided that a small snack would tide them over, and
wandered back not too long after they disappeared.  You have my gratitude
for trying.

Two and a half hours, several Race for Atlantis advertisements consisting
of animatronics, fire, and a Dragon throne, twelve cigarettes, two ulcers
and a headache later, we were seated, precisely thirty seconds after I
informed the host that we would be leaving in five minutes, and due to the
misspelling of my last name on their list, I was Definitely Not Happy
Gilmore.

This of course, was precisely thirty-five seconds after Chad, Brian
Ritchie, Trent, Kate, and Lara had decided that enough was enough and they
were going somewhere else.

They sent the Happiest (read: Gayest) waiter they had to wait on us in an
attempt to lift our spirits, and the food came _quick_.  I mean, they must
have had psychics in the kitchen preparing the food before we sat down it
came so goddam fast.  Deb remarked as to the fact that even _Mark_ doesn't
come that fast, and then tried to convert the waiter.

I was more than a little drained at this point, and afterwards we wandered
around the forum in Caesar's Palace, sacked FAO Schwartz, and eventually
found ourselves on the iMAX 3D ride.

Now, those of you that either know me or were with me that night know that
I have a slight problem with my equilibrium.  It has to do with the little
fluid filled sacks in my inner ears that control my balance being slightly
out of whack, and therefore things that spin and turn sharply are not a
Good Thing.

Take the sensation of the strongest rollercoaster you've ever been on and
triple it.

That is what it felt like to me, and there was little I could do but hang
on and try _really_ hard not to think of Novak's blue shorts.

The ride was shorter than I had anticipated, much to my relief, and we
proceeded to pile twelve people into two cars, where I got the front seat
because everyone had seen me staggering and my green-tinged face after
getting of the ride, and no one wanted me to see what I had eaten for
dinner a second time.

We made it back to the hotel, and after my head settled we proceeded up to
Mark and Deb's room where we discussed the merits of being an Orca and
then had another viewing of _The Matrix_.

Damn, that's a cool movie.

Somewhere around three in the morning, a group of us found ourselves in
Leigh and Trina's room, where we talked and bantered until Ken, Steve, and
Amy left to gamble.  All that was left was Noell, Trina, Leigh and myself.
I beat the shit out of Leigh with a pillow that she threw at me, and we
discussed the merits of Canadian candy and caffinated beverages, among
other things.  Noell and I left around five AM, and I found that my key no
longer worked in the door.  I wandered down to the front desk in my shorts
and a T-shirt and tried to convince the front desk that I was indeed in
that room without any ID.  I eventually had to give her a blood sample for
DNA testing, as well as some various other fluids, but she was finally
kind enough to give me a key so that I could get into my room.

Again, dawn preceded my bedtime.

I don't recall sleeping, and I don't recall waking up.  I do recall having
brunch in a cafe in the Fremont with Lara, Brian Ritchie, Leigh, Trina and
Noell and Eric.  I found that there was a pattern to Keno, and that at
best I could make my money back on every other draw, which seemed to me
like shitty odds, even for Vegas.  I mean, hell they're only taking money
half as fast on Keno as they are anywhere else.

I ate the first half of the Cheesesteak I had ordered, which was
surprisingly tasty, and then bit into the second half only to find that
for some reason, the second half had been smothered in mushrooms.  My face
must have dropped to three shades of pale, because several people asked me
what was wrong, and I breathlessly related that there were mushrooms on my
Cheesesteak.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Well, it sort of depends on whether or not you like your throat closing up
so you can't breath and then having your stomach try to empty it's
contents right after it became a major inconvenience.

Fortunately, lots of time passed with no ill effects, so I must surmise
that either 1)  I am no longer allergic to mushrooms, b)  I did not eat
enough to warrant an allergic reaction, or omega)  The mushrooms in Vegas
are drained of all real mushroomy content before served.

Afterwards we wandered over to the pool, where a Loy Sighting had been
made, but then when the heat started to melt us into a semblance of the
shapeless masses surrounding us we retreated to a place where Chris
Mullins had discovered Shade.

The term "May you always find water and shade" took on new meaning to me
in Vegas.

And here...Here begins my favorite part of the Social.  It was a part
where I sat with Dave Hemming and Lara Beaton on a lawn chair made for
one, where Noell and Eric Milota were chatting with Deb Loy, where Jim
Hill stood and obstentaneously offered witty quips for Mark Loy's
amusement, where the Novak fell asleep in the sun, and Trina sat and did
what Trina did best, which is not say a whole lot but soaked it all in.  I
wish that I could have had the foresight to pause for a moment and shut my
trap (And I'm sure a few others were of the same mind) and just let it all
flow into me.  The jangle of casinos and the lights of the strip were far
off.  The cool misters kept us refreshed in the shade, Lara and I took
turns showing off our knot tying skills with tongues and cherry stems, she
performing the near-impossible Double Hitch and I perfecting my Granny
Knot techniques.

It was what the Social was all about.  People wafted in, joined the
discussions, bought booze, sat and talked and grinned and laughed.

Somewhere in there dinner arrangements were made.

I shuddered and tried not to think about it.

Unfortunately, this was also the last day of the Social for several
people, and before dinner Lara, Chris, Jim Hill, Maggie, David, and
several others made their good-byes and headed home.  It was a bittersweet
departure for many, and I was sore to see each one of them go.  By the
time dinner came upon us, there were roughly thirteen, with the Loys and
Trina headed home that night after dinner.

I won't talk too much about the dinner at the Excalibur.  If you're ever
in Vegas, put it on the list of Things To Avoid Unless You Have Small
Children.  And even then be wary.

Still, all in all Sunday was my favorite, a day where I could and did kick
back and relax and thoroughly enjoy the people that surrounded me.  It
helped to no end that the people I was surrounded with were wonderful
people, but that's true for the whole weekend.

After dinner, I walked out to Noell and Eric's car, where I made my
good-byes with the Loys and Trina, and promptly got back to find the group
had left without me.

I took a cab back to the hotel, already reminiscing on the events that had
passed before.  The faces, the conversations.  The laughing and the
overall tone was everything that I had hoped it would be.  I smiled and
closed my eyes, trying to etch the sensations into my memories, only
slightly disturbed as each goodbye passed before me once again, some a
little more touching than others.  Some quick, and some slow, some with
smiles and a hug, others with a firm handshake and many thanks.  One kiss
on the cheek.  Trying to peel Mark Loy off my leg as I said my good-byes
to him and Deb.  It was all...fulfilling, yet left me with a sweet
emptiness that ached hollowly in the back of my head.

My memories were disrupted by the word "WYRICK" jumping out at me from a
billboard off the freeway.  As we passed the tree that had obscured the
first part of the billboard, namely the name "STEVE", I shuddered and
thought of omens of things to come.

At the hotel, we rendez-vouzed at the Carson Street Cafe, our main hang
out for the duration of our stay at the Golden Nugget.  At this juncture,
there was myself, Brian Ritchie, Dave Hemming, Ken Cavness, John Novak,
Steve Anderson, Tshen and David Skogsberg.  Leigh had gone to see if she
could track down her relatives that were apparently staying there, and
Noell and Eric arrived shortly after I did.

We talked, on who was there and what had occurred, on who was missing and
the dynamics of the group over the weekend.  Novak, Steve and CD left to
go their separate rooms and to bed, CD bidding us goodbye as he was
leaving in the morning.  The rest of us sat around until we decided it was
time to gamble again.

It seems Lady Luck had hitched a ride with Hawk and Bill and went back to
California, because she sure wasn't with us that night.  I convinced
Noell, Dave, Ken, and Tshen that we had to try the Really Big Slot
Machine, and we promptly fed it several dollars for our amusement, and
then we ran into Leigh and proceeded to lose more money at the Blackjack
tables.  In the wee hours of the morning, we ended up back in the cafe for
more dessert, while some people had breakfast.

The following quotes came from the two cafe scenes that night:

Dave: "That's okay, I'm used to thinking it was said by someone funnier."

Tshen: "And the sad thing is that for a buck fifty I would have been naked
and dancing on the table."

Noell: "I hate to think of what that makes this if chocolate is like sex."
Tshen: "Sloppy Seconds."

Ken:  "Be proud of your mammaries".

Brian Ritchie departed before breakfast was over to catch a flight home,
and the rest of us filed up to our room, where I managed to get at _least_
four hours of sleep.  Leigh left later that morning.

The following day, the last day of the Social for yours truly, had much of
the same as the previous days.  We ate breakfast, I said good-bye to Mr.
Godlike Novak Sir, and Steve Anderson.  The five remaining Socialites sat
by the pool and drank, played some nickel ante poker and blackjack, and
then proceeded to throw more good money into the Whore named Vegas.  We
watched "Shakespeare in Love" and had dinner at Tony Roma's, followed by a
stint in Dave Hemmings' room where I learned that while my fifth floor
window opens a bare virgin two inches, Dave's room on the 22nd floor can
be flung wide open.  I scared Noell and Ken by leaning out the window and
snapping a shot of the ground with Dave's camera.  The view was gorgeous.

We watched "Analyze This", and then shortly before midnight Ken departed
for the bus terminal, and Noell and Eric offered me a ride to the airport.
Much to Dave Hemmings' relief, we left him in peace, finally.

It was, from start to finish, a sensory overloaded spectacle.  There was
constant activity, and too little time to sit and talk with everyone as
much as I would have liked to.

I learned several things.  Some of them shall remain a part of me forever,
and change who I was.  Some of them I will use to help organize the next
Social I host, whether that be a small get together or a large shin-dig
such as this one was.

One of them was this:  If Mark and Deb Loy invite you up to their room for
a late night snack, bring an extra pair of underwear and some Baby Oil.

Several of them involve Socials in areas where gambling is legal, and many
of them involve the dynamics of a large group.

But the most important one is this:  If you host it, they will come.
Especially if you get a couple of well known regulars to back you and put
it in a place that has enough attractions to bring those who are worried
about awkwardness.  Use Sex as an Advertisement and a dash of Good Old
American Capitalism, and they will hold you as a Saint until something
goes wrong, at which point you become a Martyr and have your visage carved
in stone to last all the ages, unless you're Sigfried and Roy in which
case they carve the visages in stone so that all the ages can remember
what they looked like when they were young and wrinkleless and only
*ambiguously* gay.

A very important lesson in any day and age.

I had a truly great time, and I thank all of you that attended for your
shiny happy faces, or shiny scowling yet somehow satisfied faces.  Or your
worn and "I've gambled and drank _way_ too much" faces.


I hope to see you all again next time.


Drew