Last time I checked out iCandy, I was in a strange mood. I sat in a dark corner entertaining people with the neon wand and typed up an article on my phone, something that was technically against the rules of the club. This time, I’m in the same corner, but I’ve brought along a laptop and so my ability to type has greatly increased. I’m sure on some level, this is probably against the spirit of the rules, though I doubt anyone has been strange enough to bring a laptop with them to necessitate such rules. But, as always, I am the exception that prompts the rules, or at least the discussion regarding the rules.

Much of this intro can probably be discarded as irrelevant and pointless, but part of the process is to just develop the content, let the fingers flow across the keys and see what flows out. Sometimes, it’ll be something interesting, and sometimes it’ll be random noise. But there’s something to be said for the RNG. And at least I didn’t pull out the laptop and start playing KoL.

As a venue, I’m fond of Club 8×6. I still think the sound can be overwhelming at times, especially right now, while the pounding base is making it hard to type. Still, the people on the dance floor seem to be enjoying it. Briefly, I’m remind of the rave from Blade, and raves in general. This place has something of that in it, in it’s own way. The dance floor is less packed than one would expect from a rave, but there’s still a decent crowd enjoying it.

This particular piece won’t be making it into EV, since I’m currently focused too much on my own navel gazing. More than half the EV staff are here tonight though. Reive is around somewhere, I think. I am pretty sure I saw him earlier, though I haven’t spoken to him. I know our mysterious Editor and her man are around here, I checked in with them earlier. I was reminded that if I’m going to get people to embrace Slack I need to make better use of it myself. Mikey and Dave Toxic are around, I’ve spent a bit of time chatting with both of them. They seem in high spirits, which is good. Mikey is thinking he wants to work on his New Years piece. I suspect the battery on my hotspot will die before then, unless I stop at 7-11 for a cheap USB cord to recharge it.

Here I am at a party, near the supplies that one could use to write up a name tag, and yet I haven’t bothered to make one for myself. I could put myself out there, with the green card. I could make an effort to signal and communicate non-verbally, my interest in play of various forms. Except that to do that, I’d have to actually be able to put into written word what my interest is. And despite the various fantasies that still exist in my brain, I’m not sure what I’m actually interested in at this point. I’ve interest in things, but I’m not sure I know how to handle the fancy wiring bits to turn the facade into something functional.

Interestingly enough, so far only two people have commented on the laptop and the fact that I’m sitting here typing away. I’m not sure what that says about our culture, if anything at all.

Earlier, I was playing a board game, Splendour, with one of the cupids, the on site matchmakers. Nice guy, and he picked up the game fairly quickly. I think it fits in as one of the appropriate games for this sort of venue. It’s simple enough to teach in a few minutes, requires no complicated communication, and the cards and tokens are nicely resilient. The fact that we were playing a board game seemed to draw a considerable amount of attention, with a couple of people watching the majority of the game. Then again, it might have just been the time of night it was, early enough that things were still getting started. Hard to say.

Nearly 700 words at this point, and only a handful that could be recycled into an article that is actually about this event. I suppose I could consider various approaches and focuses that would actually lead to a real article, but currently I’m not sure I have the fortitude for that. I think my navel gazing will continue for a bit longer.

Given the article I wrote the other day on consent culture over on EV, I should be making an effort to connect with people and to play. But for whatever reason, I’m uninspired to do that. I think it’s the loud music and the lighting. It doesn’t strike me as a place to develop the rapport that I currently feel that I need. Though that might just be an excuse, a lie I’m telling myself to justify my lack of motivation, and my lack of motivation is probably rooted in my expectation of rejection. Polite rejection, I’m sure, but also inevitable rejection. I’m sure when she reads this, Recklie will roll her eyes, since she’s convinced that I’m the one rejecting connections. Or at least that was what she saw when she was looking through my chat logs the other day.

Ah, fun. The fellow who triggered that unpleasantness the other night is standing over there. Also, standing across the way is the source of the original unpleasantness, though I’ve no concern about a conversation with him. His ego will protect me from that. The other fellow though, he might try to make conversation, though I suspect he also has other fish on his hot plate.

Despite the negativity in my current view, I seem to be writing with a certain wit, one that I can’t recall having access too recently. Perhaps I should continue with the Drunken Wormhole project. Though I really need to rename that. It needs a proper title, something that hints at the end game, rather than throwing it out there without the appropriate ceremony.

It’s funny, I’m feeling like my bubble is being invaded by the people flirting near me. It’s gotten to the point where it’s actively disrupting my ability to write. Damn.

More later, perhaps.