Klingons throw the best parties.
There's plenty to do at a science fiction con — that's fan-speak for "convention." During the daytime, you can attend Q&A and autograph sessions with beloved sci-fi actors and authors, attend panel discussions on topics like how much of the science in Star Trek is real or how "realistic" the Lord of the Rings movie was compared to the novel, log on in the game room for some online role-playing adventures (think e-D&D), attend screenings of classic genre movies and homemade videos of someone's favorite scenes from "Xena, Warrior Princess," prowl the dealers' room for Star Wars action figures . . . or just strut around the convention hotel dressed as a wizard and interface with your fellow fen (that's the plural of "fan," at least in this crowd).
The real fun, however, starts after the primary star disappears from view due to planetary rotation (the sun goes down). This is when the room parties get geared up, and they run 'til all hours. Various Star Trek or Dr. Who or horror-comics fan clubs book rooms on the same floor of the hotel and turn them into theme party headquarters. Most of them push the beds to one side, cover the floor with heavy-duty plastic, drape the walls with decorative hangings and lights, set up a bar and a snack table, crank up the tunes and let 'er rip. A horror-comics group at MarsCon, for instance, had as their wall hangings a futuristic cityscape that glowed under black light. So did a few of their costumes and their signature fluorescent green cocktail.
The Klingon parties were the best. Klingons are the soccer hooligans of the Star Trek universe: more inclined to fighting than to talking, and even more inclined to slug back plenty of libations afterward. In keeping with this image, the Klingon fan clubs skip the fighting part (although many dress in handsome, handmade leather-and-metal armor) and set up rockin' room parties. Nowhere else can you get hors d'oeuvres with warrior-friendly names like "hearts of our enemies" (chocolate hearts) and "blood clots" (pink and red marshmallow-peeps-type oblongs) or entrees like "Romulan guts" (green mac and cheese) or "gagh" ("real" Klingons prefer squirming maggot-like creatures in their gagh; local Klingons serve homemade noodles in a tangy tomato sauce). They serve drinks like bloodwine, which is about 90% rum and 10% red coloring, or targ tonic or Vulcan mind probe.
At the Klingon beach party, you also get to play Batleth Bingo. This particular group had marked out a bingo grid on the floor using masking tape. The host would roll the invisible dice and call out a bingo square, and whoever was standing on that square was required to perform a stupid human trick to entertain the crowd. If you couldn't come up with one on your own, the host would think up a stunt for you. I opted for host's choice the first time I "won" and was made to mime hanging ten on a cardboard surf board while "Wipeout" blared from the stereo. Poor sports were menaced with the host's batleth, the Klingon warrior's weapon of choice: a long curved blade with pointy ends and handholds in the middle.
So it was a fun time, this convention, and I'd do it again. Stay tuned during the rest of the week as I describe various other aspects of the con.