DUDE, WHERE'S THE PIRATE PARTY?

So, I’m sitting here at my desk in New York, eating these chocolate stick things that Sarah Mlynowski gave to me earlier tonight when we were discussing the Law and Order presidential candiate situation, which obviously concerns us both, as we both dream of being dead bodies someday. (On Law and Order.) So much to catch up on!

I have promised stories from behind the videos, and I must deliver. First . . . a bit about Dragoncon.

There are many, many stories I could tell from Dragoncon. So many that it becomes hard to know where to begin—and this is maybe not the best time to be bursting with bloggy stories, as I really have to spend all of my time working on Suite Scarlett for the next two weeks. I tried to fit the essence of it into the movie, but there were dozens of day-to-day moments that really need to be remembered.

The Wonder Woman costume—which I have to admit I was a little hesitant about putting on—was actually the easiest way to blend in. I promise you, I took that thing into the bathroom when we registered, and I emerged as a member of the tribe. I was instantly accepted by the other 20,000 or so dressed up people. It was completely natural that I’d be Wonder Woman. Everyone likes Wonder Woman! I have never in my life posed for so many photographs. That’s what people do at Dragoncon—they pose. Or they ask people to pose.

I was a little shy about the first picture or two, but then I crossed the armbands . . . and I was basically off and running. Theo Black bought me that massive sword (the one I twirl so badly and that he does such an amazing job with). (Well, until he accidentally let it go and it went flying . . . but it was great until then.) (And to those of you who wondered how close I came to getting a three-foot sword in the head . . . not that close. It hit the wall a foot or two next to me. Theo felt really bad about it, but I enjoy a small amount of danger in my life.) (Very small.)

Anyway, within about an hour of arrival, I had become a pro Wonder Woman, snapping right into a pose the minute someone came over with a camera. I had developed three by the time the night was over. And then I walked back to the hotel wearing the costume—which was about five blocks, dragging my sword all the way.

This is when Holly told me I’d “gone native.” I think she meant that in a very approving way, as her own husband was walking next to me wearing a real, from-the-set Farscape costume, carrying a robot.

There were other Wonder Womans. I saw about five. One looked really good, but the others were honestly revealing WAY TOO MUCH BUTT. I don’t think you should wear any bottom bits that fit so tight that they create new skin flaps that waggle around—like you have four butt sections. I saw this, and did not like. That is not what Hera would want. I was much happier in my little sparkly skirt, and the cape was great for hiding the fact that the costume was too big and was being held in place by a dozen safety pins.

Just as we were leaving, Cassie and I were sitting in our hotel room packing up. She was reading to me from the massive program book. We discovered that there were literally about a hundred awesome things we should have gone to.

Here are just a few I have flagged:

Off the road with CHiPS: An Hour with Erik Estrada

Danger Woman! (I have no idea what this is and refuse to read the description. I prefer to imagine it.)

Building the Future: In Plastic! (ditto)

Zombie Squad: Are You Prepared? (So awesomely practical! Justine and I should have gone. We know the zombies are coming, even though the others will not listen to us.)

Finding the Evil Within (I could have lead this one.)

Is There More to Gaming than Fun? (I want to know.)

Klingon Karaoke

The 2007 Miss Klingon Empire Beauty Pageant

There Be Pirates, Arrrr! . . . which was then followed by the Secret Room Pirate Party.

Which is sort of where Scott and I enter the story. In the video, you see some very dark footage of Scott and I at the Yule Ball. It took us forever to find the Yule Ball, because Dragoncon took over three entire hotels, so we were constantly going from building to building, crossing streets with huge platoons of Storm Troopers, wending our way through superheroes, going up and down escalators with Quidditch teams.

At the bottom of one escalator near the Yule Ball, we found one pirate all by himself, in his crushed velvet coat, his hook hand at the ready. As we approached, he asked us, “Do you guys know where the pirate party is?”

He was the loneliest pirate you ever saw. We didn’t know, unfortunately. He stood there, all by himself, looking around.

Scott was really taken with the lost pirate, and started speculating on a story called "Dude, Where's the Pirate Party?"

We arrived at the Yule Ball in time to see an entire stage full of Snapes dancing to “I’m Too Sexy,” which I have to report made us go right back upstairs to the bar. The sight was just a little more than we were ready for. As we went, we passed dozens of pirates, whole gangs of them, all with knowing looks in their eyes. They all knew where the pirate party was, obviously. We tried to find the loneliest pirate to tell him, but by then he had been picked up by some Star Trek people.

But . . . let me tell you a little bit about the making of John’s birthday video, which I am astonished to find has had over 12,500 views since going up the other week.


ME: I have an idea for John’s birthday video. We should do a dance video.

SCOTT W: (staring at me over computer) I do not dance.

JUSTINE: I do not appear on camera. But I bet Libba, Emily, Bennett, and David would do it.

One e-mail later . . . Libba, Emily, Bennett, and David all agree to do a dance video.

“It’ll be like OK Go!” said I. “Or not that coordinated! It’ll be like the Praise You video! It’ll be like both of those! Or neither! Whatever! Wear . . . clothes!”

Scott came along, though he was firm about the not dancing.

With my airtight plan in place, we all gathered at Libba’s house. When you visit Libba, even on short notice, she likes to put out a small snack. This time, she had only provided nachos, homemade guacamole, and salsa, fruit salad, hummus, nuts, bagels, two types of cake, cookies, and homemade whipped cream . . . but we had come on short notice.

David had just returned from a visit to his family’s house. He proudly produced a bag of genuine 1986-wear, from when he was thirteen. Astonishingly, it still all fit. We demanded that he keep wearing his multicolored long shorts.

The conversation as we gathered in Libba’s kitchen went something like this.

LIBBA: So, Maureen, what’s the plan?

ME: Oh, the plan is . . . (sticks as many nachos into mouth as possible)

EMILY: Do we have chorography?

ME: (nachos)

BENNETT: Yeah. What should we be wearing, anyway? Dance stuff, or . . .?

LIBBA: I was going to be insane Stevie Nicks.

DAVID: I guess I’m wearing these shorts. I don’t know what that makes me.

ME: (nachos)

SCOTT: You don’t have a plan, do you? (laughs mischievously)

ME: (nachos, indignant)

EMILY: What about a song? Do we have a song?

I plunk my iPod into the base station. The first thing that comes on is Abba, and the first song it cycles through (after the insane “Tiger,” which no one knows but me) is Mamma Mia. I point to the iPod triumphantly, start to eat nuts.

(This entire time, Scott was recording our every move with his fancy new camera. He has much more footage of this than I do. What he plans on doing with it, we may never know. Scott has many schemes.)

Having done my bit of direction, I then let Emily do the chorography. Everyone chimed in with something. We all agreed that it was important to move/climb on as many pieces of Libba’s furniture as possible. That was the most important part. I managed to slice open my knee while doing an across the floor slide (I still have a big mark—it may be a scar, a lifetime reminder of John’s birthday).

The result was about forty minutes worth of footage that iMovie barfed up on four separate occasions, making the editing process a joy! I am pleased with the result, but I promise you this . . . if anyone ever plays Mamma Mia at me ever again . . . I will punch them in the face.

The upshot to all of this is that my beloved editor Emma Lollipop has been writing me for a week, saying things like, “How’s Scarlett doing? Is she easier to make than a dance video?”

Which is fair enough, but it shows you the perils of putting things up on YouTube for all the world to see.

There is nothing but writing ahead for me for the next extended period of time. Feel free to send food. Or a Vespa. Or, as Meg Cabot pointed out, a pink stun gun. While I have advertised them freely here, she is quite correct in saying that no one has sent me one. So I have been forced to take an intermediate step.



Now, that may look like a large-barreled curling iron covered in pink lip-shaped post it notes with stuff written on them. That’s because that’s what it is. This is the best I’ve got. It will not stun you, not unless you drop it in water, but it will certainly surprise you!

I hope the makers of pink stun guns will see this and do the Right Thing.

Back to work. Expect future book-related posts! Onward, Scarlett!