I love conventions. All kinds of conventions. I’ve seriously considered moving to Vegas just so I could go to a different weird trade show or six every weekend. Las Vegas sports inexpensive hotels, cheap food, and free drinks. So it plays host to conventions ranging from monster shows like CES, the conglomerate convention of all electronics-based industries all the way down to gatherings of Zinesters of the Pacific Northwest Who Could Afford a Plane Ticket.
If I lived in Vegas, I could go to the Convention of Left-Handed Women Who’ve Been Anally Probed by Mauve Space Aliens. Really, they meet in Vegas. Those chicks are amazing at Blackjack. Something about the aliens’ spooge gives their subjects psychic powers.
But, to get to the point, my friends have a more limited view of what constitutes an acceptable convention -- specifically a hotel-based congregation of individuals who have an overriding interest in sf, fantasy, horror, gaming and/or comics, along with the serious intent of spending the weekend seeking sex, booze, and future employment in no particular order.
So welcome to the convention issue of BLT a.k.a. the How Amelia’s Unsavory Pals Feel About Cons -- Mostly About the Sex Part. We switched the release dates of the con and summer love/casual sex issues; maybe they got confused . . .
Convention Chair: Amelia G
Hotel Security:
Forrest Black
Portable Displays: Sarah McKinley Oakes, Your Kindly Uncle William Judy, Your Nasty-Ass Nephew Andrew Green•berg, Tiffany TwistedOne, and Amy Splitt
Maid Cart: Eric "Slash" Dunn
Volume 5, #2, ISSN 1068-2031 BIPAD 83617, copyright 1995 CBLT,
BLT (Black Leather Times) is a registered trademark of CBLT.
