Exhausted is not the word for how I feel.

I went to Orlando for another geek fest called Vulkon. Due to my tight money situation, I didn't even pay the minimum for the show itself and only stayed one night with my usual convention going pals, Jim and Cheryl. It was all the usual hanging out with friends, Starfleet meeting and gook window shopping in the dealer's room. It would have been an otherwise usual weekend if I hadn't turned towards the bar at just the right moment and saw an old friend I hadn't seen in twenty years.

Standing there, big a life, was my old pal Marc Lee. His story in fandom is as wild, if not more, than my own. I first met Marc at the Boston Star Trek Convention Platinum Anniversary Convention. He was sitting in a secluded part of the hotel, leaning against a wall, reading a book. Quiet and not paying attention to the blurred activity around him.

"Would you like to help out on the convention?" I asked and he jumped at the opportunity. Later in the day I asked him if he would want to act as escort for George Takei. Again, he jumped at the opportunity. Within six months of this meeting Marc, professionally an architect, had been working on additions to Marina Sirtis' and Will Wheaton's house. Within two years he had his photo in Starlog magazine and within 5 years was MC'ing a major convention in Germany with his own fan club.

A fanboy version of the Frankenstein story; we had created a monster.

And it wasn't only in the world of fandom that he took over, but in my personal life as well. He came to my first wedding and while my new bride and I took off for our honeymoon Marc had taken over the reception and the party at my mother's house afterwards. I came back from my honeymoon hearing stories about "my mothers' black son"!!!

Marc is a good friend and we stayed in touch over the years. As usual, we have gone though long spells of no contact and I had thought he dropped off the planet completely. I was hopeful as when I moved to Florida and heard he was very active in the Vulkon conventions. That was until almost the day I moved down here when he and the promoter had a major falling out and he was no where to be found.

It was a natural as anything to hug him once again and sit with him and catch up. We both realized the worst part of this story was that he lives only two hours from each other. From now on, that small distance will not be enough to keep us apart.

Yes, it was a good weekend, after all.