I do believe that is a nickname for Jeckyll island, as expressed on one of the marble signs that led us from I-95 onto the small island where the illustrious Georgia Writers’ Conference took place this past weekend. This was a whirlwind celebration, where preconceived notions entered, and for the most part, were erased by a common expression of bygones. On this sentiment, I do believe my blogpop (who unfortunately lives in Chicago and could not attend) expresses his wisdom in a very lucid manner:

[N]o provision exists in this medium for the observance of a drift brought about by a change in understanding. Shift in opinions go unobserved because there are no shared visual or audio signals occurring over time, and the medium presents ideas in the concrete of finite text. In the realm of the written word nuance is the result of a connection between the wit of the writer and the reader. If the writer does not communicate it, or the reader does not grasp it, it is lost altogether.

Indeed, we all form these mental pictures of other bloggers. Most are unfounded, and those who would argue haven’t taken the time to fully investigate the facts. This weekend provided fertile ground for exploring this notion. Around forty people attended this meet, and as such, it simply wasn’t possible to engage in conversation with each and every person. Among those with which (unfortunately) only a brief hello was possible were the following:

Jim and Denny, who spent the majority of the weekend rocking out with their guitars and a kazoo; Ward and Moogie, who were a wee bit busy enjoying said musical entertainment. Heh heh. Moogie enjoyed herself quite a bit it seems; and Mr. Helpful, who I assume was rather occupied *ahem* living up to his helpful reputation. As he should, of course!

Now onto the other so-called reprobates:

Velocigod, who organized the whole schbang, showed everyone his monkey, but I’ll leave the details to your imagination. Trust me, ’tis better that way…heh. Acidman did indeed kick everyone’s ass during the poker tournament and donned this lady’s panties on his head as a trophy. He was rather like an affectionate puppy dog, but it may have been the alcoholic influence at work. A few other bloggers also provided good company to shoot the breeze with – Catfish and his infamous moonshine, and Sam, whose spunky wife won third place in the poker tournament. Speaking of spouses, Michele and her new husband were also enjoying themselves and provided much fodder for fun during poker.

That adorable Zonker supplied diet coke and tequila for the group, and Dax Montana provided red-headed sluts and anecdotal evidence that southern gentlemen take their practices seriously. Attending from abroad, Anna and Rube made a most smashing couple, and Rube was gracious enough to allow us all to refer to him as You Bitch! That’s chutzpah, darlings.

Three southern ladies impressed me with their gracious ways – Key Monroe, whose accent is just gorgeous, Kelley, who possesses a most remarkable singing voice, and Flynny, who is quite stunning in appearance. All three of these belles welcomed myself and the Lad, and they dispelled the myth that us ladies walk around with claws bared. ‘Nuff said.

Finally, the two most anticipated meetings: Christina and Eric. Both of them were exactly as I expected, and many warm embraces occurred thoughout the weekend. Chrissy is indeed a long-lost sister of mine, and she even strongly resembles my mother as I remember her. Eric is…. well…. he’s Eric, which is hard to describe in few words, but it’s all good, baby. His wife, Fiona, is one of those rare jewels that you encounter very infrequently, and they indeed are a well-matched duo.

All around, ’twas an enjoyable weekend. When I fully recover, perhaps some of the out-of-context quotes in the trusty notebook will make an appearance.