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    After the half dollar thing, I went back to the hotel, checked out, and moved my things to the hospitality suite.  People began to show up and hang out, and fac came back saying that the indoor theme park was pretty lame.  This is where my memory begins to get fuzzy but I do recall much gossip, especially concerning Chloe's mooning AW via live camera the previous evening.  The party moved down to "happy hour" by the pool, but it was too damned hot and we went to the indoor bar instead, where we blew bubbles and otherwise got obnoxious, to the tune of 80's videos.  fac drew a map of Australia to help enlighten us on his whereabouts and the state of the nation.  I'd wanted to keep it, but somehow it got left behind as he and I retired to his room for quieter conversation and each took our showers in preparation for the banquet coming up next on the agenda.
    The banquet was held at an expensive western restaurant some good distance from the hotel.  Lots of hugging and greeting and picture taking were going on, as there were more people clustered here than at any previous event.  Everything on the menu seemed to be spicy, and the cost of the drinks (soft drinks came with the meal, hard ones out of pocket) was exorbitant, but the companionship was truly wonderful.  Midnight Delight, a sweet woman I have known since forever, gave a truly tear-jerking speech, as did Serendipitous, thanking those who made this thing possible and missing those who couldn't make it, either by the constraints of space-time or by the constraints of life-death.  The goodwill extended even between Circle of Fire people (they own Active Worlds) and their outspoken adversaries in the battle over free speech and the wielding of power.  Seren was presented with a plaque whose inscription she could not read, because it choked her up so.  "She brought the world together."  And she did, she lit the fire and others grabbed the torches and ran with them, and she kept it all in line, and it came off magnificently.
    After the banquet, fac and I caught a ride back to the hotel with Xyzzz, who used to live in Vegas and told us quite a few interesting stories about its history.  For instance, once upon a time, during segregation, black artists were allowed to perform in casinos and hotels, but never to stay in them.  It was Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., Dean Martin, and many others whose names are now lost to me in the throes of a brain cramp who put their feet down and refused to play Vegas until the situation was rectified.  Their efforts brought down the barriers not just to artists but to anyone who wished to stay there.  This explained a billboard I had seen earlier but not understood.  It was a picture of Frank Sinatra with the caption, "He was a real rebel."
    At the hotel, facter and I again repaired to his room to await the beginning of the party, and to talk more.  We found such common ground and yet such new things, like each others' opinions on the possible nature of God, religion in general, nature in general, music, animals, lots of things.  Intense conversation led to intense sharing of space, and the intimacy already there, that ease that made nervousness ridiculous, led us to be arm in arm, and body to body, talking while holding, talking between kisses, kissing between sentences, completely swept in.  I could go cosmic here and be very detailed about the swirling of intellectual and emotional energies, charged with the physical, but I think you get the drift.  It was an incredibly special and warm time of affection, of exchanging, but reluctantly we moved down the hall to the party.
    And there I got knock-down drunk.  I remember that at some point my extended middle finger propped up on the hotel phone wound up being broadcast to the AW Ground Zero (the landing point upon beginning the program) via live camera, as did my blue-toenailed foot bearing the inscription "I am drunk."  Several sets of cleavage and tongues wound up down there too,  as well as fac's uvula (go look it up).  Security had to visit twice.  That makes it a real party, dontcha know.
    I began to sober up again as the party wound down, and not really having a place to stay, once the hospitality suite was vacated, took advantage of the unused bed and shower.  I'm not the Gus; I'm not going to detail that part.
    The sounds of people cleaning up awoke me and my accomplice, both fully clothed, of course (no kidding), but we couldn't really get control of our giggles and I made the whole thing sillier when he snuggled under the covers to lay his head on my stomach, by letting out such a squeal that we burst into hysterical laughter.  Eventually we were up and helping in the cleanup, then showering in preparation for my (supposedly) morning departure.
    At the McDonald's counter downstairs, facter asked me about these odd biscuit things being advertised, as the McDonald's back home only offered Egg McMuffin as a breakfast sandwich, so I bought him one.  He was most impressed.  After teary goodbyes, I whooshed off to the airport, got in line, and got right up to the ticket counters, tears on my face, to discover I was twelve hours too early.  Back at highest possible speed, which wasn't all that speedy, to the hotel, to find nobody at fac's room.  The Webs told me he'd gone to the breakfast buffet, so off I went, to discover he'd left on some errand, so I sat at the table and partook in the pleasant conversation, until everyone was ready to leave.  We moved among the tables and slots towards the elevators, and I was despairing over the idea of spending the entire day just missing him when one of us (forgive me, Gypsy?) discovered him walking right behind us.  I joyfully tackled the astonished guy and told him what had happened.  I'm still not living it down, hehe.
    More conversation, viewing of art, watching a Spanish soap opera, a little blackjack, and an excursion across the street for some Jones Soda, all that good stuff, including the stuff I leave out, again due to my non-Gus-ness.  And once again it was goodbyes.  These were harder, and this time it was him leaving, riding back to Los Angeles with a group from there, or departing there for other destinations.  He's in L.A. now, staying with another AW friend.
    Gypsy, Process, and I talked for a long while (actually Process listened more than anything) about relationships and life and such, then we all packed in with some more straggling AWers for the trip to the airport.  The plane was very late, as I mentioned in handwriting, but it did finally go.  I was much too exhausted to see "Lost in Space" and had disturbing but unrecallable dreams the whole way back.
    After joyfully rejoining my kiddos with their dad at BWI, we got some sausage biscuits and went back to his place, where I crashed hard for a few hours, then began the drive back up.  The truck began acting odd, sputtering and losing power as the RPMs rose dangerously high, so I stopped and called El Prez the former mechanic for advice.  He said it was the clutch, which it turned out needed its hydraulic line cleaned out.  A new battery was desperately needed as well, but then I was back on the road and soon home.
    There is so much I left out, and I apologize to my AW friends for glossing over so much in this facter-centric account.  There were really too many wonderful things going on to properly chronicle them all, but they gave me great joy and inspiration.  There are many, many reasons to cherish this trip, and I do.
 

 
 
Tales from the Field 

If you are sick of hearing about soda and the soda business, I suggest you ignore the sidebar.  
     
Today I got more details, but not many more, about the Armani labeled bottles due to appear in September.  All flavors will be represented, but the circulation is restricted to Manhattan.  I am willing to bet I won't be allowed to ship these out either.

There is also news on the Tekken3 specially labeled bottles.  Though the date of distribution is still unclear, they will be mixed in among the regular Jones stock and distributed in all venues, so keep an eye out.