Well, what do you do when you aren't going to do when you can't go to the annual dinner of the Baker Street Irregulars?
Depends a lot upon what else is going on in your life, but on a chilly night when all the fun hometown kids are staying home, I watch/play/blog things on your computer and keep your Twitter feed open on the side of the screen and wait to see if anything you think might happen transpires. And hope that if it does, someone tweets it.
So far, Kristina Manente and Scott Monty seem to be the prime Twitter correspondents for the evening, which is to be expected, as the Baker Street Babes and I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere are two of the best all-around content providers of the Sherlockian internet. Heather Holloway is over at the other dinner, the Gaslight Gala, but so far is just reporting her level of alcohol consumption . . . being the less formal dinner, the Gala is a good place to party, so that's just fine.
Les Klinger gets an award and a standing ovation at the BSI dinner for his efforts in the Free Sherlock court case, which puts the official opinion of the Irregulars on that matter across in no uncertain terms. I'm sure it's only aged backs and bookworm physiques that keep those assembled from hoisting him to their shoulders and parading him around the room.
The lauding of Les was only unexpected in that I'm waiting for a certain other event at the dinner tonight. What is that other event?
You know . . . the investitures, the annual awarding of shillings to newly inducted (and usually quite surprised) members of the Baker Street Irregulars of New York -- the closest thing our hobby comes to the Academy Awards for achievements in the movie biz. And like the Academy Awards, there are always people trying to predict who'll be awarded each year, grousing about the leanings of the selection system, all that sort of thing. I really doubt there are any bookmakers handicapping our little Sherlockian event, but betting could be taking place out there.
Tonight, I'm betting on one investiture in particular. A sign from the powers that be.
I don't want to type my prediction here just yet, as the Irregulars still seem to be toasting the usual Canonical culprits. Baker Street Babe Prime just tweeted, "I love how dorky the BSI Dinner is." She is truly the beautiful queen of the moon maidens, that one . . . but wait, there's a Baker St. Babe tweet from the Gaslight Gala. Maybe that "dorky" tweet wasn't Prime -- they are a hale hydra of Holmes hussies, those Babes. (And I wouldn't say for sure that they're "hussies," I was just into the alliteration of the moment.)
Gary Burghoff is tweeting about 1976's Battle of the Network Stars on my normal feed, but Scott Monty pulls it back to BSI by sneaking a photo of most of the banquet hall . . . which, not surprisingly looks like the BSI dinner most other years. A crowd trending gray-haired, round tables with white tablecloths, black, black, black outfits . . . for a moment I don't feel badly about not being there, having seem that enough times. Banquet dinners are banquet dinners. But then I see a photo of Ashley Polasek and her "Tree of Sherlock Holmes" at the Gala and go, "I could stand to see that a lot closer." (Whether the tree or Ashley, I'll let you decide. Though I do think of myself more the Sherlockian than the lecherous old man, so take that into account.)
Lyndsay Faye tweets in between Gary Burghoff's trip down memory lane, and I get a pang of sympathy for that most excellent writer, as she doesn't seem to be at the festivities and is such the perfect fit for a night of Sherlockian fun and celebrity.
And suddenly, I break new ground in my relationship with the Baker Street Irregulars dinner -- exchanging Facebook comments with Jacquelynn Bost Morris while she's there. Such a small, everyday thing normally, but tonight I feel like I've gotten my ham radio to pick up a signal from Mars. We really do like in an age of marvels.
I think I need to watch Deadwood for a minute to calm down and bone up on my cussing.
Ah, and then I come back to find they're still singing "Holmes' and Watson's Time" at the Gaslight Gala, thanks to 221B Con's twitter pic. The feeds slow to naught as the talks go on (at least that's what I'm guessing with the dearth of info), so I head upstairs for a glass of wine and a bit of cheese. The good Carter is currently on "The Hounds of Baskerville" in her Sherlock pre-watch, so I get in on a bit of that. Good old Greg Lestrade. Never quite picked up that it was Hound mixed with "Devil's Foot" before. Surprising how that show always sneaks these things past me.
Well, after that I wander back and the investitures are up. A friend got in, so that's good. But such safe choices. And at least one passing-over that indicates somebody just isn't "getting it," and I don't mean anyone who missed out on the shilling. Makes me sad.
Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted. For a time, I was almost thinking I was missing out on something. But in the end . . . well, I'll have to have more than one glass of wine to get into that.
Have fun, kids.