I bought a ticket for my first, honest-to-God SF convention today, and it’s a doozie

Gallifrey One.

That’s right.  Gallifrey…effing…One!

I fell in love with Doctor Who in 1986.  I taped the show off PBS, badgered my mother into donating money come pledge time, joined the DWFCA, lusted after the green Dapol K-9, collected all but 18 Target novelizations, and bought a complete Virgin New Adventures novel collection one book at a time.  I wrote bad fanfic as a kid before I even knew there was a name for it, stuck Doctor Who pins on my handbag and clipped a Swatch protector on my Doctor Who diamond logo watch.  I even managed to get Doctor Who Magazine delivered to my door in the US starting in 1989.  Amazingly, after all of this time and solitary fannishness, I have never made it to a convention.

Gally is one of the touchstones of Who fandom in the US today.  It’s also (unfortunately for my wallet) on the opposite side of the continent.  That’s a lot of plane fare, so I’ve never screwed up the courage to go before now.  Next year, though is special.  It’s the 50th anniversary of the show, so dammit, it’s time to hop on a jet plane and enjoy some nerdy revelry with other Whovians.


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