Ow.
I'm writing this in the middle of the concourse, after one hell
of a long day, and it isn't over yet.
The
day started with the realization that I 'd spent about 50% of
the night tossing and turning on an impossible hotel bed. Needless
to say, this didn't put me in the best of moods -- it also didn't
help that I was supposed to be part of a ceremonial honor guard
for the SFWA business meeting, except we didn't know when and
where we would be meeting our escortee.
But
hey, it's a con -- I should be used to a certain amount of vagueness.
In any case, Lyndon and I had a decent but decidedly overpriced
breakfast with Derek in the hotel restaurant. When I went back
up to the room to put on some makeup, I finally got the call from
Notre Captaine -- my services would be required in front of registration
at 11:50.
Ooookay.
I logged on long enough to have a debate about the benefits of
broadband, then discovered that it was all a moot point as the
South Tower of the Fairmont was wired for high-speed internet
access. Of course, we were staying in the North Tower, which wasn't.
*sigh* I need to see if I can track down the Internet Room
and do some uploads there.
After
that, I donned Musketeer uniform (discovering to my dismay that
the Russian cavalry boots required more than one pair of socks,
they were that roomy) and headed over to the convention center
to wait with Jody Lynn Nye for the SFWA guest.
And
wait.
And
wait, and wait, and wait. We finally got a call from Notre Captaine
saying that he slipped past us (and it had to be deliberate --
it's kind of hard to miss two women dressed in full Musketeer
gear, believe me) and was already in the meeting.
Ooookay.
So we headed over there to listen to his pitch, after which we
decided that the gentleman most definitely didn't need an honor
guard out of the building. Besides, Jody had to head off to her
signing and I had to get in line for Terry Pratchett, which promised
to be a mile long. We gave our apologies to Elizabeth, who was
preparing to address the speaker in her best Marine parade ground
voice, and left.
I
dashed back to the hotel, changed into civvies (and discovered
a new blister on the back on my left heel, dammitall), grabbed
Nick's book and dashed back to the con center. Where the line
for Pterry stretched almost all the way down one side of the hall.
I wound up standing there for about an hour, chatting with various
people and taking pictures, before making it to the head of the
line and receiving a signature and a Seamstress Guild ribbon for
the Pratchett party tonight. Poor Terry -- he's really very good
about signing for hordes of people.
I
asked him if he needed anything. He thought for a moment, then
said pensively, "Love. . .companionship. . ."
"I
was thinking more along the lines of a drink," I replied.
"Oh,
that would be fine, too."
(Note to self -- must procure banana daiquiri for him tonight.)
After
that, I donned my Photogirl cape and took lots of shots of various
people, including Hal Clement and Janis Ian (the Ian shot didn't
turn out because of camera jitter, dammit). And
that's how it stands at 3:30 PM PDT -- tonight, it's a publishing
party, a Pratchett party, and yet another Sex and SF panel. Check
back later when I have more to report.
Hoo,
boy. Um, okay, where do I start?
Well,
Kristine Smith whisked a group of us off to the Eos publishing
party across the street at the Tech Museum, where we got to play
with lots of cool exhibits, eat and drink cool stuff, and get
free brooks. Always a plus. Unfortunately, half the pictures I
took didn't come out due to low-light and camera shake -- dammit.
Afterwards,
Kris and Julia dropped off their books in my room and headed off
to the parties while I changed into something a little cooler
(the dress itself wasn't all that hot, but the dress, the slip
and the nylons together were making me sweat like anything). By
the time I made it up to the Pratchett party, I was comfortable
in a nice v-necked top and shorts.
I
can only assume this disappointed the guest of honor (who was
standing at the door in a maroon velvet smoking jacket and snifter
of brandy), however, because he observed, "Melanie -- you
were dressed up, and now you're dressed down!"
"I
know -- I was sweating like a pig in that dress," I confessed.
A
passerby started making comments about the bravery it takes a
woman to admit something like that. I turned and gave him a long,
measured stare until he muttered something about open mouth, insert
foot (God, these long, measured stares really do work, don't they?),
then gave Terry a hug and proceeded into the party.
The
party -- how to describe the party. Insanely crowded, tons of
fun, food everywhere, lots of laughter as Terry flirted and posed
for salacious pictures with the party hostess Denise (aka Mrs.
Palm), Denise's "seamstress" assistants, and her husband
Dave (um, Terry didn't flirt with Dave -- just want to make that
clear). There was an auction of Discworld chess figurines for
Terry's favorite charity, and then all decorum was thrown to the
winds as the seamstresses flaunted and flashed their wares around
the party (and I would kill or die for some of those dresses,
dammit).
I
finally extricated myself around 10:30 PM to stop in at the UK
Bid party for a bracing Scotch, then headed downstairs to the
Circlet Press party to say hello to Cecilia Tan and check out
how the sales were going. Well, that and my first pro cover sale
was also available -- the artwork's reception seemed to be favorable,
which was good.
At
that point, my feet, which had been muttering all evening long,
began to scream, so I came back up to the room to write this up
and upload the pics. And now, it's off to bed -- night night!
