Melanie

It's amazing, how a full night's sleep can make you feel human again.

Yes, I'm pretty much back to normal, which is a frigging relief, since I had to stagger out of bed and over to the convention at an ungodly hour to do some shopping before my brace of panels and other assorted duties. During my shopping binge, I took pictures of Notre Captaine Elizabeth Moon and Laura J. Underwood signing autographs at the SFWA table (someday, someday), then went in search of these, well, flashy thingies. Everyone's been wearing them this con -- they're colored flashing LED pins with magnetic backings so you can wear them pretty much anywhere, and I wanted at least one set.

After rambling round the dealer's room with Lyndon trying to find them (oh, we did make a stop at the leather booth where he showed me the doublet he's going to order in a couple of months -- nice), we finally located them and I bought a red/white/blue and purple set while Lyn sprang for a green set. I'm wearing them in as earrings my first day back at work.

And then it was shopping task #2 -- getting buttons from the Calligraphic Lady for Steve. As prearranged, I called him on my cell phone and read off selections to him. He liked 90% of what I'd found, and after I hung up I just kept finding more that I knew he'd like, so I wound up getting, um, 12. Well, it's like eating peanuts -- you can't stop at just one.

After that, I went to go sit in at the Women in Aviation panel so that I could get a good seat for the Improv Storytelling panel with Pterry, Tad Williams, Allison Lonsdale and Phil Foglio. The aviation panel in itself was fabulous -- they discussed the role of women in various scientific endeavors, Louise Kleba described some of her shuttle missions, and Bridget Landry explained how she mingled her rocket scientist/costumer personae, while wearing a fabulously silver costume of Greek influence. I got her to pose for a picture later on, and she explained her expression with, "Looking vapid gives it the right attitude."

And then it was time for the improv panel. While topics and characters were being flung at the hapless panelists (including the concept of biker nuns, originated by our own Gloria Oliver), yours truly remembered that she had her Palm m505 and collapsible keyboard with her.

"Do you want me to transcribe this?" I asked Tad, the nominal moderator.

"Yes, please," he shouted back, visibly relieved to have at least one easy thing to answer.

So I spent the next ninety minutes taking down the story of Schwartz the intelligent alien tarantula private eye and the Case of the Missing California Town, the Leather-Clad Biker Nuns, the Hyperdimensional Being and the 3-Year-Old Girl as it flowed (or, to be perfectly accurate, gurgled) from the panelists. Tad's mouth in particular tended to get ahead of my fingers at times, but I still managed to capture about 95% of the story as long as I shut off my brain and hooked my fingers directly up to my ears.

Afterwards, I collected emails from the panelists and told them I'd be sending them the transcribed version as soon as I could get it downloaded and edited into shape on my laptop (since I resorted to the half-assed shorthand I used to use when taking notes in business meetings), and headed off in search of food. I ran into Lyndon, who was also hungry, so we bopped over to Johnny Rocket's, where we met Julia tucking into a bowl of chili fries. Lunch was lovely but brief, as I had to get back to the con center and do my time at the SFWA table.

During this interlude, I chatted with Lee Martindale, took pictures of Brenda Clough measuring James Hartley (aka Evil Brother James) for his costume for next year's Musketeer Demo (I shan't tell you what role he'll be playing, but it should be obvious from the pictures page. And no, it's not Kevin Kline from "A Fish Called Wanda") and watched as one subscription to the Bulletin was sold. Once my time was up, I dashed back to the hotel, intent on transcribing the Schwartz story while it was still fresh in my time, but Lyndon met me at the elevators, saying that the maids still hadn't done the room and we had to wait.

So we went down to the hotel bar/conversation pit, where he napped on a couch and I sat with a bottle of water reviewing the pictures I'd taken. By 4:45 PM, I realized that I had a reading at 5:00 and needed to collect my laptop with the stories, maids or no maids, so I told Lyndon to come with me for the collection, then he could nap on the bed in the SFF.Net Suite while I read. He thought this sounded like a good idea, and we proceeded upstairs to collect the Powerbook and climb two flights to the SFF.Net Suite.

The reading itself was nice, if sparsely populated (thanks for showing up, Berry, Dan and unknown woman!), and then I was turfed out for the next reader. I spent some time chatting in the main part of the suite with Julia, Dan, Berry, Bill Seney and Elizabeth Moon, when Bill suggested that Elizabeth go get something to eat (Bill is the Support God of the Musketeers, and is always keeping an eye on Elizabeth at cons).

So we bopped back over to Johnny Rocket's (stopping off at our rooms first so that Elizabeth and I could change into our Musketeer shirts, as everyone else was wearing theirs) and I sipped at a coke while the rest of them ate. By the time we got out of there, it was a little past 7:00 PM and I needed to get upstairs and get dressed for the Hugos.

But. But. A heat wave had rolled into town, making going outside sticky and uncomfortable (particularly in the type of dress I'd brought). And I still had the Schwartz story to transcribe, and didn't really want to put that off for much longer for fear of forgetting some of the best bits and losing them to the void I am pleased to call my brain.

So, I did what I had to do -- I skipped the Hugos in favor of sitting here and transcribing the story, because I'm the dutiful sort. I did get reports, however, that lots of actual winners hadn't come to the awards, either. In fact, there was a bit of a mixup with the Best Artist Hugo -- apparently Michael Whelan had designated fellow artist and co-finalist Bob Eggleton to be his proxy acceptor if Whelan won the Hugo, which he did. However, nobody told Bob that Michael had designated him as his acceptor. Here's a quote straight from Bob Eggleton: "Please let people know that nobody told me Michael Whelan wanted me to pick up the Best Artist Hugo for him if he won, otherwise I would have done so. This is all extremely embarrassing."

By 9:45 PM, the story was finished and emailed to the four authors, and I could jump into my dress and head down to the Hugo party in the SFWA suite. Which I did for at least an hour -- talked with a whole bunch of people, said goodbye to Julia (who was leaving at a dreadful hour tomorrow morning), ate some fabulous salsa which is going to wreak havoc on my recuperating GI tract, I just know it, and took lots of pictures. It was 11:45 when I realized my feet were hurting and I was just plain tired, so I came back up to the room, changed into something comfy and started writing up my report.

The Hugo winners unfortunately didn't include Brenda, but they did include Neil Gaiman for Best Novel (American Gods). Apparently his acceptance speech ended with, "Fuck me, I've won a Hugo."

And on that note, I bid you good night.