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Friday Night/Saturday afternoon

Filk circle Friday night wrapped up early, because (in the words of cadhla) we were all zombies. This led to a filk bunny starting its merry journey around the inside of my head, featuring the theme of a filk circle -- filled with zombies!

Unwilling to go to bed quite so early, I wandered around until I found that the anime room was still open. So I wandered right in!

A guy wandered in slightly after me. But for the darker, more elegant eyebrows and the increased height, he was still close enough to a match for Darkside that my hormones went "Hello!" He could have been the guy's stunt double, maybe. I made serious effort to make saving rolls, and actually managed to avoid propositioning him.

I did, however, make bad puns in his direction. The anime of the moment was Naruto, and there were exploding tags (google it if you want; that's what they're called...) so I did the eyebrow thing and scribbled in the back of my notebook. "Like this?" I asked, showing him the notebook.

<explode> stuff </explode>

He made a groan of appreciation and shared my notebook with the guy next to him, who said that I was depraved.

Then I noticed that the ceiling was dripping. It had evidently been doing that all day (condensation from the pipes) but it was worrisome enough that an engineer eventually came. Somewhat after that, everyone was getting very tired and there was sleep to be had.

By the time the con is over, all the clothing that I put in the drawer will be either on me or in the laundry bag that I packed along. My backpack will be completely empty save for whatever I can find that will fit in it. I am debating the merits of unpacking the laundry bag directly into the washer once I get back home. Just grab soap and change, go out to the car, bring it back to the laundry room, and let 'er spin.

I was paranoid for about an hour that I'd parked Vash in the wrong spot and he'd be towed. I eventually decided that there was nothing I could do about it at this hour of the night, and I'd check in the morning. No tow! I'll be sure to inquire at the front desk about where the fuck I should be parking before bed this evening.

I woke up around 11 in the morning, and grabbed applesauce and clothing, then bumbled out to see what was happening. I was about a half-hour late for the start of the "meet the GoHs" panel with dduane and petermorwood; I slipped in the side and found a seat near lord_maahes and her geekboy. (Geekboys make the world happy. There should be more of them.) The panel was hysterical. Some choice quotes:

"...and the Death of Mad King Ludvig. We were trying to get them to do do CSI: Bavaria." -- dduane, on a chat with German producers. On the next Door Into, if there's going to be one: "There is going to be another. I'm just not old enough to write it yet."

"A house with two writers tends to look like an explosive mine combined with a half-demolished bookshop." -- petermorwood, on the necessity of cleaning before housesitters arrive, and the truth that life with writers is. He also had many stories of airplane travel: the previously-mentioned anecdote, and a yelp he made about not being allowed to carry a bottle of water onboard: " 'It's just water! It's not even heavy water!' And then you learn that's not a funny they needed to hear."

Then there were Peter's Mum stories. To get proper context for this one, it's probably necessary to note, as Peter did, that "wee" is not just a description of size: it's a word one uses of something or someone that one is fond of. The example he used was "Oh, is that your wee starship?" Peter's Mum, like most of everyone in fandom, has a Harlan Ellison story. He set up telling a delightful Shaggy Dog story in what he fondly imagined to be an Irish accent. Even if he'd nailed it, it was from the wrong end of Ireland for Peter's Mum. He finished, to a roar of laughter from everyone else, and a smile from Peter's Mum. She said it was a funny story, but whatever accent he was trying to do, he'd missed the mark completely. Harlan slunk off. In the wake of his going, Peter's Mum inquired, "Who was that wee man?"

The panel wrapped up as there were rather frantic motions at the door involving us, the gesticulator, and some hotel staff with stage paneling. The Filk GoH Concert was to be in the same room a half-hour hence. Fen and pros and all, we were out the door.

cadhla came by, munching a tomato the ruby/purple/brown color of half-dried blood. Conversation ensued as the knot of people with me wanted to know what strange alien fruit this was. A string of tomatogeekery followed. Then there was concert! We are evidently the Horror Movie Love crowd, as the Black Death song and "You Get the Tickets" both got immense amounts of cheering. I attempted to capture photos. There was stripping onstage. Glee.

I got hugged post-concert -- well, the shoulder-bump that serves as a substitute for hugging when hands are full. I'd evidently been looking a little under-the-weather at the start of it all. No surprises there -- I rarely look all the way on in the morning, and after Friday, I'm still recovering.

sithjawa, I need to know where to find your current mailing address. Heh, heh.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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