I'm not sure whether one of the publishers I wanted to follow up with was snubbing me, or if he just didn't recognize me. There was this day in between Capclave and Philcon when I walked into a friend's kitchen with long hair almost down to my waist and walked out with a pixie cut. Gareth has started to be interested in the idea of fairness, and it seemed unfair to him that the baby could pull my hair with impunity but he couldn't. You can imagine what form the protests took. He might as well have started an Occupy Mommy's Hair encampment. There was only one solution. I mostly like the pixie cut. Goodness knows it's easier than the long hair almost down to my waist was. To a person who'd only met me once before, and conversed with me for less than an hour, I might well have stuck in memory as that woman with the really long hair. Or maybe I actually got snubbed by the publisher. There's no graceful way to find out.
Some guy spent the entire first day of the convention wandering the lobby in a t-shirt that read Occupy Philcon!, and carrying a sign that said, "We Demand More Sci In Our Sci Fi!" I was not completely sure he was joking until the next day, when he mentioned that his demands had been met, so he'd switched to a shirt that read Occupy My Lap, and five people took him up on it. I considered asking whether anybody at that sit-in had formulated a specific list of demands, but decided I didn't actually want to know the answer.
A cute baby can upstage anybody. Seriously, if Conrad can upstage the magnificent S.J. Tucker, who could be immune? A kid who's only been walking for two weeks takes to the dance floor, and everybody says, "Awww!" (How is it that I'd never heard Tucker's music before? I can't say nobody told me how cool she was. Mischief and Blessings are now on heavy rotation on my car stereo.)
Just when I thought I would have to whisk Conrad out of the room during the panel on crowdfunding for creative projects, Cory Doctorow started playing peekaboo with him. All the heads in the room swiveled around to see what the Big Star was peekabooing at, but he was enjoying it so much, anybody objecting to my cheerful baby would have looked churlish. Indeed, if I had gone on to whisk Conrad out at that point, I would have looked churlish. So I got to stay and hear the discussion to the end. Thank you, thank you, Cory Doctorow.
As thunderpigeon and I were driving back from the convention, we passed a sign on Route 70 for Ponzio's Diner, and the logo tricked both of us into misreading it as Ponzi's. Almost in unison we said, "Why would you name your restaurant that?"
So you give your order to a waitress, who collects all the orders in your section and passes them up to a more senior waitress, who collects all the orders from your half of the restaurant, and so on, and maybe a little bit of the food from the kitchen makes it down the pyramid to you before supplies run out.
And then you leave a tip, which goes to the first waitress the diner ever hired, and all the other waitresses are tipping her, too, hoping that some tips will eventually trickle down to them...