Worn out from a day spent on my feet and the accursed concrete floor. My heels may never forgive me. Glad tomorrow's a short day, but we're going to have to ship a few books back home, and I'm not sure how that's going to work, logistics-wise. Hopefully it's not going to turn into the slog of death (so come buy books!).

Not sure where Jeremy's at. Not in the hotel bar that he texted from an hour ago. So maybe I'll head back over to Leela's for dinner. After all, if I'm on my own, cheap is good.

But the big question is, am I up to hitting parties later? Guess I'll figure that out after dinner and a drink.


Update: Figured out where everybody is... the Hugo Awards are tonight. Duh. But I'm beat, so I'm up in the hotel room, half-watching one of the dumbest movies ever made.

From yesterday:

Jeremy Lassen, Connie Willis, and Walter Jon Williams

On our way to work yesterday, Maddie and I stopped for gas and a quick run through the car wash. Yeah, it was that time of year again, time to remind myself that the Prius is actually a lovely shade of blue ("Brilliant Blue Pearl"), instead of a dull grey-brown.

The run wasn't so quick after all, the boat-sized SUV in front of us had apparently opted for the ten dollar wax job, but we had air conditioning on our side. And we were listening to the Dark Adventure Radio Theatre production of H.P. Lovecraft's At The Mountains of Madness. Something about giant albino penguins, shoggoths, and starfish-headed elder things from beyond and automated car washes goes hand and hand. I'm not sure what, but something.

Maddie wasn't quite sure what to make of the car wash. The hiss of the water/soap jets, the growl of the hoses, and the rumble of the wheels against the track were making her nervous. Then, a sprayer circled the car, blocking the windows with a sudsy film.


"Hey," shouted Maddie. "That robot thing made it so I can't see out the windows."


"It's cool, Maddie," I said. "It's cleaning the car."

( More stuff behind the cut. )

Maddie stood under the arch separating living room from dining room, her tail down, her body curving to the left. She growled. "Grrrrrr," a long, low nervous rumble through bared teeth.

I shrugged, leaning back in my seat. "What?"

"Time travel is dangerous," growled Maddie. "I've seen movies, heard stories. There's morlocks and paradoxes and killer robots from the future." She stepped closer and growled again. "Besides, I don't want you running off to the future without me."

"Relax, Maddie," I said, patting the side of the chassis on which I sat. "It's not a time machine."

"Then what is it? What is that... that... thing you're sitting on?"



"It's a bike, Maddie."

"It doesn't look like a bike. There's no wheels." She marched around me, investigating the machine. "How are you planning to ride it around the room without wheels?"

"This is a stationary bike..."

"How is that any different from the bike hanging in the laundry room? That one's been stationary for years."

"Touché. This is an exercise bike. I'm trying to get in better shape, trying to burn off some of these extra calories."

"Where'd it come from?" asked Maddie, circling me. "It kinda smells like a time machine."

"Jennifer got it for me as a Valentine's Day present. It was in that big box that showed up earlier. I just finished putting it together."

"Oh." She sat nearby, looking up at me. "So how's it work?"

I reached down, picked Maddie up and sat her on my lap. "This is a recumbent bike," I explained. "So your legs are more in line with your body as you pedal. See that knob?"

"Yeah. Does that set the date?"

"It's not a time machine."

"If you say so."

"Anyway," I continued. "The whole point is that I can get more exercise. Especially on rainy days, like today."

"Oh, foo! You're never gonna want to take walks now," pouted Maddie.

"Don't you worry. We'll still get out for walks. That is, if this rain ever lets up."