too cold

I don’t know why I’m writing; I’m barely coherent after the MSG popped my Fry’s cherry. It is truly Geek Mecca. And it is wonderful. And scary. And big. And has a Wild West theme. And I really don’t know what happened to me there, except that after two and a half hours I managed to walk out with a book on Unix and a copy of Black & White and the last vestiges of my sanity.

And this after taking Zen to the vet after four hours of sleep, when everything is surreal but particularly the noises cats make when they are Especially Displeased With Their Humans, and specifically the dirty look I received when it was all over, as if I were the boyfriend who responded to the “does my ass look fat in these jeans” question with “Which jeans?”

And the sleep-deprived visit to the vet happened immediately after participating in an Eye of Argon reading party at Hawk‘s last night. “The Eye of Argon” is the worst fantasy short story ever written, and it is legendary among sf&f writers. I first heard about it from my most excellent writing group, and shared it with a few friends, who promptly leaped upon the idea of reading it at a party. It took nearly 4 hours for 7 people to get through 20 pages, and I have never laughed so hard for so long before in my life. Also, if Hawk offers to make you a strawberry mojito, do not refuse him.

So either it is completely surprising that I am awake enough to type this, or it is completely unsurprising, and giving you two choices which are, in fact, the two choices of a simple toggle, an on/off, as it were, and I do not know what I am typing anymore, only that I keep typing and that I really need to stop doing that.

Steaks from Schaub’s are in the oven, and the MSG just interrupted the composition of this to perform “Ice Ice Baby” as a dramatic interpretation piece, so I really need to go. Too cold, too cold.