The Hills Of San Francisky

Yesterday was a 24-hour day.
This is, of course, normal. We all live together on Planet Earth, and in our Earth Human days we are granted — ta-da! — 24 hours.
Normally, however, we do not spend each of those hours awake and, say, “doing shit.” Except, that’s what happened yesterday.
Woke up at 3AM, which utterly precludes the Asscrack of Dawn and becomes, I believe, the Stretch Marks on the Thigh of Dawn (or perhaps, the Dreaded Dawntaint).
Thus began a long-ass mufuggin’ day of travel. It started as any good day of travel does, with a kick to the nuts by United (“Your bag is 15 lbs over because our scale is broken and we’re going to charge you $100 bucks and our system is down so we can’t print your boarding pass and actually, we can’t even find you in the system because we rescheduled your flight from 6:00 to 6:02, and now that’s caused the whole system to go, and this is a technical term, *flabooey*”), but thankfully that was not the harbinger of doom I expected it to be.
The remainder of the day went relatively well.
We are now in San Francisco.
Spent last night at various Bouchercon spots — bar, Mulholland party, Penguin shindig. Met scads of awesome people. Jason Duke, Jaime Levine, Kieran Shea, Greg Bardsley, Kathleen Ryan, Stephen Blackmoore, Miriam Parker, Sophie Littlefield, Hilary Davidson — dang, the list goes on and on.
Oh, and Greg Rucka. Great to finally meet him. Love that he kind of walks that “geek / crime” path, too — it’s a not uncommon path to walk, perhaps, but I think it’s one that’s difficult to walk well, and Rucka’s the dude who does it. If you haven’t read his recent Mulholland column about the research he does, you should find it (can’t link here because, hey, I’m writing this on an iPad, goddamnit). He’ll put your ass to shame.
And, of course, met the illustrious attending members of Team Decker. Seth Harwood (who thinks I’m Steve Weddle — sorry, Steve, I might just go with it, so if you hear stories of how you, say, punched a cop or defecated on a statue of Sinbad, you know why), Joelle Charbonneau, Dan O’Shea and his loverly wife.
It has been dizzying.
As in, no, really, I’m dizzy.
I’m awake now and trying to figure out the day.
Also, getting a cab in this city is a slap to the junk.
And in case you didn’t know, San Francisco? A city of hills. I know! Who knew? I mean, sure, *I* knew, what with me having been here before. But I forgot how goddamn serious those hills are. Do not try to walk a mile and a half in San Francisco after spending a day of travel. Just don’t do it. The next day, your body will hate you, and you will hate your body, and that’s not happy-making fun-time sauce.

6 comments

  • ‘The Stretch Marks on the Thigh of Dawn’ – sounds like a good title for a Pink Floyd album. Pity they used that quote from the book about the toad and the rat instead. People would still be analysing the ‘Stretch Marks’ album to this day.

    I get the impression you have been engaging in ‘exercise’, which is evil and wrong and definitely very bad for you. Also ‘flying’ which isn’t natural.

    If God had meant us to fly he’d have given us tickets. Flying is just the devil’s way of throwing us around the planet. I never fly, although I have fallen off high places once or twice. Does that count?

  • Chuck, it was a real pleasure to meet you and your wife… You are a funny dude. … Looking forward to more Wendig/Bouchercon experiences!

    G

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