Okay, first? This WordPress app is for assholes. It crashes. It loses posts. It duplicates posts (only in the app list — not in the actual WP admin). It lies to me. It lies!
Ahem. Whatever. Rant, over.
Bouchercon is kicking ten kinds of ass.
Meeting lots of great people. People that I often “know” (or am at least familiar with) in the online space, but as it turns out? They’re actual human beings. Of flesh and blood. I mean, sure, one or two are cyborg killers from a future dystopia (I’m looking at you, Jimmy Calloway), but even then, they remain more than just an Internet persona.
Had a Team Decker dinner wherein we consumed the flesh of many creatures: oysters, cattle, chickens, scallops, little lambs, crabs (water-dwelling kind, not genital-dwellers), shrimp, and so forth.
There I learned, by photo, that I am actually Dan O’Shea’s son. Or, perhaps, a disturbed and broken clone of the man: they stole one of his ribs and from it, in a tank of Maker’s Mark bourbon and amniotic fluid, they “birthed” me into the world.
I also learned that Joelle Charbonneau does not write cozies. She writes, what? Koozies? Gun cozies? Cozy Noir?
I learned that Seth Harwood is a scrapper. He’ll resort to fisticuffs if he has to: a warning to you, cocky and grumpy publishers. He’ll break a bottle over your head.
Pics over at http://terribleminds.tumblr.com/ if you were so inclined to look.
This hotel room is very small. The shower is very loud.
Last night was a kick-ass cab ride wherein we further learned why San Francisco is such a shit-ass city for cabs. Cabbies get fucked: they pay a ton of money to the cab companies by city law, and that’s regardless of how well the drivers do. So, the companies have little incentive to help out — if a company gets a call, “Hey, come pick my drunk-ass up,” they may or *may not* actually dispatch that call to the drivers. Further, under-the-table deals have allowed limo drivers to pretend to be cabs. They’ll offer you a ride for a price close to what you pay with a cab, but they don’t pay the same kind of rates to the companies, and technically they’re not supposed to poach business. So, the life of a cabbie is a shitty one.
Oh! And yesterday, went to the Ferry Building. Went to Boccalone. Had a meat cone. Let me just say that again, this time in all caps: MEAT CONE. They give you a paper cone, of the sort in which you might find, say, shaved ice. Except what they stuff in there is meat. Three kinds of salumi, actually. And it is incredible. Meatalicious. Stacia was, of course, driven to procure a shirt with the motto: Tasty Salted Pig Parts.
Not ironically, that may also have to be the name of the Team Decker band.
I’m on drums.
That’s it for now. Today, food and stuff — Bouchercon is largely complete.
Tomorrow: Kauai, bitches.