Home Again (again, again...)
I'm home. I have been since about noon. But I am only just barely awake, or even alive, I think. Yesterday, about seven p.m, shortly after we arrived in Minneapolis, for our connecting flight to Providence, said connecting flight was canceled. And we were cheerfully informed there would not be another flight until Tuesday morning. Yeah, Delta gave up a voucher for a Days Inn somewhere in the middle of god's left ballsack, and I suppose that was very nice of them. But we opted to spend the evening wandering about the airport...mostly alone. Not sleeping. On towards two a.m., the place took on a surreal tint. Everything in the airport closed up by ten p.m., which came as a surprise to me.
"Zombies don't need airplanes!"
"Empty airports late at night are like Radiohead videos."
Yes, it was like that. Also, I wrote a scenario for a short film titled, "Mother Hydra Triptych," and also wrote The Shortest Novel Ever on a Caribou Coffee napkin. I did not, however sleep. No, not Spooky, either. She read aloud to me "The Colour Out of Space" and "The Shunned House" (I'd just read the former to myself a few days before, but whatever).
We discovered a kindly robot that peed coffee (though we did have to pay it).
We caught a flight to Detroit at dawn, and then flew into Providence on something made from balsa wood and rubber bands. Every part of my body hurts. Since making it back to the House, I've wrestled with a mountain of email, slept three hours, and eaten two slices of pizza.
The HPLFF was brilliant, and wonderful, and cool, and I loved it so much I won't call it the best convention I've ever done, because I hate conventions, and to call it one would be an insult. Tomorrow, if I live that long, I'll be posting a long, long thank you list. And the first set of about five-hundred photographs.
Iä! Iä! Booya! (ouch)
"Zombies don't need airplanes!"
"Empty airports late at night are like Radiohead videos."
Yes, it was like that. Also, I wrote a scenario for a short film titled, "Mother Hydra Triptych," and also wrote The Shortest Novel Ever on a Caribou Coffee napkin. I did not, however sleep. No, not Spooky, either. She read aloud to me "The Colour Out of Space" and "The Shunned House" (I'd just read the former to myself a few days before, but whatever).
We discovered a kindly robot that peed coffee (though we did have to pay it).
We caught a flight to Detroit at dawn, and then flew into Providence on something made from balsa wood and rubber bands. Every part of my body hurts. Since making it back to the House, I've wrestled with a mountain of email, slept three hours, and eaten two slices of pizza.
The HPLFF was brilliant, and wonderful, and cool, and I loved it so much I won't call it the best convention I've ever done, because I hate conventions, and to call it one would be an insult. Tomorrow, if I live that long, I'll be posting a long, long thank you list. And the first set of about five-hundred photographs.
Iä! Iä! Booya! (ouch)