Month: January 2008

List of things to do

  1. Learn the Code Monkey dance
  2. Write down about sixty LJ user names and friend them
  3. Actually put together a proper filk book of the stuff I intend to ever sing again (I think this means an evening with Shaddyr, and soon)
  4. Think about the logistics of going to Jersey in June.  I mean, I have a passport and everything now, it’s not like I can’t travel Stateside.
  5. It’s two-thirty in the morning…. shouldn’t I be sleeping?  Nope, they are still filking in the main room.  I heard about chocolate in the consuite and after administering aid and comfort to the consuite hostess – Shaddyr – and hanging with some younger filkfemfen, I thought.  Hmmmm.  I have eaten all the chocolate, now I should go back downstairs and do the pillage and rapine thing in the main room.

 

More con stuff

I am having a simply lovely time, and had supper with LMB, Dr. Filk, and Tom and Peggy. Right now Skinny White Chick is playing.  They just finished the Alligator Song, which is beyond words amusing, and a tango to boot.

I’m going to check the schedule again and maybe nap for a bit before the open filk / bawdy songs room opens up…Earlier today I got to sing the Tapioca Song, accompanied by about 35 people, in the Songbook Filk.  Happy sigh.

 

Blogging at the Con

So, last night, Jeff Hitchin did not one, not two but THREE filks of the Tapioca Song. One was in Spanish, one in Japanese, and one was about Oxycontin. I surreptitiously took a picture of him while he was about it. Jeff is a fabulous performer and great raconteur; I am honoured above my worthiness.

All hail the Con Committee. They planned for 80 and there will easily be 120 attendees. Runnerwolf – whose idea the whole thing was, enthusiastically endorsed by everyone in earshot, including, as I recollect, me – was looking a bit glazed but really happy when I met up with her at the reg table yesterday.

Met up with Lady Miss Banjola and Dr. Filk with no difficulties AFTER I got into my shared room; Shaddyr (I will refer to her & Runnerwolf by LJ names as it ‘s easier) gave up her room passkey from last night so even though I hadn’t seen the principals I had a place to stash my stuff.

I did some of the driving down from Vancouver, but long about supper time I started getting visual disturbances (I still feel kinda wonky today, although that may have something to do with my lack of cafFiend) so Peggy did the driving from there.

Open Filking last night was great; I heard many filk classics old and new, and which included a madrigal zombie filk, Jonathan Coulton’s “Eat Your Brains” ably performed by Tony Fabris, the funniest parody of Danny Boy Ever…. and I debuted “You Try Being Buffy’s Mom” a capella as I have yet to write it down, although LMB has an MP3 of it up on her website (v raw, being recorded the day I wrote it).

Anyway, I’m being a jackass hogging one of the two public internet access points in the hotel, so I’d best fly. I’m here, I’m settled, and apart from once aGAIN failing to bring earplugs, I’m doing great. I’ll post pics later; I remembered to bring my USB cable and this computer has a USB port, can you believe it?

Stupid criminals

This happened in Toronto, more than 20 years ago.

A friend of mine had a daughter who worked at an answering service (remember those?) in the same building as a parole office. She left the office door open for cross ventilation because the building was rather stuffy and they could actually open windows. There were two women on shift at time. Their desks both faced the door.

As it happened, the open door was situated directly in front of a fire hose cabinet. The women watched in astonishment as a man on his way to the parole office stopped in front of their open door, looked up and down the hallway, and then carefully stashed his bag of pot in the firehose cabinet. Miraculously, the phone in the office didn’t ring while he was standing in front of the door. He then went to his appointment.

One of the women, who was vehemently opposed to pot use, got up from her desk, got the bag, flushed the contents down the john, threw out the bag, and sat back down at her desk. A few minutes later Mr. Stupid Criminal came down the hall, opened the firehose cabinet, and went wtf? He looked up the hall, he looked down the hall. He never once looked through the open door at his back, while the two women, purple from suppressed laughter, got a thirty second demonstration of the cognitive skills that had him visiting a parole office in the first place.