and I laughed, and laughed and laughed. It never ceases to amaze me how WONDERFUL people in filk fandom are. How attentive, and sweet natured, and by Darwin’s beard, among the funniest. I called mOm to tell her, and she said, “But… I have some of her books.” Well, of course. The circle is small….
I publicly declare Juanita my filk mom, and take her pronouncement “If it’s played in the filk room, it’s filk” as the definition.
Cindy is here and kipped out in her own room, which is PROVIDENTIALLY across the hall. Because this hotel is big, man. No zoo for me today, but perhaps I’ll go Sunday and come back for the Dead Dog. (It’s called a Smoked Salmon in the PNW).
I blow the universe a kiss, and I am now keeping a filk book, in which I will write all the anecdotes and songs and provenances thereof, as a kind of ethnomusicological effort. Also to keep things straight, because my memory sucks a Greyhound bus station Men’s room mop. The hairy end. Eiyeish.
Cindy will arrive shortly and go straight to sleep in my room. I will find something to do with myself while she kips and waits for her room to be ready – I am thinking I might like to go look at the enslaved animals, if only in remembrance of the other Ohio animals who didn’t make it. Besides, they have bonobos, and I ain’t never seen any. Or I could wander down to the “German Village” room (!?) and see if anybody is filking yet. Or maybe I’ll say fuck it and go to Macy’s.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Starbucks coffee is nauseatingly bad. They may be proud to serve it but I’m a fool to drink it.
Gadhafi’s STILL dead, sic semper tyrannis.
So far, except for the coffee, I am loving this hotel. The staff are really, really professional, friendly and courteous. Room was supposed to be non-smoking, when I bleated they fixed it without a hiccup.
Weather’s like Vancouver, but windy.
I got selected for ‘special screening’ yesterday. O goody. I also got yelled at by every single one of the ‘security theatre’ staff, to the point that I would say “Please don’t yell at me,” not that it helped. Note to self – travel in slip-ons next time.
“Miles Vorkosigan’s” filk of Lady Miss Banjola’s “Wreck of the Crash” MUST GET LYRICS and sing for my pOp.
It’s about the legal repercussions of losing your hotel room key, and it, like the song it’s based on is bloody hilarious. YES there was filking last night and it was still going on when I went to bed at midnight local time.