Juanita Coulson just sang me 4 songs

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.