Well, it’s Spring Break–so I’ve just finished grading my five classes, prepping for the four that start next Monday, and I’m in the middle of my annual IB grading.
But the boy and I are also heading down to WonderCon today (the only Con we’ll hit this year)–so we’ll get out of town, see some friends, and be somewhere I don’t have to feel guilty for not cleaning.
The quarter has been good, though. It was sad to say goodbye to my first ever graduate class (this was my second quarter with them) & my other classes were generally engaged.
Chris Higgins, author/college roommate, came down from Portland to give a talk as part of our Speaker’s Series, & I got some awesome people from the Berkeley lab to do the same.
Been hanging out a lot at Blackbird in Sacramento–so yummy, people!
Went to wine country twice–once to pick up some shipments with V & K (while there, we hit Turnbull, where I used to work and drank a lot. For free.)–and once with V & K & E & I to hit Turnbull’s blanc release party, complete with oysters and pulled pork sandwiches.
I threw an Oscar party, though not actually on Oscar night. You see, usually I have to run home to host the Oscar party after going to the Souper Bowl, but this year, I’d scored some concert tickets that night–so I ran to Napa after the Bowl. What concert was it? ALAN PARSONS PROJECT! As people who love me know, I love The Alan Parsons Project, and so it was a great pleasure to see them on the last night of the American tour with Ian (who graciously put up with me/it)–from the 4th row!
Melissa and Vanessa and I hit SF last month to see a world-premiere play, Dead Metaphor. The first act was really funny, but the second act wasn’t paced as well–still, it was fine. Unlike a certain student play I saw this term (cough.)
Haven’t been to the movie theatre much, but did see Zero Dark Thirty and Warm Bodies, which, in the words of Bridget Jones, is a searing vision of the wounds our century has inflicted on traditional masculinity. (Seriously, it is–it’s also got a little Romeo and Juliet thing going on.)
But really, the greatest thing about this quarter was that I was almost constantly with wonderful people, I got my work done, and I didn’t get bitten on the face by a spider (thought I did get knocked down a bit by the start of allergy season).

Next blog: WonderCon!

In January, I heard a story about Florida Governor Rick Scott’s efforts to oppose the expansion of Medicaid in his state: http://m.npr.org/news/U.S./169060335.

The story was frustrating for several reasons. I have many relatives in Florida without health insurance. They don’t have very much money and thus would likely be eligible to benefit from this expansion. When I lived in Florida as an adult, I was also unable to get health insurance, as I was turned down due to pre-existing conditions. I worked full time for years without coverage. I got two undergraduate degrees and a masters without insurance. I worked for Florida State University both full-time before grad school and as a graduate student, with no health insurance.

It sucked. The inability to have a regular doctor guaranteed trips to the emergency room, the inability to effectively manage my conditions (including my asthma, which left me vulnerable and close to death quite a few times), and a reliance on samples of medication given to me by sympathetic poor-people-clinic doctors who applied the free drugs like bandaids to a gunshot wound.

In fact, one of the reasons I moved to California was because my university offered me healthcare, and I needed it. I couldn’t breathe, due to allergies and severe asthma. I missed too much work when my lungs closed. I had migraines. I was also starting to have trouble walking and immense back pain–at age 24. It was only when I was in California that I was able to be put on medications that control my asthma–I haven’t had to sleep with my rescue inhaler in my hand like I used to in The Sunshine State. It was only when I came here that I was able to get the tests to show that I had a severely herniated disc and that I needed surgery immediately. Obviously, finding out I needed surgery would have been pointless in Florida–I wouldn’t have been able to afford it (not that it was completely affordable here–I spent 1/3rd of my gross income that year on medical expenses and am still paying down debt from back then). My back pain would have increased–I would have likely ended up on disability, after going bankrupt trying to figure out what was wrong first.

Governor Scott was arguing that even though the federal government covers 100% of the costs of the Medicaid expansion for the first three years and 90% after that, that it was too expensive for Florida to help the poorest Floridians in this way. Independent agencies argued with his numbers, noting that he was ignoring important factors, like how expensive it is for taxpayers when people like me end up in the ER. His Congress told him his numbers were wrong.

After fighting and fighting and fighting, he revised his numbers to about 10th his original net cost estimate.

Yesterday, he did a full reversal and has committed to allowing the federal government help those in need in his state for at least three years: http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2013/02/20/172523730/in-reversal-florida-gov-rick-scott-agrees-to-medicaid-expansion :

“‘Quality health care services must be accessible and affordable for all — not just those in certain ZIP codes or tax brackets,’ he said at the briefing. ‘No mother, or father, should despair over whether or not they can afford — or access — the health care their child needs. While the federal government is committed to paying 100 percent of the cost of new people in Medicaid, I cannot, in good conscience, deny the uninsured access to care.'”

He also said that the death of his mother helped put things into perspective.

Governor Scott was not governor when I was in Florida. I’m glad he’s been able to use tragedy positively–to allow himself to gain empathy and clarity.

I just wish politicians like Scott were touched by the rest of us, instead of just by what seems to affect their own families.

When I was struggling in Florida, I was someone’s mother. Although it may have given my son a lesson in basic universal rights and strengthened his ability to empathize, it would have been terrible for him to lose me to a preventable asthma attack or the pneumonia that almost took me away from him. He already had to deal with a mommy who said, “I’m sorry; I can’t pick you up, baby.” You see, even though he was still light as a young elementary student, there was no way the mystery pain in my back would allow me to play with him with the way I wanted to.

Governor Scott, the citizens this Medicaid program will help are my mother, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. They were always special to me. I was always special to them. We have always deserved to have access to the healthcare that could keep us alive, working, and supporting each other.

I’m glad you might finally see that.

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of seeing a performance by The National Theatre of Scotland–The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart. It was staged at our Mondavi Center. The play, when performed in Scotland, is often done in pubs and other common houses. They thus transformed the studio theatre into a pub, complete with a bar and tables. We were greeted with a free shot of Benromach Single Malt Scotch Wiskey and told that all seats were good seats, as the actors would be moving between the tables throughout the performance.

The play incorporated music (each actor could sing, dance, and play at least one instrument) and verse–although it’s uncommon for large portions of contemporary plays to be in verse, it worked somehow here.

The story was simple–Prudencia is a scholar off at a conference. Her methods are traditional–she looks for the stories in old ballads, rather than writing up scholarship on tweets or being a post-post-structuralist like her contemporaries. Her desire to flee from a disastrous roundtable discussion is thwarted by a snow storm. Hours later, her desire to flee from a bacchanalian pub (with strip karaoke) is also thwarted–she is lost in the snow at midnight. She has already been warned that it happens to be the night when the devil may prowl for souls, so she is happy to retreat to a bed and breakfast with its innkeeper, who promises her warmth and use of his large library. The unassuming man also compliments her scholarship . . .

And that’s all it takes for the Devil himself to capture a female scholar.

Prudencia’s current project is actually on hell (including its erotics), so she is disappointed to be trapped for millennia in a bed and breakfast library overlooking a costco parking lot, despite having every book ever written at her disposal. Over the centuries, she comes to know the devil, changing bodily form and all. She is finally able to seduce him, as he does in fact love her. As she escapes, she finds the rip in time that will take her back to the night she was stolen. One of her fellow scholars is out looking for her–although he mocks her work, it is only to cover his own being smitten. She knows enough from the ballads to be able to talk him through the rescue & they return to the bar, where she is able to finally sing her song.

The play was funny, energetic, often satiric, moving, and inventive in its use of traditional myth and current popular culture.

The end, which featured a slow, almost a cappella version of Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head,” sung to the devil in the back of a crowded pub, was one of the most hauntingly beautiful theatrical moments I’ve ever witnessed.

After going so long without a post, I probably shouldn’t start the new year with political analysis, but that’s what’s on my mind this morning.*

All week long, I’ve been hearing conservatives complain that Obama’s inaugural speech didn’t reach out to them.

Three points about that.

1. I didn’t see W’s second speech (I was in a quivering ball or something that day), but I would never had expected him to reach out to me. I did hear him say that the second election gave him political capital and that he was going to spend it. I had heard, for several years, that since I didn’t like W, I was anti-American, that I was pro-terrorist, etc. This is besides me being a pro-killing babies, pro-giving your tax dollars to welfare queens, pro-killing old people by giving them healthcare, etc. Can anyone cite a moment when the leaders reached out to me in W’s years?

2. Obama had been reaching out to you guys the whole first term. And you called him a liar while he was on the House floor. And you put your finger in his face. And you said, publicly, that you would block every single thing he wanted to do. And you blocked almost every single thing he wanted to do. And he paid for it–some of us lost faith in him because he wasn’t telling you to go fuck yourselves, which is what we wanted him to do. Yes, when you refused to ever be civil or adult, we wanted him to treat you in kind, because we can be childish too, and we didn’t believe that you would ever, ever, ever work with him, even if he reached out to you and gave you 90% of what you wanted. But then we elected him again–after we told him to stop coddling you and get shit done.

3. I’m not quite sure what about the speech should have been altered for you. To protect your bigotry, should he have pretended that gay citizens don’t deserve equal rights? To protect your scientific ignorance, should he have pretended that there isn’t consensus on climate change and refused to acknowledge that protecting this country and your children means doing something about it? To protect your sense of how this country works, should he have pretended that not every entitlement (social security, medicaid, unemployment benefits, etc) goes to a lazy person?

The other incredible thing this week was reported on Colbert: http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/423113/january-22-2013/obama-s-inauguration—class-warfare. Some people out there think that our affection for Downton is indicative of our great love for rich people (not our desire to be them, but our appreciation of them.) This clip shows Stuart Varney arguing that Lord Grantham is the savior of the whole town–cause he’s rich–and we love him for it. Colbert points out one problem with this–the town’s dependence on Grantham means they all almost go down when he does.

The fact that most of us don’t care for Grantham, that we’re watching more for the love stories and the lives of the servants, that Grantham starts to pull a Schwarzenegger, that we’ve just discovered that he’s mismanaging the estate and won’t even discuss the problems is obviously beside the point. Now when I watch, and Grantham or his mother say something classist, instead of enjoying it as bit of satire of the attitudes of the wealthy at the time, I become sad–because now I realize that the rich people of today don’t see it as a satire–they’re smiling and nodding and thinking, “and this is why you love us–for the classism!”

*For those who want to know what’s gone on since the last post:

–It has been proven that despite all my requirements, it’s possible to meet me online and get me out on dates.

–Some horrible creature bit my face in the night, and the bite got infected, and now I still have a “beauty mark” high on my cheek.

–Got something on my toes fixed–this also led to an infection and lots of limping. Not happy with the foot doc.

–Had a good Christmas week with my Davis/Sacramento family. Made an awesome lamb dinner and had people over for Doctor Who on Christmas night.

–I finished up my six classes from Fall, planned and began my five for Winter.

–Saw a couple of plays, a little bit of stand-up (John Oliver and Dylan Moran), and a couple of movies.

–Left the tree up. If I don’t find a few free hours to take it down soon, it’s going to be a v-day bush. It’s not dropping many needles, though.

–Had a lot of great seafood at Blackbird in Sac. (Don’t drink the punch there, especially after you’ve had tequila.)

Finding myself single again right before the quarter started, I turned to OKCupid to find a potential partner or partners. I know that online dating can be daunting, but the prospect of finding a partner in a small town where half the population are undergrads isn’t promising, either.

OKCupid allows you post profile information, a picture, and to answer a LOT of questions. When you answer a question (would you rather sleep in or get up and do something on a Saturday? Do you prefer virgins? What does ‘wherefore’ mean in ‘wherefore art thou, Romeo?’), you can select your answer, acceptable answers for a partner, and rate the question’s/subject’s importance. OKCupid then tells you how compatible you are with any given person as a lover, as a friend, as an enemy. You can also see the answers of a potential mate if the person has answered publicly.

It’s a decent system, but it’s amazing how many men are managing to screw it up. Guys, if you want to date me (me–not just someone), here’s some advice.

1. Have a picture and some profile information up. When I get a message from a blank profile, I am hesitant to answer. If a stranger came up behind me in a store and asked, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”, I would want to turn around and get a sense of who was asking before I answered. Why do you think you get to be even more mysterious online?

2. Don’t say anything on your profile about ‘space camp.’ Unfortunately, OKCupid allows you to say things about your current job/education like “Dropped out of space camp.” It’s mildly funny on the first guy’s profile. It is not at all funny ever after. And many, many of you are doing it. (It’s sort of like thinking if you meet me, you can make a really original joke about “good Karma.”)

3. Don’t describe yourself as “just an average guy.” Why the hell would I want that? I want you to be above average at something. Average=boring. Average=normal. Karma=not boring, not normal.

4. When you make first contact, say something specific. If you want to up the odds that I’ll answer, ask a question. Many guys simply say “nice profile!” Ok. Thanks. It’s literally the least you can say besides “hi.” It’s also something you can say to all the girls. I have pictures of myself with a giant Bart Simpson, for heaven’s sake–I have given you something to comment on or ask about that shows you actually looked at my profile specifically.

5. If you’re very much older than I am, try not to say things that remind me of that fact. Several older men have said things that I know they mean as compliments, but that totally put me off. The two main ones: “you seem sweet” “you seem like a fun girl.”

A. I hope “sweet” isn’t the take-away from my profile. I do sweet things for the people I love, but I don’t walk around embodying “sweet.” In fact, “sweet” as a descriptor of a person (as opposed to an action) signals that you’re either discussing a very young child or a non-intellectual. I have never described an actual female friend as “sweet”–but I’ve called women I think are kind of dumb or naive that.

B. I can be fun, and I do call myself a girl sometimes, but I think if you’re trying to be my partner and you’re old enough to be my dad, you should refer to me as a woman.

6. You mustn’t be an asshole. By asshole, I mean racist, sexist, homophobic, severely Christian, etc. When I was first on the site, I kept getting emails from men who were rated an 80-something percent enemy because of their inability to see others as deserving of equal rights. At first, I tried to be nice. I would politely reply that since I am extremely liberal, I didn’t see a future between us, but that I wished them well. None of them took the hint. Each argued with me, usually, like one Lurch-look-alike did, by saying something like “but your pretti.”

Yes. And homophobes and racists and sexists don’t get to touch the pretty thing. (Even though I’m sure you would like to love me, and pet me, and squeeze me, and call me George.)

If you don’t believe my friends (whom I love–I don’t even know you), your fellow Americans, deserve equal rights, then I’m not going out with you. If you don’t believe women are equal to men, then you can’t be my partner. If you believe birth control is immoral, why would I let you anywhere near my baby-maker?

I eventually had to add a snotty paragraph on my page that explained that I didn’t want to hear from the phobes. A few guys persist, though. One man tried to argue that I needed to be around homophobes so I could understand their position. I assured him that I have homophobic students, community members, and family members to contend with. He stopped bothering me when I said I didn’t need to waste time dating someone I couldn’t respect, since I don’t take people I don’t respect to bed.

7. Note that I’m not applying to be anyone’s mistress. If you’re out to cheat, don’t contact me. Partners don’t sneak around. While I am open to being poly, I am not going to be part of your dishonesty, especially when you would probably not want your wife to have the same freedom.

I am a stradivarius, not anybody’s second fiddle.

Alexander and I left our house for the San Francisco airport at 9:30 Tuesday morning. We touched down in Helsinki at 5:30 Wednesday afternoon. Yup; long trip. (The Amsterdam airport has a children’s forest, a museum, a library, and an unhelpful clerk at the electronics store.)

Getting around the city is easy. Finnish has two official languages–Finnish and Swedish (cause the Swedes used to own us). In practice, though, everything is labeled at least thrice, with English underneath the other two languages. Some shops have completely English names, and we have yet to meet anyone who doesn’t speak it. Still, it feels the same level of foreign as Madrid did.

Once we put the stuff down in our rooms, we headed out to a traditional Russian restaurant in search of bear, which the boy wanted to try. They were sold out, so we had reindeer instead. I think we both would have enjoyed it more if we weren’t so exhausted. We got home at nine, and it was time for bed.

Today began with a breakfast buffet filled with interesting choices. Then I headed off to my conference while Alexander went to the zoo. The other participants, at least the ones I saw, were all reading their papers while seated. I stood and spoke with a few lines of notes and a colorful powerpoint. My topic? The Simpsons. People seemed to enjoy my presentation; they were awed at my being allowed to teach The Simpsons. Many said their nations (European ones) were too puritanical to allow the teaching of pop culture.

It was strange. I teach and write about pop culture so often; I’m even an editor of The Journal of Popular Culture. I’m just not used to having to explain or defend its use in the classroom, so it was invigorating to be challenged to do so. While some of my European colleagues were slightly incredulous about what I get to do, others were just clearly envious.

After my talk, I took myself and my growing headache down to the pier to meet the boy. On the way, I saw a diplomatic ceremony with a military band honoring visiting dignitaries. The boy caught up with me in the market, where we had a great lunch from a stall. I had what tied the previous best salmon of my life; it was so perfectly seasoned and fresh that I didn’t reach for the salt (and those who know me know I always reach for the salt). The boy had reindeer sausage. The American couple behind us in line had a loud conversation about how the wife would not be having reindeer, as she was convinced it would taste “weird.”

We then toured the Russian Orthodox cathedral and headed west to a converted church that’s now a disco. It’s supposed to be named after the boy’s namesake (Dante), but the sign wasn’t out front, so we couldn’t get a picture. We stopped in at a British pub and continued our ridiculous quest for souvenirs. Mom wants a long-sleeved t-shirt, which doesn’t seem to exist here. And I’m not buying a sweatshirt (50$!; everything is extremely expensive here). Wish I didn’t have to spend any time shopping.

At last, we ended up at a guidebook-recommended traditional Finnish restaurant. It was beautiful, with traditional dress & carved wood everywhere (even the menu was mounted in thick wood). I had a champagne cocktail with Finnish berry liquor. Then I had a Karelian stew (mashed potatoes, excessively tender meat, and pickled pumpkin/berries). The boy had bear meatballs with root vegetables in an amazing sauce that we couldn’t quite identify. Dessert was a Finnish brandy and “sisu” ice cream over summer berry compote.

Sisu is a word with no translation–it is supposed to be the aspect of Finnish character–it’s our stubbornness, our steadfastness, our loyalty, our perseverance.

In terms of ice cream, it’s a slight anise flavor (apparently).

So. Good.

But the brandy made my eyes water when I smelled it. I got the same shiver from just inhaling that I thought would come from drinking it. Alex said it smelled like apples. It did, if you marinated apples in gasoline–it was very strong.

The boy was so jet lagged and so tired from walking all day that he literally nodded off at the table. So here we are back at the hotel, with him asleep and with me writing this.

Where conditioner should be in the bathroom, there’s lingonberry bubble bath. Am tempted to try it.

(Still can’t upload pics; will make a facebook album at some point, though.)

I’ve been a very naughty blogger. The summer has gotten away from me, and what with all the work and the play, I’ve fallen behind.

Here’s a short catch up:

I haven’t managed to stop teaching at all. I’ve had three classes this summer (including a new one: 20th Century British Literature: Sex and Science), which means hours and hours of lecture, lots of grading, and a total of 26 book length works that I’ve had to read along with the students. This week will give me a bit of a break, but on the condition of trying to be brilliant at a conference.

I’ve managed to catch up with some old friends and to make some new ones. Most of the best stuff this summer was simply being with other people.

I cooked a lot. Had cocktails with Vanessa and Kevin a lot (while watching the HBO summer shows). Went wine tasting with Pat a couple of times. Hit Bodega Bay finally and filled my senses with the glories there. Spent quite a few weekends in San Francisco.

I’ve edited my first edition of Prized Writing–it will be at the bookstore at UC Davis soon.

I got to see Weird Al Yankovic perform twice in the same weekend (and got a picture with him!) His performance was stunning as always!

Got to see Steve Martin perform with the Steep Canyon Rangers at Mondavi–the banter was funny and the music was amazing.

Few movies and few plays, but I did get to see War Horse for my birthday (as part of my outstanding birthday weekend) — it’s difficult to describe the beauty of the horse puppets that make this show come alive. It was three puppeteers for each lead horse, with movements so real that I flinched whenever they were hurt. You could even tell when the horses were upset by the way they were breathing.

Noel Coward’s famous Blythe Spirit was on at Cal Shakes. Coward’s writing is still crisp, clever, and relevant.

The biggest news, however, is that the boy is now driving himself to school. His aunt Melissa basically gave him her old car. I put some money in to fix it up, taught him how to drive without either of us getting hurt, and put him on my insurance. His classes have started, so he’s out on the causeway twice a day. Wish him luck and patience.

He’s off to the conference with me; I’ll let you know how we do in the land of our ancestors.

(Would have included pictures, but the picture uploader is broken again . . .)

So this week, I packed my Zuul costume and too much eyeliner and headed down to Comic-Con. So did 149,999 other people (well, not the zuul part). I managed to make it out in time to get into preview night, where I saw my friends Scott Shaw and Lonnie Millsap. I was also able to talk to the artist for Kill Shakespeare (one of the writers, Anthony, is skyping in with my class this next Wednesday).

Karma & Scott

Then, on the way home, I was lured in to a downtown restaurant by a live rockabilly band.

So it was a good start. I won’t give you a day by day play by play, as it’s all a bit of a blur now, but here are the highlights.

1. Margaret Atwood was here for a Bradbury retrospective panel. Naturally, when she walked past me in the hall, I caught up to her to get a picture. I lovingly reminded her that I edit her journal and that I used to be her Society’s president. I hoped she didn’t think I was weird for being dressed as Death. I also completely ignored the two relatively famous authors with her, except for when I requested that they take our picture:

2. One of the times I wandered over to the Bongo booth (which I do once a day whenever they’re near), Matt Groening was there! Now, I’ve met several Simpsons/Futurama people (and I love my Bongo guys), but I’d never met the big man. So I got Nathan Kane’s (the new exec whom I’d just met the day before) attention and got him to take a picture of us. Nathan was very patient and Matt remembered something I’d left at the studio for him a year ago. I thanked him profusely for my entire academic career and successfully didn’t wet myself.

3. The Simpsons panel: Did I get to see the new Maggie short? Did I miss the Futurama panel due to the absurd line? Was Carrie Fisher briefly on stage? Yes. Yes. Yes.

4. Zach was there! When I flipped through the program the first time, I didn’t see Zach Weinersmith (of SMBC fame)’s name, but he was there! Zach has spoken to my class and to UCD at large. His work is hilarious, and it’s always nice to see him. Alexander is going to be totally jealous (the sign says “hi, Alex”)!

5. I got to see Joss Whedon! Okay–I’m not one for standing in lines, but I did get in line for The Simpsons and for Joss Whedon. I mean, I’ve given three different presentations this year on Joss’s work, so I had to go. Joss is hilarious. He riffed on how he’s his own favorite production company (he really gets what he’s trying to do), threatened to murder some guy’s family (after the guy said killing our favorites appeared to be Joss’s thing), talked about being a girl who can’t say no when it comes to projects (don’t think anyone else in the room got the Oklahoma reference), complained about the lack of strong women in the media and female action figures all looking like porn stars, and asserted that our country was no longer about blue and red–it’s about people who believe in the dignity of themselves and others and wackos who believe Jesus personally founded America.

6. I got to dress up. As Death: And as Zuul: That guy totally tried to drink my margarita:

7. I got to be in the same room as the following people at some point (besides those I already mentioned): Joe Magtegna, Yeardley Smith, Romo Lampkin, Joe Hill, Kristin Bauer van Straten, Sarah Wayne Callies, Anna Torv, Lucy Lawless.

8. There were protestors! Yes, apparently people who love Jesus don’t love Comic-Con. As someone dressed alternately as one of the Eternals and a Babylonian demi-god, I tried not to start a fight. I did, however, note to myself that there are people starving in San Diego right now who probably could have used some help if someone actually wanted to enact WWJD stuff.

9. Saw some awesome panels and things on the floor. The highlight, of course, was Scott Shaw’s presentation of wonderful sex, drugs, and rocknroll covers. One example:

Our panel on Superman (my particular talk was on Mark Millar’s Red Son) went well. One of the first people I met introduced himself as a Tea Party member and said we might not get along. I said that the text merely indicated that we needed to put aside ideology to find pragmatic solutions to our problems. He smiled and nodded, but left halfway through. The rest of the audience seemed to grok me, however.

10. People were in awesome costumes!

So I’m way behind on posting. The end of the quarter happened to me. How bad was it? Now I have to wear a brace when typing and writing. It literally broke me. Sigh.

However, the second I was done with grading and choosing the Prized Writing winners, I headed to Denver for their very first ComicCon and the adjacent literary conference. I got into Denver at 1 a.m. on the day I was to give my paper, took a shower, and went to sleep.

And then woke up with hives!

Something in the sheets did not agree with me. So I bought really expensive benadryl (’cause the 6, yes 6, allergy meds I’m on wasn’t enough). I was able to watch other people’s presentations while the hives went down and looked relatively normal by the time of my presentation. The guy before me was a reader (as opposed to a speaker), so I looked pretty good by comparison. A couple of people said I made the panel worth it. Then a woman came up to me who missed my presentation and said she heard it was good.

In between that and the keynote, I hit the bar and made friends with the bartenders.

Scott McCloud (the comic theorist) gave a great talk. But there was the odd moment when he showed a page from this book:

And then he asked, “Who gave the paper on Asterios Polyp today?”

And while I had done so, I thought he must be talking about someone else. But then about five other people in the room said my name. And then he said:

“That was brilliant.”

And then I didn’t hear anything for a while.

And then I was back at the bar with my bartenders, who congratulated me and gave me a free long island iced tea when I threatened to leave.

The next day, I looked out the window at the line going into the convention center:

(That’s a bear staring into the center–there were lots of people in costumes for it to see.)

I got rid of Karma, got possessed by Zuul, and headed down. I saw, but did not pay to interact with, Pam from True Blood, Galen from BSG, Billy West, and Spike from Buffy. Met the woman who draws the little vampires. Bought a necklace. Went to a couple of panels. Didn’t get into the Doctor Who one because it was full. Saw this guy selling board games:

As I was too lazy to exorcise Zuul, I went back to the hotel bar, read my book, let my boys feed me, and made friends with the couple sitting beside me.

The next day, I dressed as Sandman‘s Death (which anyone who knows me knows means I dressed like myself but with more eye makeup). Did another whirl on the floor, said hi to the bear, and to these guys. But then I’d sort of seen everything. And an awful Whedon panel assured me it was time to seek food downtown. Hit an amazing wine bar, where I had balsamic lamb and goat cheese beignets. Made friends with the server and the manager; I persuaded the latter to leave work, so we hit a beer bar before returning to close the place down.

Then it was time for home and sheets I’m not allergic to!

Since I’ve been back, I’ve been getting ready for summer session, which starts for me tomorrow, catching up on doctors’ appointments, saying goodbye to two dear Oakland friends, going on poetry dates with MD (we saw Robert Haas, Kazim Ali, and Sharon Olds read at the Crocker), trying to get over the tragedy of Prometheus (review: just a head shake), and briefly hitting the French Film Festival.

I’ve quit writing for Matchflick after four years, but if there are any really great movies, you’ll still hear about them here.

P.S. Here’s a great little comic recommended by Scott McCloud: http://imgur.com/gallery/uBYbJ (the artist was 17).