Silly announcement of the day:

Last night, Trevor claimed, in all seriousness, to be 23. He doesn't remember this at all, but has changed his answer back to 24.

Hmmm...

October 24, 1998.

"I wish you were queen, just for today."- marilyn manson

It's Saturday night, and I have no plans at all. I don't even have default watching teevee plans. I just can't work myself up to do anything...especially since I've partied with almost everyone that I love in the last 2 days. If I'm very lucky, and the Varsity is all laid out by a reasonable hour, Sister Sunshine will bring "Crumb" over.

But for now, I'm just content. Yeah.

Yesterday was a year and a day after my interview with Poppy Z. Brite, and all of the attendant excitement. Fittingly enough, yesterday I was scheduled for a 45-minute interview with Spider Robinson, another one of my favourite authors. I met him three years ago at a science fiction convention, and was mightily impressed by the friendliness of him & his lovely wife Jeanne. So now that most of my horrible fan girlishness was out of the way, I thought that it would go well.

Except that I had no idea what to talk about - he's here for the festival, not a new book - so I had no natural material. I had no doubt that I could get him talking, cause I'm really good at the low-intensity interview, I just wondered if he would consider it a waste of his time at the end.

Trevor decided to tag along, if I had no objections. I searched for journalist's pride & found none. Since I had recommended Spider's books to Trevor at the beginning of the summer, it was the next logical step to take him along. I was a bit afraid that Trevor'd be all serious - he's an awfully serious journalist - but he was great. Better than great: he managed to start a sentence "Francis Bacon said..." and end it without wanking. Not an easy feat.

The interview itself was pretty damn cool. We were early & Spider was late, so we sat scamming the food laid out for the press, and I was very stickily involved with a Golden Delicious apple when Spider walked in & offered his hand. I explained the situation; he shook my hand anyway. An auspicious beginning, I thought...as when Tina Weymouth of The Talking Heads complimented me on my name & my figure-skater-gone-bad tunic when I walked in the room. The interview proper was conducted in a bedroom, which I found extremely amusing. Trevor & Spider took the chairs around the coffee-table. I took off my shoes & sprawled out on the floor, confident that my purple & black tights would nullify the effect of the fuck-me skirt & Bauhaus baby-t.

And then we talked. For 2 hours. Once Spider determined that yes, we had actually read extensively from his work, he stopped explaining the series & just began to talk. Trevor & I had 15 questions between us, but we only got to ask about 10 of them. It was...awesome. Paradoxically, though, I expect awesomeness of Spider, so I wasn't surprised...just comfortable. Happy. Relaxed. A good interview. As Spider said on the way out, "I had a good time, you had a good time, and that's the definition of a party." I'm a very lucky girl, aren't I? To party with such a man? Yeah.

I was subsequently given a press ticket to his reading that night, where he read from the next Callahan's book. Walked in the room filled with confidence from my interview, and managed to spin it into devastating charm...well, it devastated three science fiction fans, at least. I was trying to get a closer seat, and I felt moved to sparkle when asking for the seat...and I kept sparkling for whole minutes afterwards. The most confident I've been in my entire life. I fucking steamrollered them with charm, friends. So odd for me.

"Is that his name? I keep thinking of him as Trevor..."

- poet, infected by the diary

Then it was off to Ein.stein's for Preacher's birthday...that traditional drink-till-you're-blind night in late October, where I'm the freakiest-looking chick at the table (well, it's mostly divinity students, so what the hell.) As one of the authors that night said, dressing like a slut is fun. Made a spectacle of myself climbing over things a few times (I will not back down from a dare, and I will not run away from a hug, even if I have to climb on the table to get it). The waiter commented on my outfit...I've been in there so many times over the years that I'm a familiar sight to the staff, sigh sigh sigh.

Felt like the golden girl, which is something I haven't felt in ages. Tiger Lily does that bit so much better than me, but she was not invited tonight. So I sparkled & spun & shone. Lawyer actually beckoned me over to talk, which I enjoyed immensely. Poet praised the beauty of Trevor as the boy battled mightily with Exodus at the fooze-ball table. Apropos of nothing, Preacher asked me how often I'd had sex with Mr. Blonde, and then refused to accept my answer. My midriff was also judged passable by a small panel of amateurs, although my waist departed for parts unknown in first year. I smoked a couple of Colts & downed a ninestein, for the first time in ages. Even Palaver seemed especially happy to see me, and he sees a lot more of me than the others do.

We boozed it up good, and it was fine.

Finally:

"When Exodus & I go to this science fiction workshop, I can name-drop! When I get to the table, I'll say, 'I just interviewed Spider Robinson with my girlfriend yesterday.' And their heads will all swivel around:

"'You have a girlfriend??'"

- trevor's plans for today

one year ago today: I thought I wanted him back