I'm sick

A particularly intense stomach crud is going around, and I now have it. I'll spare you the details.

While I'm away, enjoy this comic, which Griffin turned me on to and which always cheers me.

I suppose that says something about me.

Now, back to being sick.

A PSA I can get behind

The cause is good, and the presentation is wonderful.



Thanks to my buddy, Griffin, for turning me on to this.

Best lines: "We need a volunteer that ain't breathin'. Here's one I made earlier."

Enjoy.

On the road again: San Francisco, day 2

Morning and into the early afternoon was work, as was most of the evening, but between those two times my friend, fellow writer, and blog comment poster, Griffin, led a private walking tour of parts of San Francisco that he knows very well. Along the way, we got to spend some time visiting with friends Alan Beatts and Jude Feldman of the wonderful Borderlands Books and the equally lovely Borderlands Cafe; I could happily spend all day in those two places.

Lunch was at the Ti Couz Creperie, where I enjoyed an orange drink and a crepe with ham, cheese, and egg (the "complete").

We walked for hours, pausing in the middle for sinfully delicious and old-fashioned milkshakes at the St. Francis Fountain, another place I could happily park for long periods.

Dinner was at celebrity chef Chris Cosentino's place, Incanto. The food there is rich and marvelous. We began with a salumi plate, and then I had a special dish of pork-blood pappardelle--yes, broad noodles made from pork blood--with trotter meat off the bone and foie gras. I couldn't finish it; in fact, I didn't even try. It was just that rich.

Tomorrow night is the SF in SF event at which Amelia Beamer and I are the two guest writers. If you're in the Bay Area, you should definitely come by and say hi.

The Motorized Hot Dog Throne of Doom

Enough folks have bugged me about this reference that I'm finally going to relent and explain it.

One night at World Fantasy Con in San Jose, four of us--Griffin, Ticia, Jennie, and I--were holding down a corner of the lovely and huge lobby bar area. We were all very, very tired, and at least one of us was drinking, though not excessively. I believe I had just finished doing the Liars Panel and so was buzzed from performing.

In other words, the area was ripe with potential for silliness.

We began discussing my strange desire to own this amazing hot dog statue, which I've discussed before in this blog. Someone remarked--I'm not hiding anyone's role, I just can't remember who said what because it all unfolded very quickly--on the fact that this thing had a wheeled base.

We then remembered that it was also available in a three-foot version.

From there, it was a short leap to welding a seat on the front of the six-foot hot dog, bolting the two three-foot statues to either side of the big one for stability, and in a move of Tool Guy-like genius, attaching a large motor to the back of the whole thing.

We were almost there, but something was lacking. What could it be?

Guns, of course! Water pistols and such for play, real weapons for serious combat.

Voila! The Motorized Hot Dog Throne of Doom!

I would so drive that around the house and down the sidewalk at the beach, perhaps with a jaunty shade duct-taped to the big dog's mustard bottle to protect me from the sun.

I know, I know: You had to be there. But we were, and we laughed so hard I thought I was going to die.

I do, though, still want that contraption.