The voices in my head don't think they're imaginary - Sunday in Madison with ... Wiscon!

OK, that subject line is lame, but I'm still trying to recover from last night. I was up until 4 a.m. hanging out at the Tor party and the Wheatland/Scribe/Farrago's Wainscot party, boozing it up with awesome people like mme_publisher, catrambo (and guest of, who is a very charming gentleman), therinth (my first F2F with her--a lovely lady!), ecmyers, dotar_sojat, and heatherlindsley (who I have just syndicated, even though she does not know it, mwaahahah!) I also met a passel of interesting folks who have LJs who aren't my friends yet, but I intend to rectify that little oversight post haste.

(You know, every time I use the words "post haste," I flash back to the Baz Luhrmann version of "Romeo+Juliet" where someone sent something via a FedEx style envelope, except it wasn't "FedEx", it was "Post Haste." I found that so groaningly bad, so hideously wrong, that I have been scarred for it by life and can never use "post haste" the way I used to.)

In other news, I finally caught up with douglain, by the way. Many Diet Soaps were handed out. Many more Diet Soaps were used as fans throughout the night. But at least they're in the hands of the masses, where they belong, being used as a tool against the power-mad depredations of the patriarchy. Or as fans to cool off. It's all good.

Now I'm at Michelangelo's coffee shop, listening to Philip Glass (which is really rather good as hangover music ... IF YOU'RE A MASOCHIST) and trying to get some writing done. My Tin House story isn't going to write itself, no matter how much I wish it would.