One Saturday, Lost to the Ages

[akirlu]

Not that it was a bad Saturday, it just went by so fleetingly fast.

My last dream before waking was a rather confusing one, involving a bicoastal fan party at a balconied clifftop beach house, set in a little band of hardwood trees. At one point I was wrestling around in the leafmold, fighting off someone who was trying to stab me to death. Evidently I should have let him, as it turned out that the assassin's knife was the sorcerous TAFF dagger, and the assailant managed to kill someone else with it instead. As You Know, the person who has most recently blooded the TAFF dagger controls all TAFF. But as you may not know, the person whose blood was spilled controls the person who controls the TAFF dagger. I was just having a hard time working out how I was going to manage controling the nefarious wielder of the dagger, once I was already dead. No prizes will be awarded for guessing who the dagger-wielding assassin was.

TAFF politics is tricky, let me tell you.

Got up, got conscious, faffed about on the computer a bit. Tea and bacon-and-egg sandwiches were consumed while we lounged about in front of old episodes of Monty Python, most of which Hal has never seen. Hal bought us the entire series on DVD last night at Half Price. He also bought me the 25-year-Jubilee-of-Taschen-Books two volume History of Fashion. Wall to wall lush, utterly ravishing photos, all of clothes in the collection of the Kyoto Institute of Fashion, covering the 18th through 20th centuries. I had no idea I needed to go to Kyoto quite so urgently. The collection appears to be on the order of the Bath one merged with the Victoria and Albert one, then cubed and squared. The silks, my god, the silks.

Eventually got myself dressed and we stopped by Wallingford so that I could spend too much money on sterling hardware at Fusion beads. Then we trundled vaguely southeast to the butt end of Capitol Hill and The Elysian to eat, drink, and be half-deafened. I've never seen the place so busy, and yet they would insist on playing the stereo anyway. Still, had a lovely time chattering away at the tops of our voices about the usual mix of politics, SF, gossip, and whingeing, with daveon and fringefaan and jerrykaufman and Suzle WINOLJ. I'm not convinced Dave saved all that many calories by drinking the horrifying jalepeno margaritas instead of beer, but I'm here to testify that I saw not one drop of beer pass his lips.

On our way home from dropping Ramdu off, we had to navigate around some of the new traffic circles I believe our boy committed landscaping on just a few short weekends ago.

EDIT: I am correctly reminded that it should be "svtompkins WNPOLJ" instead of "Suzle WINOLJ".

Comments

[peteyoung.livejournal.com]

Suzle is svtompkins. Jalapeno margaritas... WTF?

[randy-byers.livejournal.com]

I had a sip, and it actually wasn't horrible. Although "jalapeno margaritas ... WTF?" sounds like the chanted chorus of a punk song.

[akirlu.livejournal.com]

I confess I never did actually take a taste off Dave's drink, so I'm only inferring that it was horrible. I wasn't drinking beer yesterday owing to this lingering virus thing, and it seemed unwise to taste the blender monstrosity while sober. But there were floating seeds and slices of jalepeño in it, all of which lead me to strongly feel it was A Very Bad Idea for a mixed drink.

I also can't explain why The Elysian were featuring such a drink. The general theme for the superfluous "specials" added to the menu seemed to be Halloween-as-represented-by-sticking-pumpkins-where-they-don't-belong, as in pumpkin-flavored beer and so forth, so I'm not exactly sure where the jalepeño comes in. Unless the general theme was actually sticking vegetables where they don't belong.

[mjlayman.livejournal.com]

I believe you passed the germ of your dream to me this morning. I was at a party and I had to identify the traitor but every time I turned around, it was all new people. When the alarm went off, I was sidling around the outside of the room to make sure the people didn't change.

[wild-patience.livejournal.com]

Fannish dreams must be going around. I woke up Saturday morning after dreaming that PNH had told me that Art Widner had died. I was glad to wake up and find that was not the case!