Oh Lord, Show Me A Sign

Must Be The Nap

It's 2:30 am and feels like 1:00. I've printed my Baycon must-see schedule, the post-its for the chocolate fountain (just add room #), and am now cranking out special editions of my calling card, one which only has my on-line personae.

Party!

Phoned the Marriott this morning to make sure I had late check-in guarunteed. Yup, I did, and they also confirmed my room was tagged as a party room. They won't give me a room number till I check in, though.

This means I'll have to find a block of time Saturday and Sunday nights to have the room open.

Crackers

A reply on figmo's LJ prompted me to go look up one of my favorite Marx Brothers bits. From Animal Crackers, the same movie which gave us Capt. Spaulding's infamous Hello, I Must be Going. Near and dear to all performer (or should be):

Spaulding: What do you fellas get an hour?
Ravelli: For playing, we get-a ten dollars an hour.
Spaulding: I see. What do you get for not playing?
Ravelli: Twelve dollars an hour.
Spaulding: Well, clip me off a piece of that.
Ravelli: Now for rehearsing, we make special rate. That's-a fifteen dollars an hour...That's-a for rehearsing.
Spaulding: And what do you get for not rehearsing?
Ravelli: You couldn't afford it.

Almost...

Everything is loaded into suitcases except a couple of rolls of paper towels, and the 10 copies of Howeird's Grossest Hits, of which the last one is cranking through the printer right now. I have more stuff for this weekend than I've ever packed for any trip, but it's mostly food so it's all good. Two more suitcases needed to be loaded into the car with me, and then I'm off. With luck I'll be at the hotel before 9.