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madrobinsI spent the weekend in New York (which always makes me deeply happy), staying with Delia Sherman and Ellen Kushner in their amazing apartment (every book I've ever read, and all the ones I've been meaning to get to, plus astonishing things... including a Golux hat, and if I have to explain that to you, go read James Thurber's The Thirteen Clocks). But I was there to meet with my various co-authors (Delia, Mary Robinette Kowal, Liz Duffy Adams, and Barbara Samuel) on a project for Serial Box that will be coming out in the Spring next year. Three days of intense brainstorming, punctuated by hilarity, new friendships, 21-year-old Scotch, more hilarity, and so. much. good. food.
And now I have to go learn everything about the Restoration, so pardon me if I'm a little scarce.
And then there was the getting home. I'd flown in to Newark, and as one does, had assumed I was flying out of Newark. Except, back when I bought the tickets I arranged to fly out of JFK, because the schedule was better. Of course, I forgot all that until I had arrived, at 4:30, at Newark, for a 6:30 flight out of JFK.
I was told that, given the crazy of scheduling, I'd do better to hop in a cab and get myself to JFK. On a Sunday. In traffic. It's about 30 miles, but by the time I was in a cab heading for the Rockaways it took all of an hour and 10 minutes. I begged and pleaded with TSA and all the people in front of me, and got pushed to the head of the queue (with another guy who had gone first to Laguardia--not nearly as stupid, but dumb enough) and arrived at the gate just as they were about to close the doors.
Except, of course, that there had been serious fires in Northern California, and our flight was delayed by Air Traffic Control for two hours because there was smoke hovering over SFO and it might endanger landing. Instead of arriving at a decent 10pm so Danny could pick me up, it was more like 11:45 (there's a reason they build in extra time to their schedules).
I am home. Bleary, but home. And props to the United staff for being calming and sweet when I roared up at the last nanosecond, and for the on-flight crew for keeping their sense of humor with a plane full of people who might otherwise have rioted.
Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to go read up on Charles II and his wife.
And now I have to go learn everything about the Restoration, so pardon me if I'm a little scarce.
And then there was the getting home. I'd flown in to Newark, and as one does, had assumed I was flying out of Newark. Except, back when I bought the tickets I arranged to fly out of JFK, because the schedule was better. Of course, I forgot all that until I had arrived, at 4:30, at Newark, for a 6:30 flight out of JFK.
I was told that, given the crazy of scheduling, I'd do better to hop in a cab and get myself to JFK. On a Sunday. In traffic. It's about 30 miles, but by the time I was in a cab heading for the Rockaways it took all of an hour and 10 minutes. I begged and pleaded with TSA and all the people in front of me, and got pushed to the head of the queue (with another guy who had gone first to Laguardia--not nearly as stupid, but dumb enough) and arrived at the gate just as they were about to close the doors.
Except, of course, that there had been serious fires in Northern California, and our flight was delayed by Air Traffic Control for two hours because there was smoke hovering over SFO and it might endanger landing. Instead of arriving at a decent 10pm so Danny could pick me up, it was more like 11:45 (there's a reason they build in extra time to their schedules).
I am home. Bleary, but home. And props to the United staff for being calming and sweet when I roared up at the last nanosecond, and for the on-flight crew for keeping their sense of humor with a plane full of people who might otherwise have rioted.
Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to go read up on Charles II and his wife.