Reading over yesterday’s post, I realize I’ve missed a zillion little things. Like finally meeting Val McDermid (was that Wednesday night?) and getting a peek under supervillain Ali Karim’s sinister white glove at his irradiated Godzilla hand (Thursday?) But if I let myself do the full on Romper Room magic mirror list of every single person I saw, we’ll be here all day. So, onward into Friday.
Friday lunch had been set aside for catching up with Vince and Rosemarie Keenan. I’m still cursing myself for not snapping a photo with them, but I want to go on public record saying I knew them when. That way, I can collect major coolness points for being ahead of the curve after their mega-bestselling mystery series takes off like a rocket. Which it will. Because it’s fucking brilliant. You’ll see.
After lunch was my turn to sign at the B-Con 2011 table. And while nobody actually asked me to sign anything, I still made good use of my time by introducing children of deprived nations to the venerable American pastime known as Mad Libs.
It was Jon Jordan’s idea to have each writer at the table fill out a Mad Lib for Jen, who was not able to attend this year. But everybody (well, everybody who isn’t some kind of foreign commie) knows that Mad Libs are no fun if you read them before filling them out. So when Russel McLean and Martyn Waites made the mistake of wandering by, the unsuspecting authors found themselves Shanghaied into Mistress Christa’s Mad Lib Grammar 101.
Martyn went first and proved to be surprisingly rusty on the difference between verbs (or “doey words”) and adjectives (or “describy words.”) I’m starting to suspect he may have made up that business about being a professor at Cambridge just to get me to marry him. On the other hand, sharing a poetic, deeply moving phrase like “Invasion of the Cucumber Snatchers” is better than crotchless panties for keeping the romance alive in a long term relationship.
Then it was the young Scotsman’s turn, and Russel managed to make Professor Waites look like Grammar Goddess June Casagrande. But I have to give him extra credit for his creative use of the word “cuntybaws.” Possibly a Mad Lib first.
Once the Mad Libs were done, I finally hooked up with buxom B-Con newbie Maria Alexander. Needless to say, she’d been fighting off amorous authors left and right from the moment she arrived, but those dorks had absolutely no idea who they were dealing with. Just because she’s new to B-Con doesn’t mean she was born yesterday, boys, and anyone dumb enough to ignore the rattle is gonna get bit.
I really wanted to make it over to the Mullholland Books party but Friday was also Toastmaster Eddie Muller’s birthday, so I wound up at his birthday dinner instead. Me and the Czar of Noir go way back. So far back that I agreed to do a write up about him for the program book. And remember, kids, I’m the gal who hates blurbing so much that I agonize for weeks over one lousy line.
Which brings me to the thing that I really hated about this year’s B-Con. No Donna Moore. Donna’s input really made that write up for Eddie. She should have been next to me at that birthday dinner.
I had such big plans for that broad. We were gonna drive back to LA together. I had Hollywood historian Kari Bible booked to give us a private tour of Hollywood Forever. Pleasant Gehman helped me plan a punk rock walking tour of legendary dives and squats. Joan Renner gave me locations and addresses for a mini Bukowski tour and was gonna meet us for drinks at Musso and Frank. I even have a pair of size 8 Iron Fist shoes sitting in my closet, waiting for Donna. Bottom line, B-Con’s just not the same without her. So get well soon, dollface. We all missed you like crazy.
But, Donna-shaped hole notwithstanding, we still kicked out all the stops for Eddie’s birthday. After we returned from the dinner, Judy, Martyn, Erica, Lauren Henderson and I headed up to Eddie’s suite to continue the merrymaking. I believe that was the infamous “elevator incident” in which Martyn and I decided to marry everyone in the elevator, including (if I remember correctly) a couple of nice older ladies who just happened to be staying in the hotel and had nothing to do with B-Con.
In Eddie’s suite, I took my second favorite photo of my wife Judy. (This is my favorite) Martyn and I also tried and utterly failed to impress Erica with our plan for a hit TV series. However, I have a most excellent blackmail photo that may convince her to change her mind. Or if not, maybe I can use it to leverage my way into Harrogate.
Tune in tomorrow for the next exciting episode of B-Con Follies: In Which Your Not-So-Humble Narrator REALLY Can’t Get Started.