So, I was just in Chicago for exactly 29 hours. It was fun way to spend two vacation days, in the way that sitting in a conference room talking about technology articles is fun. But there were cookies. And no Starbucks. At one point, an editor walked in with a cup bearing the telltale green siren and editrix and I were both fixated upon it. ‘Where did you get that?’ we mewled at him and wondered if perhaps he had brought us some as well. The editor looked at us and smiled, ‘Just walk out the Wabash exit, walk up to the corner, then up two blocks&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9- ‘Two blocks!’ we both cried. No thanks. We both turned up our noses at the idea of walking through the hellacious heat and humidity and were vaguely miffed that there was not a Starbucks just outside the elevator of the Palmer House Hilton. Which, much to my dismay, also did not have rock stars staying there. Nice smelling, recently showered, off drugs and high on life rock stars. However, also thankfully, no crazy Shining twins in the hallways either. Nor Paris Hilton with a cock in her mouth. Phew.
We also had mai tais at Trader Vics. It would have been pina coladas, but after dinner at a restaurant with an air conditioning theory, our hair was no longer perfect.
The only thing I wrote down at the meeting:
‘Keep chewing. It’ll be gum soon.’
It was really funny, but maybe you just had to be there. Or any arctic poorly lit conference room for eight hours.
On the way out of town, I made certain to stop at the Lake County Moasis because they had a Starbucks, and was rewarded with a Mocha Malt Frappuchino, which I thought they had stopped allowing because it is just too damned tasty for its own good, much like the Peanut Butter Penza bar. And that is just silly, thinking the Starbucks people had gone all moral. Starbucks is about hedonism. Just look at the damned pastries!
There was a gaggle of nuns in the Moasis. A gaggle of very young looking nuns. The tallest one was wearing the Mother Superior type of extra thingy and she was either extraordinarily beautiful or wearing foundation and lipstick. Can nuns wear lipstick? And more importantly, do they choose Lanc’me or L’Oreal?
I wanted to follow them around the Moasis to see what they did, but I still had another two hours drive ahead of me. They looked really happy, these nuns. I assume they had just spotted the Starbucks. I walked back to my car and turned to see where they were going, but just like that, they were gone. Probably trying to solve a problem like Maria.
That would have been really funny if it were 1964. My sense of humor has obviously undergone some past-life regression.
Since I read a story by Glimmer Train Girl about the afterlife, I’ve been thinking about my concept of heaven. My first thought would be a country house with high ceilings and a room with a solid table and a good bookshelf filled with all of those books you’ve been meaning to write, and an open screenless window letting in a soft breeze that smelled of the ocean and next to your reading chair would be a pitcher of grapeade, sweating just a little, and a delicate china plate with some perfectly ripe strawberries and the most incredibly sweet watermelon, just waiting for you to snack upon. But then I decided instead it would be a mansion or maybe a castle like Hogwarts (by the way, anyone who spoils Book 6 for me WILL BE DRAWN AND QUARTERED and also talked about in less-than-complimentary terms), and one room would be like Starbucks, soft muted tones, comfy sofas, the right music for your mood at that moment, the best food and coffees and games you could ask for. And another room would have a wonderful bed with the gossamer sheets and your great great grandmother’s quilt. And then I decided that it would get boring, having everything you wanted, just as you wanted it. Maybe something would have to be off, like seeds in the melon or a day that is a little too warm. Maybe without the desire or the ability to make things better, we’re never going to be happy. And if things were perfect, we’d never realize it, because we’d be waiting for the other shoe to drop so we could work towards something better. Or maybe it’s just me.
Glimmer Train Girl had a better idea of heaven (or maybe it was purgatory, that was sort of the point of the story) of course. That’s why she’s going to be in Glimmer Train.
The comments section wants to know what it’s going to take to get you to Journalcon
