Friday,
October 26, 2001

Another ding letter

Oh, well -- got a ding letter from ASIMOV'S for "I Play Dead." Not really surprising, but kind of a pity -- I thought of all people that Gardner would get a kick out of this one.

It'll be sent out again just as soon as I can figure out why my laptop no longer wants to talk to my printer. And yes, I know the cause -- I installed MacOS 9.1 last weekend, which probably screwed with various settings ("What do you mean, you haven't upgraded your OS? Why not?" This is what happens when I listen to a devout tech-head who shall remain anonymous but whose name rhymes with Steve -- for this, he gets to come over here and figure out why the system isn't working). I wound up downloading the latest version of the printer driver, installed it, made sure the extensions are on, and I STILL can't print. The truly weird thing is that sometimes when I click on the printer type in the Chooser, it allows me to pick the right settings for the printer -- at other times, the laptop claims that I'm not hooked up to a printer at all.

Yes, I'm hooked up. Yes, the printer is on. Yes, all the cables are sound and installed in their correct sockets. So I am mucho confused, not to mention moderately irritated.

Bah. I wave my paw at technology.

Remind me again how I get myself into these situations, please?

Oh, who am I kidding -- it was all due to ennui and a desire to use the HOV lane on LBJ. In any case, I wound up going to one of the Man from McKinney's 20th high school reunion parties tonight (apparently Lake Highlands HS does an entire weekend worth of events -- Texas luxury. On the South Side of Chicago, you show up at Mr. D's Villa, eat tepid mostacolli while trying not to breathe in the cigarette smoke fogging you in on all sides, and you're grateful, I tell you, grateful for the experience).

I must admit, it was actually a lot of fun. We headed off directly from work and stopped off at his old neighborhood and high school for a mini-tour, where I got to listen to the marching band warming up outside before the Homecoming game (and they had a kick-ass drum line -- made me itch to have a horn in my hands again). Then we visited one of his film club friends to deliver buttons, and grabbed a fast dinner before heading off to the main event at a bar and grill.

I was there pretty much to provide moral support (as well as confusion to the other attendees, as he would be going to the formal party tomorrow night with Anne -- we were undecided whether he should introduce me as his parole officer, his nurse or claim a conversion to Mormonism). But you know me -- I love parties of all sorts, so I had a grand old time wandering around, eavesdropping on various conversations while feeling decidedly underdressed (my top wasn't low-cut enough and didn't have nearly enough sequins on it) and being amused by various guys walking up to me and saying, "Melanie! My God, girl, haven't seen you in years -- how are you?" (Yeah, nice try, honey. I wasn't even born in this state.) In between, I worked on story notes while Steve was circulating and taking pictures (I just went to the website to see them, and was amused to notice the back of my head showing up in the foreground of one of the shots. Yet more official proof of my existence!).

I also had more to drink than I've had in years, mainly due to the fact that for once I wasn't the designated driver. So two margaritas, a double Bailey's on ice, a rum and coke and a Long Island Iced Tea later, I was feeling no pain (or the tip of my nose) and was highly amused by all the goings-on and yodeling drawls around me. And yes, I behaved like a complete lady at all times -- I was there as an official escort for a friend, after all, so it wouldn't do to encourage dancing on the tables, calling up the Pope or generally behaving like Mom after a pitcher of martinis.

Besides, that was gonna happen tomorrow night, at MY party. There is such a thing as pacing yourself, after all.