Because it was healthier to go out into the world and get on with things rather than call in sick and sit on the couch crying while making my way through a bottle of Whaler's and a dvd pile of our favorite movies, after leaving work yesterday I attended the CBLDF event at Golden Apple. It was great fun! And the moolah raised necessary.
I took no pictures because I didn't bring the camera due to the level of paranoia I have with the dress, which I've only worn once before. The camera is big & old-school, it's heavy, it has a strap, I didn't want the strap rubbing on the dress. My level of paranoia over the dress is so vast that while geeking out over ! Bill Morrison ! at the event, I was still cognizant enough to let him know that if any of that red wine sloshing in that little plastic cup of his spilled upon the dress? He dies. He understood, as did anybody else with liquid near me who got the Fish Eye. I also wore the big coat to protect the dress during the terrifying walk between the parking space and the front door (total distance - 9 feet), because of one single drop of rain landed on that dress I would have had to hunt down and murder mother nature. Nobody wants that.
So these pictures were not taken by me. They come courtesy of (and belong to) Pinguino, who was very nice about it when Moi, a stranger, lept upon her and asked if she would please o please take a picture of Me & the Marders & the Beanworld Dress.
You can't see it all, but my accessories include the Chris Ware purse, the Carolyln Forsman banned books bracelet and the Souther Salazar necklace, all of which I showed to the Marders as part of my unrelenting campaign to get more quality female-centered comics merchandise into marketplace.
Anywho, click on the link to Pinguino's site. She's an artist & pro photog with great shots in her gallery of Gaiman & Rodriguez at the Scream Awards. I *love* the Rodriguez shot. Trust me, it's not easy to get a good head shot, let alone a drama shot, at a red carpet event. Nice stuff.
Meanwhile, I am in the final stretch. No really, I mean it this time. I'm leaving on a jet plane and this *must* be done and programmed in to roll via autoposts before I go. Plus, if I don't end this soon a whole bunch of people are going to come to my house and do a beat down. As one said in passing recently - It's not the New Yorker, it's just a blog. What the fuck is WRONG with you? I was all, !you wound me! and made with the pouty, trembling bottom lip. But that admonition was true words spoken. Not that I'll ever admit that. In fact, I'll even deny writing this confession.
I should have had Unclassified take a picture the day she showed up unannounced when I was standing in the middle of the living room surrounded by various marked-up drafts laid out on the floor in a complicated pattern only I grok. She goes "I'll call you," turned around and left. (She's seen this before, and it wigs her out.) Jonathan Strange would understand, that's all I gotta say.