Laurell K. Hamilton will be at a con in D.C. in November. The registration fee for the convention is $145. Now, I love her books, and I did meet her last October at a book signing, but that’s enough to take a class at NOVA. Let’s see – improve my mind, or blow the money on a con just so I can see one author I’m interested in? You’ll forgive me if I use the money for college.
But yeah, I did meet her, when she was at the Barnes & Noble up near D.C. (No, I don’t fucking know where it was – that was a long confusing night of bad directions and much frustration. There was a university near it. Off of Seminary. Maybe.) Anyway, our group consisted of me, Cathy, & Nicole. I was tormenting Cathy by offering to show Ms. Hamilton my undies, since they were matching black (just like the heroine of her books!). Cathy offered to kill me.
They had us write our names down on bits of paper so that she would spell it correctly when she signed our books. My name is rare in the U.S., and Celtic, which went along nicely with her latest book at the time. I knew Laurell K. would say something about it, and I planned a little conversation in my head. Everyone comments on my name when they first hear it/see it. I was behind Cathy, so I got to watch Cathy go up, get her book signed, and squeak with terror every time Laurell K. said something to her.
I got up there and the conversation went something like this:
LK – “Hey, you’ve got a gorgeous name. What does it mean in Celtic?”
Me – “Oh, thank you, it means ‘ivory’.”
LK – “Are either of your parents of Celtic descent?”
Me – “Actually, my mother got it from a song that was popular when she was a teenager. The song was about a mermaid.”
LK – “Really? I’m not familiar with that song.”
Me – ::smiles:: “Well, I’d offer to sing it for you, but I’ve only heard my mother sing it, so I can’t guarantee the results.”And then, boys and girls, she laughed! I made Laurell K. laugh! And it wasn’t a pity laugh! Then, Cathy got our picture taken with her, and we left. She was furious with me for actually having a conversation with the goddess herself. I felt really bad, because part of the reason I wasn’t squeaking with terror is that I’ve met too many musicians that I’d admired and found them to be pretty much the same as the dorks I hang out with. No fonts of wisdom, no top-secret powers, just people. Cathy hasn’t had the same experience, so she still has big-time stars in her eyes when it comes to anyone famous.
And really, if Laurell K. had been one of the very few people who didn’t comment on my name, I wouldn’t have had a clue about what to say to her. I’m not big on conversation.
We tried out yet another goddamn drummer on Saturday. Honestly, Aaron is showing now discernment whatsoever when it comes to the people responding to our ad. This guy actually said that he couldn’t be in a band that played fast, and Aaron invited him to try out. Now, this wastes everyone’s time; and besides, Dirk had already talked to the guy and told him that he wasn’t what we were looking for – he just called again. So, Dirk and I drag ourselves to practice and guess what? He’s worthless as a drummer. Halfway through one song he was tired. He said that our music was too ‘intense’.
He kept insisting that what we really needed to do, was get gigs and worry about getting a drummer after we had a gig set up. Um. No. That’s actually pretty fucking stupid, especially when we keep getting yahoos like him responding to our ads. Then, he had to stop, sit around while he waited for his friends to show up, looking bored. So bored, apparently, that he just fucking wandered back into the practice room, picked up Dirk’s guitar without asking and started playing it. Meanwhile, he sang the most bullshit soft/pop lyrics I have ever heard; he made them up himself. Aaron went into the room and started pounding on the drums to throw the guy off.
Jesus, why do all the freaks respond to our ads? A couple weeks ago I got a guy in his mid-to-late thirties calling about the singer ad (which hadn’t been running in over a month). I asked him about his experience, and he said he didn’t have any besides singing karaoke all the time. At this point, I decided this was my ex-boyfriend trying to play an idiotic joke on me, and played along. I asked him what his musical interests were, and responded with Pearl Jam and Godsmack. Ugh. And I asked him if he was familiar with any actual punk bands, and he said, “Oh, you mean like Korn?” I told him we’d get back to him and hung up on him.
No, I don’t think it was my ex, but he honestly sounded just like him.
Okay, I’m going to go look at some X-files fanfic now, because I’m superdeformed and my blood is wrong. I’d be eternally gratified if they did a Mulder & Scully porn flick.
