Monday was an adventure.

Terry Pratchett (pTerry) was in Chicago for a signing in Naperville (where they disappear you if you're not picturesque enough. Seriously, dood, you'll wake up in Siberia for painting your porch swing the wrong shade of taupe), I found out Saturday night when the Unusual Suspects descended on my home (minus maure, who was sleeping) like the loveable horde they are.

So Monday, I got up at 5:45am, got to work at 6:30, and left for Naperville at 1:30pm. I took the red line to the brown line (which inexplicably took half an hour instead of the usual 15 minutes, throwing off the entire rest of the trip) and the Union. Got onto the 2:28pm Naperville express train with all of maybe 10 minutes to spare. Got to Naperville, and attempted to use the directions that gal from the store had given me to walk from the train station to the bookshop. However, for reasons I cannot explain, she tried giving me directions using nothing but landmarks that meant bugger all, and never actually gave me any street names until the very end. Apparently, I am a guy. Give me street names and which way to turn, and cardinal directions and actual distances, and I'm happy. This "Okay, now, walk towards the museum" crap doesn't help me.

So I ended up getting there about 3:20pm or so. Debbie was already there, and was saving seats, and I ran over to the shop's little bathroom because I'd had to pee for about two hours. Knocked on the door to see if there was anyone in there.

There was. And he let me know by opening the bathroom door to tell me, while still sitting on the toilet, doing his business.

Right. So, praise heaven above for long-tailed men's button-down shirts.

Also? Eeeeeeew! I think the guy was actually touched in the head, as when he finally did leave, he didn't flush (ick!) and wandered around the store, muttering. Who knew Naperville had Uptown-style crazies? I'm surprised Stepford doesn't take them and turn them into soylent green. Maybe they do. Maybe I am the last human alive to ever see that poor befuddled freak show of a guy ever again, and no one will ever know what happened to him...

pTerry was actually outside the shop, sitting on a bench when I got there, chatting with someone, so at about 3:30, he came in and pointed out that if he signed books until 4pm, instead of peering around corners to see if we were all still there, that might make more sense. So he did, and then right at 4at 4, he started his talk which was a brief history of how a geeky kid obsessed with reading became a world-famous author who owns many many greenhouses and his own observatory.

Afterwards, he asked if there were any questions, so I asked "How many people in the last 4 days have asked you about the Good Omens movie?" and he said 27, including me. Even tho that was actually the answer I was looking for (because I am, as previously noted, a freak) he then actually did fill folks in on the current state of the project (which would be dead in the water, tho for the first time, I heard Gilliam was no longer attached). But at this point, I think it's just as well it never gets made. It would have been fun, but I don't trust Hollywood to do anything right, so anyway, there you go.

I had a blissful moment when pTerry went to sign my book and said "Tara? Like the hill of Kings!," in the exact tone of voice 99% of the time I hear "Tara? Like Gone With The Wind!" and I think my smile grew 200% and I thanked him for being fabulous. Got my Maurice signed, and my ancient and crumbling copy of Truckers (which I bought in a used bookshop in Ireland when I went for Rona's wedding).

Afterwards, Mary, Deb and I went to a pub and had supper, and a kickass dessert, and then Mary drove Deb and me home in the Pinkmobile.

Of course, the rest of the week has not been so much a happy adventure. Woke up yesterday with the mother of all sore throats, yet more proof that spring is actually here. In a fit of productivity this morning once I stopped swallowing without feeling like I had steel wool in my throat, I decided to attempt to clean out my office, which has a year's worth of magazines, magazine clippings, old mail, restaurant menus, comics books, and just crap all over it. "Attempt" being the main word there. I threw out 2 trash bags of junk, but both office and living room currently look like homeless people squat in my apartment.

Hello, my name is LJC, and I'm a packrat.

I went to the comic book store and got 5 magazine boxes, a thingie of bags and a thingie of boards, because I keep magazines. I keep pretty much every magazine I've ever bought. And I keep wondering why, until I have a morning like this one, and remember that who you were fannish about in 1995 may not reflect who you are fannish about in 2003--and you never know what pics you'll find to scan in five to ten year's worth of Entertainment Weekly, TV Guide, GQ, Vanity Fair, Cinescape, Premiere, etc.

Dood. I found what I think is, like, the one and only print advert FOX ever ran for Sean Maher's Ryan Caulfield: Year One in an old TV guide this morning (yes, it's scanned and up at shiny), and if I can find the bloody EW and TV Guide Fall Preview issues from 1999, I bet I could find more... Not to mention, I need to find some The $treet pics as well.

(I know I had them. They have Angel first season stuff with Glenn Quinn. Therefore, I know they are in my apartment somewhere. The problem? I think I probably have 10 magazine boxes, only 1/3rd of which are in any kind of semblance of order.)

But seriously--I am a fan website maintainer's wet dream right now. Need a Gillian Anderson spread from a 1995 copy of Us? Just bagged it. Suddenly insane trying to find pics of Heath Ledger circa 1998? I probably have them, someplace. And if you really, really, really have been looking for Eliza Dushku's Maxim? I have a mint condition copy.

The only problem? I need an index of these. not just so I can ebay the lot of them. I mean so that I can find them. I basically need to pay/bribe/sucker someone into coming over 2 days a week while I'm at work and slogging through them all. Because there is no way I could possibly get all this work done and still do, oh, anything else.

In other news, this is one of the funniest websites I have ever seen, and it took me a while to suss out that it wasn't for real. Just killed me.

Also? I would like to go on record as saying I make the best damn curry chicken salad in the 'verse.