And tomorrow is Friday!

The week started out with a nasty email and floundered along until this morning when, at last, the karmic sun began to shine.

My new MacBook Pro arrived and is ready to be unpacked this weekend. It will replace the 12" PowerBook G4 that has been a little unpredictable after Kaylee the tabby peed on it and I poured odor neutralizer over the keyboard. I plan to keep it around as a loaner machine for people who just need to get webmail.

Garibaldi the feral cat, last seen on the heated outdoor cat bed Monday night, has reappeared again, demanding food. I think a neighbor who feeds several of the local ferals may have locked a bunch of them in his garage at night to keep them from freezing during the cold spell.

Two difficult writing projects got past road blocks today, and I made an amazing find on eBay — an item that perfectly matches a Company Store item I purchased three years ago, one that is no longer carried by the company store.

Everything I've ordered for Christmas gifts has arrived, so all that's left to fuss over is Christmas cookies (gingerbread this year) and shipping.

We've been invited to three parties this Saturday night, and are trying to figure out which ones to attend when. (A dance friend's annual white elephant Christmas/Hanukkah gift exchange is a must, but the neighbors' evening event is renowned for delicious seafood. Hmmm.) Other than that, our holiday calendar is relatively low key. There's nothing corporate, so I can wear steampunk fashion: lace, velvet, and boots!

The two nodding lawn reindeer we picked up at a church rummage sale this summer are already set up and entertaining the neighbors' kids, and I brought several boxes of Christmas decorations over from the storage locker this morning. It turns out to be a very odd mix of stuff, and much of it will be listed on Freecycle this weekend.

As for a tree, we'll get that next weekend at the Top Banana tree stand. They were nice enough to let me leave my car there over night last week after the tire exploded.

Yes, it's been like that recently. And today I couldn't get the garage door (one of two large swinging doors) to open. That's because the wet ground under the driveway froze, expanded, and raised the asphalt up nearly an inch. (In New England, this is a called a "frost heave.") The door can no longer swing out over the asphalt. Fortunately, I don't keep the car in the garage, so this does not constitute an emergency. Frost heaves rarely resolve when the ground thaws; I suspect this will require taking the large door off the hinges and planing the bottom a good half inch.

But I think, for a while, I'll just ignore it and go out the back door.

More dog and cats

The dog is at a lovely farm-like setting with friends for a few days.

The cats are glad he's gone. Our feral feline, Mr. Garibaldi, is back on the back porch twice a day, and I'm preparing a heated, insulated bed for him in the outside basement area — even though last year he rejected the heated bed and insisted on sleeping in the unheated one.

Meanwhile, a friend reminds me that you can click a link on this page to to donate food to the Petfinder.com-affiliated Animal Rescue Site. If you click once a day, it provides the value of .6 bowls of food to rescued animals. And you'll find a link to Jacquie Lawson's card site.

Oh, dog

Five cats I've dealt with before -- but five cats and a dog?

A friend of ours adopted a rescued dog a few months ago, only to discover that the dog -- a sweet, not-very-bright, large spaniel, six or seven years old -- had been neglected and was both needy and untrained. Our friend hasn't had the time or resources to train the dog to signal her when it wants to go out.

I thought this was her problem, until she had to go out of town for a week and we found ourselves with the dog. And there's simply no choice but to train it.

So, every three or four hours we take the dog out for a walk. The system is working well. The dog is happy. The house has not suffered.

As for me, I just got up at 2 a.m. to take it out in the back yard, and I have mixed feelings about this schedule.

To complicate matters, the dog is arthritic. Taking it out into the enclosed back yard means getting it up the basement stairs -- and tonight it slid all the way back down, with a terrible clatter. I have thick blankets and quilts for it in a few rooms. The dog likes to paw them into heaps before flopping down on them.

I am trying to figure out how anyone with a dog has time to do anything but walk the dog, feed the dog, and clean up what the dog has drooled on.

The dog, fortunately, barely notices the cats (four indoor, one outdoor semi-feral). The cats, for their part, seem utterly incredulous that there is a dog in the house.

I'm on the side of the cats.

A week of "suspicious activity"

Thanks to Citibank, I had to make four separate phone calls this week to insist that four routine charges on two of my credit cards were not "unusual activity." The charges were in the $20 range, and the merchants involved were major online companies. For each purchase, Citibank left two messages on my cell phone, three minutes apart. Of course, you can't hit "reply" — you have to key in a completely separate number, your ZIP code, and a special access code (that you had to write down from their message).

For the first incident, I called the number on the card itself and wended my way through the system to a live person. Why, I asked, was a renewal of my Classmates.com membership ($20) considered suspicious? The answer: "It's a very large company and criminals are likely to make purchases from large companies."

So the criminal sets up a Classmates.com account with their purloined credit card number. Wouldn't that, er, be kind of traceable? Never mind.

At this rate, it's soon going to be faster just to drive to the mall and wander around buying things the old-fashioned way. Or perhaps I should pay for all online purchases via PayPal — as far as I know, those payments don't have to be defended.

In which much is resolved

The job at the Big Company in California was not, as I suspected, a good match for me. But I enjoyed the four rounds of interviewing.

Meanwhile, I'm a finalist for a three-month contract with an Olympia web strategy firm. If I get it, I'd be writing a large, complex website for a state agency. I find myself highly enthusiastic about the firm's approach, and think I could learn quite a bit from working with them.

Unfortunately, commuting would be a pain. I thought "No problem! Amtrak to Olympia!" But it turns out that the 7:30 a.m. Amtrak from Seattle doesn't actually go to Olympia...it stops in Lacey, where the only option for getting to Olympia (a mere 5 miles) is a meandering local bus route that takes 50 minutes!

I find this mind boggling. Surely there must be hundreds of Seattle-to-Olympia commuters who would switch from car to the train—if only someone ran a morning shuttle from the Lacey station to the state capitol.

What happened?

One of the reasons I write about conventions and conferences while they're going on is because I know by now that I won't get around to writing about them when I get home.

Instead, I'll grapple with piles of laundry, try to catch up on sleep and exercise, and deal with the emails, messages, and work missed while traveling.

Tonight, instead of reflecting back on the World Fantasy Convention in San Jose, I'm dismantling the refrigerator, washing all the shelves, and throwing out lots of jars of jams, jellies, chutneys, relishes and olives whose origins are lost in the mists of time. Anyone who really wants to hear about the convention should come on over. And bring rubber gloves and baking soda.

Halloween at World Fantasy

Most science fiction conventions involve massive numbers of fans honoring a few professionals in the field, but World Fantasy is different. It's all about the professionals (writers, publishers, agents, reviewers, book dealers) doing business with each other while a smaller group of (mostly local) fans runs the logistics and looks on respectfully.

So forget the convention stereotype of Star Trek fans stomping around dressed as Klingons, or furries in full fox suits...the look here is definitely chinos and t-shirts for most, with black jeans and black t-shirts for the urban noir contingent. It turns out that the governing board even prevented one of the book dealers from displaying their steampunk hats — the three jewelry dealers (two high-end, one not-so-high-end) apparently got in as fantasy-themed artwork and are doing a brisk business in steampunk-related items.

However, with the convention coinciding with Halloween this year, the unwritten "no costumes" rule is tough to enforce, even with raised eyebrows and management disapproval. As the day goes on, more and more witches and wizards are turning up in the elevators. In fact, they've got one running Ops.

World Fantasy Convention initial impressions

Arrived in San Jose late last night and discovered I'd forgotten my decorative stuff (jewelry, makeup, steampunk hat). The Scholarly Gentleman had already set up the shop in the dealers' room and wanted to take me to a party to meet famous and about-to-be-famous writers and editors.

I met one extremely famous writer in the elevator and chatted just a bit about his books set in Tibet and Nepal. After a fairly exhausting hour at a huge party that stretched on for several rooms in the Fairmont, I concluded that the older a famous writer is, the friendlier he or she will be.

I'm working on my own projects in the hotel room (no power outlet within 15 feet of the desk; marble desktop that doesn't work with a mouse, exorbitant wi-fi charge) in between running down to the dealers' room to help out the Scholarly Gentleman. Tomorrow I'm going to help out Sarah in Ops.

Steamcon I: Hold on to your hat!

The first SteamCon event, in SeaTac this weekend, was a resounding success by just about any measure. Having planned for 600 attendees, they managed to accommodate 1200 before closing off memberships.

The panels were great, and the Sea-Tac Marriott hotel couldn't have been friendlier. The place was packed with elaborately costumed Steampunkers have a whale of a time. I heard there was even one fellow who wore a vintage bathing suit into the pool.

I had other commitments Friday and Saturday, but I went down with Hank early Sunday morning and took in the art show, the vendors room (packed to the gills with hats, corsets, goggles, and enthusiastic shoppers), and a superb presentation by pro-Steampunk author Tim Powers. I came away from hearing Powers thoroughly inspired, with a reading list and two ideas for short stories. Hank took several dozen photos, which I'm hoping he'll soon post on Flickr (account: dionwrbear). The Flickr Steamcon photo pool is here.

Unfortunately, I didn't wear a Steampunk outfit Sunday morning. There just wasn't time to figure out what went with what! But once at the convention, I did manage to purchase the costume element I've been missing: high-quality goggles -- brass and leather. Inspired by the goggles, and the costumes I'd just studied, I went home and put together a really smashing desert-style Steampunk getup (black vest, sage skirt, and cranberry blouse and hat with brass and leather trimmings) that I plan to take with me to...the next convention I'm attending. Which is sooner that I'd like to think.

The SteamCon folks will be doing it again next year, same place. Watch their site for registration info.

Cranky. Swamped.

There's this list stuff to do around the house — projects that take a whole day, or at least five hours of uninterrupted focus. Very little on the list got done this summer, and now there's yet more stuff on the list. But I look at every weekend, and it's full of either travel or events.

I have yet another phone interview tomorrow with Company X. They have two jobs open, and it's finally dawned on me that while I might be qualified for both of the positions, only one of them is more interesting than my current freelance work (which I really enjoy).

Zoe has just jumped into my arms. She doesn't like to sit on my lap while I type; she likes to be held in my arms, which makes thoipaoksdflknujn lksdnf lkas...

I can has LOLcats?

We have a visitor cat in the house — in the basement TV room, to be exact. Mabel is down there recovering after spending a month outdoors (she was effectively exiled by a new cat in her household).

If you follow the LOLcat photoblog I Can Has Cheezburger.com, you'll recognize the phrase "basement cat." In the lexicon of LOLcats, "basement cat" is the Devil — a black cat with burning red eyes and fangs.

The LOLcats also have "ceiling cat" — an angelic white cat that is often shown at the very top of the set of stairs or on a tall bookcase.

Ironically, Mabel, our "basement cat," is a black cat. And Sheba, who likes to be in the highest place in the house, is a white cat.

Today, basement cat and ceiling cat met briefly in my office. Sheba was completely relaxed. She looked at Mabel, and went back to purring. Mabel, clearly traumatized by her recent persecution, gave a sharp hiss. But since Sheba couldn't hear it, there wasn't a problem.

Mabel soon calmed down, and was disappointed when she was taken back down stairs to her den.

The Monday report

Yet another round with HR at The Mysterious Company today, bracketed with calls and visits to the accountant to try to get the 2008 taxes resolved so they can be filed by Oct. 15.

Meanwhile, I had bouts of trying to earn more money to share with IRS next year.

Setting up a WordPress blog for a client today was far more complex at the technical end than I had imagined. The WordPress theme I use for my professional blog is extremely easy to configure...I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that the template I chose for him is downright annoying. As a result, I've only got the blog half way set up. But the client loves the iStock photo of the tropical beach I used for the banner. So, yay! something went right.

While dashing back and forth to the accountant and generally feeling sorry for myself I got a smack from reality. A fire truck pulled up to the home of one of my neighbors and EMTs went racing inside carrying all sorts of gear. My neighbor, who is disabled from a work injury, lives alone with his teenage son; his wife and he are getting divorced, and she had been around this weekend with a whole crew of folks, moving what looked like much of the furniture out.

As I drove in town to the accountant's, the ambulance passed headed for his house. By the time I got home my neighbor had been "transported" to the hospital. Poor guy.

Things in my office finally wound down a bit before six. I went for a wonderful walk up to 75th while there was still a bit of sun out, then came home and cooked little zucchini with onions and homemade breadcrumbs for dinner. The Scholar Gentleman cleaned a basket of grapes, and I'm making grape juice. (Squash grapes, simmer, squash some more, drain and cool.)

Random thought: If I had another life to live, I'd like to have red hair and wear it in a braid.

Last week I got the oddest email

The email was from an HR person, saying that her company was interested in hiring me for a senior communications job.

I remembered the email at about 8 p.m., while I was cleaning up after dinner. It had arrived mid-afternoon, while I was busy trying to finish up a client's project.

I went back and looked at it again. Spam, I figured. But I looked up the HR person on Linkedin and, sure enough, she really did work at that company. So I sent back an email saying I'd be happy to talk.

The following day we chatted, and she asked me to send along my resume.

I updated my resume and sent it off. The woman wrote back and asked for another phone conversation, and that's set for tomorrow morning.

I love running my own company, but this is a challenging opportunity (to put it mildly). There are times when I wish I hadn't left Apple, and this would certainly be my chance to apply all the things I've learned as a small business owner in the past three years — things which I believe would make working a corporate job, at the right company, as much fun as being an indie business person.

Is this the right company? That's what I'm going to try to find out.

Anyone want a lovely cat?

I can offer a choice of two. A friend of mine adopted Mabel a year ago. She recently adopted Casper, and it turns out that the two cats do NOT get along. So, one of them needs to be re-housed.

• Cat #1, Mabel, is a seven-year-old black semi-oriental with short plush fur, likely a Birman. She is one of those happy, sturdy, friendly indoor/outdoor cats who likes laps and visiting all the neighbors. She can live with another cat, but needs to be the dominant cat.
• Cat #2, Casper, is a four-year-old mackerel tabby male. He one of those handsome, rangy guys who twines around your legs. Not a lap cat, but would like to be scritched and petted for hours. Casper came from a home where they had just had a baby and moved to a tiny apartment (from a house). He didn't want to be an indoors-only cat, and the new parents didn't have time for him.

Both cats are healthy, have had all their shots and vet stuff, and have perfect manners: They eat anything, use a litter box, and don't scratch furniture or people.

Please let me know if you are interested. I'll deliver anywhere in the Puget Sound region.

Zozobra: Fire power

The Wall Street Journal had a great article this weekend about the Santa Fe community's annual Zozobra event.

Artisans build a giant structure of wood and chicken wire known as Zozobra. Then citizens bring things symbolic of their troubles (legal papers, wedding dresses from failed marriages, photos of old lovers, letters and notes with their secrets — even hospital gowns) to a public "gloom tent." The evidence of all these woes is stuffed into the Zozobra.

On the night of the festival, dancers with torches set fire to the figure — a functioning marionette that writhes with agony — and everyone's worries symbolically go up in smoke.

And, to think, I was planning on selling my fire pit on Craig's List. No way!

Millionaire

A dozen or so years ago a friend of mine was trying to get onto "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" According to today's Seattle Times, he's done it!

Tune in 6 p.m. today and Monday on KONG TV to see if Alan Carver wins the $1 million. Very cool.

Kitty, kitty. . .kitty?

I've been gone for a week, with neighbors and cat sitters coming in to feed the cats breakfast and dinner. This led me to wonder if the tabbies would forget about their annoying habit of waking me up at 5 a.m. for breakfast and an early outing.

Nope.

When I feed the three cats, I still look out the back door to the foot of the stairs where Garibaldi, the tough orange tabby, used to wait for his handouts. He disappeared early in the summer, and I assumed he'd either fallen victim to a coyote or had been captured, neutered, and put up for adoption by a neighbor.

Last night, when I got in from the trip, there was a beautiful orange tabby waiting in Garibaldi's spot at the bottom of the stairs. This cat behaved exactly like Garibaldi, but was so much sleeker and cleaner I can't believe it was the same cat. He got his handout, gobbled it down, and vanished into the night.

Maskerades

It's 11:30 p.m. in Phoenix, and we're halfway through the first North American Discworld Convention. We've found the one really good restaurant (Cafe Bao) plus the one cup of tea that isn't made with the horrible local water (thank you, Starbucks).

There was a football game at Arizona State today, and the streets are packed with celebrating students tonight, so the conventiongoers are staying in the safety of the hotel. There was an extraordinarily elaborate maskerade, a great game of Werewolves, a disco dance, and a party in the con suite to chose from -- way too much to do after a full day of panels. The highlight of today's events was the interview with Terry (another of his standing-room-only presentations). He closed by talking about his plans for dealing with Alzheimer's Disease (he was diagnosed with a rare, early onset, form of it).

"I won't die of Alzheimer's," he said. "I'll die and take the Alzheimer's with me."

There's no evidence of the disease in Terry's speech or appearance -- except that he moves a little hesitantly. He explained that he has some trouble with spacial perception.

Tomorrow the Scholarly Gentleman will be moderating the panel Publishing Terry with Terry, his agent, and his two U.S editors. Then we're both working on the auction.

I could write for hours about the extraordinary costumes people are wearing at the conference. There is one older man who dresses as the Bursar, and has the worried, delusionary character down so well that I was getting a tad worried. Many of the best costumes are simple, such as the couple who came robed as the Auditors. We found them in the lobby, frightening a fellow from the local film society who had come by to leave some posters at the conference.

I'd blog more, but the computer, disabled by the recent cat-pee incident, is a bit balky.

The turtle sweats

It's 8 p.m. in Phoenix and the North American Discworld Convention is about to get underway. This isn't just any convention; many of us signed up back in the spring of 2008 for the first New World convention to honor Sir Terry Pratchett, author of the Discworld novels (a body of work I like to describe as political satire in the guise of fantasy).

I just got back from a gathering of women in the Seamstress Guild. We were figuring out how to lace up the purple satin corsets we need to wear for the opening ceremonies tomorrow. It turns out there's a "quick lace" method that really makes a difference.

It's been in the 100's in Phoenix -- not just hot but searing. That really takes a toll.

The Scholarly Gentleman and I skipped dinner and went to the pre-conference mixer and Pub Quiz -- a real cut-throat event! Our team, the Overheated Trolls, placed third (our downfall was failure to correctly identify details from 30 Pratchett book covers).

Tomorrow I'm participating in the opening ceremonies, then running the Igorlympics, and finally working with the other Seamstresses to host the opening night party. Fortunately, those duties end around 9. I'm involved with a panel Saturday and will be a gofer at the auction Sunday, but otherwise just plan to enjoy the convention and go shopping at the steampunk booths in the dealers room.

And, no, I haven't seen Sir Terry yet. But there is a fellow who looks remarkably like him, a bit taller, whose nametag says simply "Not Him."

Pre-vacation meltdown

Securing the house, lining up a cat sitter, giving a highly edited version of vacation plans to my mom, dealing with last-minute client calls...getting ready for a vacation is such fun.