We all slept in a little except for Shane I, who had hit the sack at an unprecedented 1 a.m. We just can't keep up the pace like we used to, you know? Anne disappeared with the Colonial Fleet and Dana and I took the opportunity to grab a "real" meal in the food court. Then we hung out in the VIP consuite for a while, catching up with some familiar faces.
My megapanel came next, a handful of us scary folk headlined by Sherrilyn Kenyon and Laurell K. Hamilton. Laurell was running a little late, so she wasn't there when we did our introductions. So when they passed the mike to me and everyone is looking at the curly-haired brunette, I said, "I am not Laurell K. Hamilton." This got a huge laugh. Easy room. :) I explained who I was and what I do and buy ABADDON please so I can pay my hotel bill. I may have left some of that out.
I was supposed to do an interview next, but the reporter didn't show. So back to the consuite for me, munching a bit and chatting with uberhacker Randal Schwartz, author Lee Martindale and codebreaker extraordinaire Elonka Dunin. I meet the smartest people at conventions, folks.
Remember when I said my failure to attend the zombie panel was my stupidest moment of the con? I topped it.
I went to the Walk of Fame, because when presenting the entire list of famous people to my son, he especially requested Michael Rosenbaum's autograph. Lex is his favorite villain ever, because I haven't let him see THE DARK KNIGHT, and Lex would be his favorite character bar none, except he's been conditioned to think he has to like the good guys better. Rosenbaum's my favorite because he's the most skilled craftsman on that show. His nuanced performances elevate the art to a higher level than the schlock he is ordinarily handed in terms of a script. His performance made me a fan.
So I stepped up to meet him.
ME: Hello. My son is a very big fan.
ROSENBAUM: Well, I'm a biiiig fan of yours. *waggles eyebrows, looking at my chest*
MUSE: He did not just say that. Has he heard of us? Is he looking at the badge or my breasts?
ISABEL: He's HOT. Even with hair. Especially with hair.
MUSE: Stop thinking with your glands.
ME: Well, I -
ROSENBAUM: We could have this conversation in my hotel room.
ISABEL: What time do you get off?
MUSE: This is not happening.
LOIS: Of course it's not. Ask him for an interview for CultureGeek.
MUSE: You are on another planet. Didn't we leave you in St. Louis on purpose?
ISABEL: He's HOT!
SUPERMOM: Kiddo is not going to believe this.
MUSE: We're standing here with our mouth hanging open. Does no one have a witty rejoinder?
ROSENBAUM: I'm sorry... are you single?
ME: Uh. Yes. I'm, uh, single.
ISABEL: I have no words.
MUSE: He is seriously not speaking to us, people.
ROSENBAUM: *cracks up, points to Alesia*
ALESIA: *waves, smirking*
MUSE: I am going to kick her ass square. Just wait.
ME: I should've known. You are EVIL, woman.
ROSENBAUM: I totally would've said all that shit anyway.
MUSE: Raise your hand if you believe that happy shit.
ISABEL: *raises hand*
This moment has already gone down in (temporary) history as the biggest freeze ever. EDIT TO CLARIFY: Alesia is a friend of mine and was Rosenbaum's handler during the con. This moment, therefore, was entirely her fault.
I understand certain traitorous roommates of mine, who believe I should have vaulted over the table and attacked the man, have already spread this story in ever-increasing variations. In my defense, I can say that while I expect a certain amount of flirtation at con, I was completely unprepared for an uber-hot celebrity to come on to me so brazenly. And that Rosenbaum is a WAY, WAY better actor than he deserves to be.
For the record, this is him
. You'd freeze too!
And three hours later, I realized what I should have said.
THE ENCOUNTER IN ELIZABETH'S HEAD
ME: Hello. My son is a big fan.
ROSENBAUM: Well, I'm a big fan of yours. Maybe we could have this conversation in my hotel room?
ME: We could, but then I'd just be using you for sex.
Why is it the funny snark only occurs three hours later? So, everyone join in the fun! Give me your witty rejoinder to Michael Rosenbaum! What should I have said besides, "buh... buh..." The clean ones may be collected for a future CultureGeek post.
After changing for evening attire, I went to my ghost panel. Still kicking myself. John Everson
had the misfortune to be seated next to me, as I was in especially talkative mode. My defense was that I was highly caffeinated. Fortunately the panel was smallish, so I could do the chocolate trick - I tossed Hersheys to anyone who asked a good question and gave out the rest to the audience. I cracked bad jokes and somewhere in there I talked up YELLOW ROSES, which will register in no one's minds by its appearance in eighteen months or so.
Then Everson, Jonathan Maberry, Maberry's wife and our moderator went to Gibney's (again!) for dinner. I had my third chicken-breast sandwich of the convention. Weight Watchers will be so goddamn proud of me, she said through gritted teeth. As writers are wont to do when not in front of the public, we bitched about publishers and bookstores and the writing life for a good long while.
A note about John Everson: possibly one of the nicest and least affected writers I have ever met, and a damn good writer on top of it. I caught his reading earlier in the con and it was really terrific work, a nice blend of characterization, creepiness and toe-curling detail. I picked up the mass-market of his Stoker-winning novel, COVENANT. I haven't started it yet, but based on the parts I heard at the reading, I'm going to enjoy it. Everson's good people. Buy his books.
Midnight came and went and I wandered up to the Vernard Room Party. Every year Vernard says there may not be a party and every year we know it's bullshit because Vernard just won't accept that he is the center of all fun in Atlanta and wherever he is, whatever he's doing, we will gravitate to him because the party is wherever Vernard is.
As always, I was handed a sweet mixed drink of unknown genealogy. The folks who had requested my books picked up their copies, and I had an increasingly-less-sober conversation with several fine individuals whose names escape my memory. At one point Vernard was using something buzzy - not THAT kind of buzzy, get yer minds out of the gutter - and rubbing it on my shoulders. Atlanta, can I kidnap Vernard and take him back to St. Louis?
There may or may not be a picture of me in a Vernard-and-Parish sandwich. Sadly, I must report I remained fully clothed. I staggered back to my room, brilliantly forgetting my money bag in Vernard's suite. Fortunately he realized it wasn't a tip.