Team CBB is just moments from rushing out the door for SciFi Con Day III, but a smattering of Littlestar's photos from Days I and II are below the fold.

I don't have time for captioning so I'll just let the photos speak for themselves for the most part.

Highlights include Popsicle with the stormtroopers; the awesome, stunned expression on Isosceles Cat's face after checking out He-Man; and me getting a hug from the Sexual Harassment Panda.

For the past year or so I've been writing for a local rural newspaper. My latest contribution, however, has been rejected on the grounds that the subject matter might be "too upsetting" for the sensitive people of our town.

Judge for yourself:

You know those cheesy scifi conventions where people dress up as Klingons to stand in line for overpriced autographs from C-list has-been actors? Well, I've never been to one despite the fact that I'm a big nerd (and despite writing a story on the subject).

But this weekend I will not only be attending a scifi convention, I'll be an exhibitor. No, really.

I will not, however, be dressing as a Klingon.

While it is possible to conceive of a more stressful holiday -- inspecting a rogue nation for contraband weapons research, say, or curing cholera in a leper-invested, war-torn slum -- there can be no doubt that taking Young Yam camping in black bear country was, for me, the single least relaxing trip I've ever undertaken.

Want to know how absurd my job is? Check out this week's exercise in idiocy:

Last Thursday, instead of working, my colleagues and I lounged on the leather couches in the studio and drank lukewarm beers while chanting, "No more warp fuel! No more warp fuel!"

Yes, HuSi, it's been a year since I renounced my freelance cowboy ways and took on a full-time, 9-to-5, reg'lar workin' job.

To mark the occasion of this anniversary, I'm on strike.

Sing it with me: "No more warp fuel! No more warp fuel! No more warp fuel!"

So, I'm having a beer at my desk and not working very hard. Is Friday over yet?

Two babies enter -- one baby leaves.

(Well, not really. We're keeping both.)

{ Cold (Exterior, Interior) | Typography | Museology | Shouts }

My latest serialized story concluded today with the twelfth installment of an original Christmas novelette.

For those of you who only care to read such things when all the chapters are available, I thought I'd mention it here.

Please note: uncharacteristically, this story contains no profanity, sexuality or violence.