After three days on Michelle's couch, it was time to bid adieu 'till Friday. We got up a little early to start packing, and Michelle had to be at work, so we said our goodbyes, packed, and headed out. After packing the car we realized my tire was a little low and that my car charger for my cel phone was busted, and I barely had any battery left on it. Bugger.
My almost infamous Green Grand Am. You can barely see the driver's side front tire, but it blew up going 30 miles an hour 2 days after this picture was taken, on the way to getting said picture developed. How's that for Good Trip Karma?
So we stopped at a Shell station to fill up the tire with some air, and we had enough gas in the tank to get out of the city proper and find a Chevron. All is good.
We drive on the freeway for about 15 minutes when I see a sign for Best Buy, getting off the freeway and eventually negotiating contstruction to find it-- then parking way out in the parking lot because they were re-paving it.
So what do Walker and I do when we go inside? I go off to find a charger, he goes off into the music section, where I end up after finding my charger. I actually find a couple of CDs while Walker gets no dice, and get in line. The guy in front of us has the Dogma Special Edition double DVD. Oh shit. We run-- that's right-- okay, almost run-- to the DVD section, pick ourselves up copies, and get back in line.
Walker pays for his, and I pay for mine with my ATM card since I don't have enough cash on me. I can't remember how it exactly happened, but somehow the girl behind the register asked us where we were going.
"We're going down to L.A.," we say in unison. You can really tell we've been spending too much time together in the car.
"For what?" she asks.
"I live down there," Walker says. And then he says what I think was one of the best lines (for me) on this trip:
"A friend of ours is on a book signing tour, and we're going down there to take pictures."
"How cool," the girl says. I'm smiling goofily like a monkey at this point. It was probably because of car lag.
Life is good. I got my charger, got a couple of more CDs, and we're ready to roll. We drive past a Chevron on the freeway, getting off at the next exit only to see another one right off the exit. Like I said: Chevron is the gas station that rules the nation.
Gas is good. Snackage is good. We're ready to riznoll.
When you're on the highway, going a little fast, you become friends with those around you until you hit a junction, and then you all go off in different directions. That's what the 5 was like.
Until we hit Buttonwillow, The Eater of Cars.
Walker had warned me about Buttonwillow, telling me stories about people who had broken down there, only to get their cars fixed to break down again a mile out on the freeway. When he started growling at the signs, I should've known better than to follow other fast cars around.
For one second, I went 97, passing a Firebird who was going just as fast as I was. It just happened to be the same second where we went under an overpass, where a California Highway Patrolman was waiting.
It was the quickest ticket I'd ever gotten. Officer Bentley came up, said he was going to get the Firebird but I was right in front of him so he pulled me over instead, took my information, gave me the ticket, and even chatted with Walker about his GPS doo-dad and his issued gun in his holster, told us to slow down, and let us go.
I'd like to say it was both Walker and Neil's fault for the ticket, but Walker was only partially at fault for not telling me to slow down (or encouraging me to go fast by playing Henry Rollins, dammit, either way), and we were driving to see Neil, so... yeah. But I'm a leadfoot. I can't really help it. I mean, I could, but like I said earlier, I come from a family of race drivers. We love the open road.
The rest of the trip was spent under 80, listening to VNV Nation, to which I've converted, and calling Vroman's to let them know we were coming, and to get directions.
And I came up with the bright idea to have Neil sign my ticket receipt, just for kicks.
"You're in a bad mood now, aren't you?" Walker asked before we were in the city limits. I was going to be okay soon, but I just was angry at myself for not paying attention. And I knew the Good Car Karma we were having so far on the trip wasn't going to last.
I'd never been to Pasadena before. But it was somewhat familiar, so that was good. I knew my way around the L.A. area much better than San Fransisco.
We got out of the car, with a very nice parking spot, gathered stuff for the evening; I asked Walker to cut out my seatbelt with one of his handy (and large) knives, so I could have Neil sign it at Book Soup as a token of the trip; and we learned how to walk once again, towards a little Italian place right next to Vroman's, where a couple was just leaving, stack of Neil-stuff in their hands.
After trying to find the bathroom, and doing that long-trip-I've-held-it-for-too-long thing, we eat at the Italian place-- homemade cooking, which rocketh mightily, and we pointed out Neil fans as people started showing up. For the most part, we're a pretty obvious bunch.
I called my dad about the speeding ticket when we were eating. "Were you going 90 or something?" he asked. I swear to goddess that man can read my mind, even across state lines.
We're there an hour and a half early, so I scope out a seat in the front row a little off to the side, and set my stuff down, looking over to see a woman in the other section's front row talking about flying out from Vegas: The librarian, of course, I'd almost forgotten she was going to be there, and Neil had told me about her.
I get up to walk around a little, bother Walker a little bit since he looked bored waiting for people, and I tell him about the librarian woman. "Go introduce yourself," he said. Duh. I'm not good at introducing myself to people. I hate just interrupting people and saying hi.
And the most embarassing part about it is that I can't remember her name for the life of me now. I walked up to her, and said: "Are you the librarian from Las Vegas?"
A little hesitantly, she said: "Yes, I am."
"Neil told me you were going to be here," I said, sticking my hand out. "I'm Kari. I drove up to see Neil in San Fransisco then down here today."
Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You drove? You must be exhausted. Oh, this guy down here's originally from Vegas," and she gets his attention, and he walks over. "What was your name again?" she asks him.
"I'm Dax," he said. I shook his hand, and the Librarian told him where I was from. "Did you drive here from Vegas?" he asked, and when I told him the whole story, his mouth kinda dropped open a little.
They were all from The Well, from what I gathered, and were meeting up at the signing.
And Adriana who temps at a major movie studio introduced herself-- I think she was from The Well too. She had a terrible story about her boss throwing out a box of Dream Hunters hardbacks without telling anyone.
I introduced them all to Walker, who started putting names to faces from The Well, which was cool. We talked about how we all got into Neil, and our favorite stories, and about how the Librarian, who isn't really a librarian but just works for the Clark County Library District (you need a Master's to be a librarian).
As the start time nears, I go back to my seat, where there are people already filling up the rows. Soon it's overflowing, and people are asked to sit on the floor in front of the podium. The girl next to me is sitting with a camera, and we start talking about how she's there for her best friend who had to work, and how she doesn't know any of Neil's work and wants to hear him read. I tell her to listen to the reading, and she'll be surprised.
The promotions manager for that particular Vroman's store, Linda, comes to the podium to say that Neil was going to be a little late because he was taking a train up from the afternoon signing in San Diego, and she takes suggestions from the crowd about other authors they'd like to see at signings, many of them major. (Someone even mentioned my old Fiction II professor from Redlands, Tim Powers, which was cool.)
And then she said she'd heard about the Librarian woman from Vegas flying out to see Neil, and asked if anyone had driven out there.
"Raise your hand if you drove an hour." A few hands went up. "Two hours?" a few hands. Then the Librarian pointed at me, and said I drove from Vegas. "You drove here from Vegas?"
"I drove up to San Fransisco, then down to here today," I said, which got a few whispered gasps around me. I think I started blushing.
And then Linda asked why everyone was there, what it was about Neil's work that created such a tremendous turnout. Most people had the same answers that I do: There's just something about his work that affects you so deeply sometimes you just can't help it.
Someone mentioned the fact that he mixes the fantastic with the mundane, and Linda basically used that for her intro as he stood there.
He read from Chapter Five, and was surprised to find a missing apostrophe where it should've been left in. You could tell it'd been a very long tour.
Oh-- and I had to stick this one in from the Q & A, just because of the subtle Behind the Actor's Studio theme on this trip: Neil's favorite curse word.
Since I was there early, I got a ticket for early in line, and had bought a book for someone. I was going to wait until after the signing to have him sign the speeding ticket-- I didn't want to hold up the line. The Librarian was first in line, so she got her books signed and immediately took off to Burbank for a 9:00 plane back to Vegas.
Oh, and the girl who was sitting next to me, who went for her friend, asked all of us around her where she should start reading Neil. I suggested Neverwhere, since she said she didn't like short stories.
So I get in line, and a nice older man in front of me saw I only had a book, and asked me to hold his Sandman-themed ComicCon badge to have signed for him, and I was happy to oblige since he and his wife were such nice people. And he was getting a Stardust poster signed, which was already signed by Charles Vess, so I had to.
I get up to the table, and Walker's giving me that look-- Are you gonna have him sign it, or not? "Hello," Neil said. I hand him the older man's badge. "Your name isn't Michael."
I shook my head. "But his is," I said, pointing to the nice older man in front of me.
"Ah yes."
As he signs my friend's book, I say, "I have something for you to look at and/or sign when you get done. It's kinda funny, and it's kinda Walker's and kinda your fault."
"Are you going to be around that long?" Neil asked.
"I have stick around for Walker," I said.
"It was not my fault!" Walker said.
Now, before I give the punchline, there's a bit of backstory which I didn't want to give away earlier: At the Kepler's signing (I believe), Walker showed up, not having seen Neil for awhile but being the photojournalist that he is-- the one who tapes everything and is basically Neil's Bitch when he's on this side of the country-- and Neil asked him, "Walker, where's your tripod?" since Walker, taping or taking pictures in some capacity, always has a tripod on him.
"Why is it his fault?" Neil asked.
So being the razor-sharp wit that I am, I said, "Because Walker forgot the tripod."
Neil perked up, smiling broadly, and said, "Oh, that was good."
My brain kicks in when I'm funny. When I'm trying to be serious, it blanks. I hate that.
Walker sighed, still complaining that it wasn't his fault, and I said I was joking. I sat down on a comfy chair toward the back and talked to Dax a bit, since he had more stuff to get signed afterward, and I called people on my cel phone.
My friend Matt, who lives on Sunset right down the street from Book Soup, called me to say he was heading towards Vegas. Bugger. I was going to call him before I went to Book Soup and meet me there. Double bugger. He said he'd call me on his way back so he could meet me there Friday.
I called my boyfriend, assured him everything was fine, and he got jealous when I told him about my trip thus far. Staci had called me earlier to say I could crash on her couch for the night, so I had a place to sleep, and I told her I was going to call once the signing was over.
Everything dwindles, really quick for some reason. I move to some empty seats where Walker is talking to West about helping get a room for the BA-FoG (which was going to include Tree, who was flying in from Vegas Friday afternoon) contingent coming out. West ends up comping them a room at the Magic Castle. She definitely won Tree's copy of Ghastly Beyond Belief. Rawk does not even begin to describe this woman.
We all hang out for a little bit-- West, Endless (with his wicked original Sandman panel collection-- I don't know how that man eats everyday), Walker, and Dax. We as the last stragglers hang out, get stuff signed, talk to Holly, who was in L.A. as a present for passing her driving test. Walker pokes me in the back about the ticket while Neil was telling us about Malcolm Jones III, and just as I open my mouth, West hands over her Miracleman paperback for Neil to sign and Dax says:
"So what's going on with Miracleman anyway? I heard there was some legal wrangling."
And Neil, as politely as he can, tells us about the whole clusterfuck with Todd McFarlane saying he owns the rights for Miracleman because he bought out Image. Neil opened West's paperback and pointed at the copyright stuff on the inside of the front cover. "As you can see, I have copyright on this story," he said, and mentioned Alan Moore's role in the whole thing, and when Dax asked if he was going to follow through with a suit, Neil almost hesitated and said, "Yes."
"And the worst part about it is that Mike's going off to college, and this time could be spent getting ideas and making up stories, and I have to deal with it."
Grrrr. And what made it worse was that Linda had basically rushed Neil to the back of the store to sign some stock, and borderlining on rudeness she kicked us out as we were talking to Holly about her driving test.
So I didn't get my ticket signed. I wasn't too worried about it. It was heading toward the end and I was getting that seatbelt signed, so that would be better.
I dropped Walker off at a friend's work, saying goodbye till the next evening, called Staci to find her apartment, took about 20 minutes to find a parking spot, went up to her apartment, had a cup of Kool Aid, caught up for an hour, and passed out completely on her couch.