Caveat: A couple of these pics were politely stolen from aychel's site, by the way. Go visit, or karma will be upon you. And stuff.
Wednesday was going to be a double day-- Booksmith's on The Haight at one o'clock and Cody's in Berkeley at seven-thirty. Of course, that meant we had to get up a little earlier to get ready to go, which was fine, because I had some more stuff to get signed and to get all organized-- pretty much whatever I had left that I'd brought.
I was formally introduced to Devil Ducky, which I thought was one of the coolest toys I've seen in a long time. I'd like one for my own bath, in fact, but finding one in Vegas would be a little difficult.
There's a long lost episode of Devil Ducky: Inside the Actor's studio on my hard drive. It's a quick and dirty summation of his life and career, including an interesting... ahem, insertion story. But I won't put it up here, in fear that it might cause chaos in the streets. Sorry. It's that controversial.
Walker had called his friend Kat to meet at the train station, so we left early so we could find her and then try and find a parking spot that was close.
Getting into San Fransisco from Oakland wasn't too bad, since it was the middle of the day; the real problem was navagating the construction and one-way streets to get to the train station. That meant passing by once, not seeing Kat, making a u-turn to make another pass and inadvertantly getting on the freeway, getting off at the first exit, and finding our way back to where we were-- close enough so that James could call Walker on his cel to say that Kat was standing right next to him in Booksmith's.
Ya coulda said something earlier, ya know.
Good car karma was on our side: There's a spot right on The Haight, metered, right behind Michelle's car, not even a block away from Booksmith's. Rawk.
We were <thisclose> to being late, but in fact, as I went in to get in line and meet James, Michelle, and Kat, and as Walker was standing outside talking to someone on his cel phone, Neil walked in not five minutes later. I'm formally introduced to Kat, who is a sweetheart, and we all wait in line while things are being set up-- mostly we try and calm Michelle down about the introduction she was still putting together for Cody's that night, and thinking of doing touristy things for me on The Haight before heading out to Berkeley. James talked up Invader Zim, which was his new favorite cartoon, and how we should all watch it, and like it. And he started to sing "The Doom Song," his new favorite song, a song that would be heard many times since.
James also had a copy of Jill Thompson's new Little Endless comic, The Little Endless Storybook, which was very cute as I flipped through. James was going to give it to Neil, since he probably hadn't seen the finished copy yet and had been out on tour for almost two weeks at that point.
I buy a copy of American Gods, because I know my friend Roz, who's in Japan and has it on order, would dig having a personalized copy. For me, I have left Warning: Contains Language, the hardback of the illustrated Stardust, and a Hot Topic Dream journal that I'd gotten for my birthday. I also grab a Booksmith's Neil Gaiman trading card-- from what I saw they had quite a few of them for all different authors, and I don't know if they're just for show or if the literati of San Fransisco actually trade them back and forth in some bizarre hobby.
"I'll trade you my John Grisham for your Neil Gaiman, dude."
"No way, man, that's his rookie card!"
I'm standing there, fidgeting with stuff on the shevles and on the counters, getting towards the front and making small talk with the store clerk who's at the head of the line and making people flap the title page, and I get nervous again. Even with Walker, Michelle, James, and Kat standing around me, I feel... weird. Not deja vu-like or anything. Just weird. We went through this late last night, and I blonked it totally. Crashed and burned hardcore, standing in front of someone who helped, almost literally with his stories, to save my life.
I think to myself that I should've stuck around after that reading on the Queen Mary and introduced myself then, so that I wouldn't be feeling so out-of-place now, as I watched him talk to Michelle like they were friends and getting things signed was no big deal at all. I'm still a newbie. It's terrible.
I'm tempted to walk out. But I don't. I waited my turn.
I was expecting to just walk up and be handed something rude and cranky and named Neil; or worse, my head on a plate, after that English Coastline thing I was involved in. I knew it wasn't really going to happen, though, and that my overdramatic sense of I-have-writer's-block-so-I'm-going-into-hyper-reality kicked in. I guess I just wanted it to be over and done with so I wouldn't feel the terrible blush on my face anymore.
I was just still having recoil from the night before. I was still trying to digest it when I take a step up to the table and Neil says, "Hullo again," and smiles.
He recognized me. This was not good. And then Ellen, his Author Escort, says, "Hey, I remember you. How are you?" And I'm thinking Oh shit, I'm a stalker now. It's time for me to go home. Right now. Run for cover... Oh stop it, just get your shit signed.
"Hi," I say, not-as-nervous as I could. He signs the book for Roz, with a special message for her, and draws a little cresent-smiley moon in Stardust, and an eye on my booklet for Warning. Meanwhile I say to Ellen, "I'm tired, but good," and she smiles, gives me that Don't I know it kind of joking look. And then I think that we're going to be seeing them in a few hours up at Cody's. Again. Oh god.
"What's this?" he asks as I hand him the Dream journal. "I've never seen this before," he says, flipping through it.
My friend got it for me for my birthday from Hot Topic," I said. "I wanted you to desecrate-- I mean, concecrate it for me."
"That would be why I've never seen it," he says as he draws a little profile of Morpheus inside the first page. Walker told me afterwards that apparently Hot Topic is supposed to send him all of the Sandman line they were putting out, and he hasn't gotten anything of it yet.
Strangely enough, I got many "Where'd you get that?" kind of questions after I got the journal signed, which made me feel kinda cool and all collector-like. Apparently not many other people have seen it, either.
But I just wanted him to sign the journal, since it was going to be the next one of mine to be used after I got through with the one I'm writing in now, and it would be for me, because it was a gift from my best friend Kim. And Kim would dig it too. (In fact, when I showed it to her at home, she giggled and smiled broadly about it, bragging that I got something she gave me signed.)
It almost says Nel Gurgle.
We all get our various things signed, hang out a bit, and walk down to the car to put things away and feed the meter for another hour. Then we walk down The Haight to find a place to eat. And it was my time to play Touristy Kari for a little bit, taking a picture of the infamous Haight-Ashbury cross-streets, where the Grateful Dead played. I'm not a Grateful Dead fan, but it's cool nonetheless.
I had that outsider feeling, that same feeling I had backpacking through Europe two years ago, when you're taking pictures not to remember that you were there, but to sort of prove that you were there, if only to yourself. I think I was still outside my body at that point.
We walk into All You Knead, a restaurant-slash-bakery. We eat, trading Neil stories and San Fransisco stories, and all of a sudden, from the high windows, the sun peeked out of the clouds onto James. We figured he'd been blessed that day-- by who, we don't know, and it's still under debate.
We get back to the car just in time for the meter to have run out-- no ticket. For now. We pile into the car and head over to James' apartment so he can drop off some stuff. Up the three (or was it four? It was so dizzying) flights of stairs, his apartment is very cool, although we didn't get the full tour. It actually looked very expensive, but then, what in SF really isn't. James suggests stopping by Japan Town on the way over to Berkeley, just to kill a little time since we were going to be sitting in traffic either way. Works for us.
And it was a good thing too, because rumor had it that there was a store there that carried the Japanese edition of Dream Hunters. We find a parking spot right in front, with a busted meter. I'm not worried because I'm assured we won't be very long. James takes us straight to the store he was talking about, and points out the three remaining Japanese Dream Hunters, to which Walker snatches one for him and Kat and I snatch one for myself. It's a tad pricey at $43, but worth it. And it gives us all something cool to get signed at Cody's.
We walk around a bit, look at all the cool restaurants, haunt the video and music stores, and head back to the car so we can leave a little early for Berkeley.
The best part, I think, was going back to the car, sitting in front of a busted meter, was not getting ticketed. Good Car Karma is working well. James popped in the Gorillaz CD, so we had good music for the drive.
There wasn't all that much of a drive. As we headed into the city center to crawl towards the freeway, it slowly becomes more and more dense with cars. It was just before four when we headed out to this car park, and after having listened to the entire Gorillaz CD after passing over the Bay Bridge, James threw in Ladytron for the rest of the ride-- a ride that consisted of waiting 5 minutes, going fast for only a minute, then stopping for another five minutes. Not really the best for my brakes, or my gas mileage, either.
But alas, after terrible traffic, the sun peeks out as we enter Berkeley, and with time to boot. James suggests we check out Comic Relief before the signing, according to James one of the best comic book stores in California.
Don't ask me. The comic shop I used to frequent was in the corner of a little shopping center down the street from my friend A.J.'s house. I don't know what consitutes a good comic book shop from a bad one. I could probably tell you when one really sucks, but I don't really know what makes a good one. Now bookstores, maybe-- but that's a different story.
Now Comic Relief is fairly big. I've seen bigger-- the comic shop in Pittsburgh that I bought the hardback of Preludes & Nocturnes and Warning: Contains Language from was three stories. But Comic Relief, for being in a college town, was pretty big in comparison to what the comic shop was in my own college town of Redlands, and much friendlier.
We find a parking spot nearby. The meter's busted. Oh well. We're living on the edge.
The four of us stepped in, and gawked, and I bought a few things, one of them being the terrible little Death plush that would be something to remind me of the trip more than any real "Let's get this signed" value. James talked to one of the owners, and I'm embarassed that I can't remember his name now because he ended up stopping by the signing for a bit and knew who the major stores in Vegas were-- Alternative Reality and The Batcave, by all means not the only two stores in Vegas.
Then there was trying to find a parking spot near to Cody's. We drove around a few times, scoping, and then-- gasp!-- half a block down, someone pulled out of their spot. Pulling in and emerging from the car, we find the meter's busted. Again. Things've been working so far, why not, right. And besides, and enforcement stops at 7 anyway, which was still another hour or so away, so no big deal.
We go in, I buy a couple of copies of American Gods for friends of mine, figure out who's where, and head outside to the back door and hang a bit while Michelle rolls up in the silver Bug looking for a parking spot. Walker and Michelle have some prepping to do before the reading so Kat and James and I head back in and upstairs to get a good seat-- and basically reserve a whole Thingie row.
If I were to build a store, an independent bookstore, all by myself, it would look a bit like Cody's. It's got high ceilings, and high bookshelves, and lots of pictures of famous (both awesome and otherwise) authors that have read there on the walls. The room we were sitting in was small enough for an intimate reading, yet big enough to accompany a good many people. There were pictures of Alice Walker, Kurt Vonnegut, and Joeseph Heller on the walls. It was a little intimidating, and I was just there to listen.
We were an hour early, and the front rows were already taken, as were most of the second rows, so we took the third, which was still close enough to be able to record the reading.
People went off to do stuff, I tried calling people because I was bored, nobody was home. I went to the bathroom, only to come back to see more people had filled up the seats and were starting to take up standing room. It was like they'd multiplied in the span of ten minutes.
I got my mini disc out to record the reading, set it up to be ready. Eric showed up and I was introduced to him and we talked about his Tour of English Underground Caves book. Tom showed up just as Michelle emerged to do her intro. It's his plastic bag you hear through some of the recordings, so blame him if it's annoying. Just kidding.
Michelle, of course, pulled off a wonderful intro, despite being in a very bad headspace, by her accounts. It had us all talking about it for days, even on the newsgroup after we all got home.
And then Neil emerged from the back, all smiles, and negotiated "A very dangerous" rolling chair before deciding just to stand, and tell us the wonderful news: That he was, as of that afternoon, New York Times Bestselling author Neil Gaiman, which, as you can tell by the recording, got rave applause from the mad amounts of people who had shown up, especially the Thingies around me.
It was both a proud moment, and at the same time a little sad, because it felt, again, as if a great secret had been let out. Neil no longer had that edgy, underground aura anymore. I mean, he's still cool. Don't get me wrong. Now just everyone else in the country is slowly learning that fact.
He read from page 239, the part about The Haight and meeting Easter that he was going to read at Booksmith's if it wasn't just a signing thing. And again, everyone had a huge smile on their face at the end.
I could've hung around and just perused or read until the end, but I got in line at the end with Kat and some other friends of hers I embarassingly don't remember the names of now even though I was having conversations with all of them.
At first the line was inside and chaotic, then it moved outside where it was cooler outside and orderly. People kept walking by, asking what the line was for or who was signing. "Neil Gaiman," we'd all say, as if he was known by everybody, and they'd nod knowingly, as if they knew who that name was, and they'd walk off, mumbling the name so they could remember it.
The funny thing about standing in line in bookstores, when they move inside, is looking at all the different kinds of books they have for sale, and reading strange titles about sex and old people, or reading the flaps of books and seeing how well written the summaries of books are. Okay, so I'm easily entertained.
It's funny, because as the line wound down, we passed by graphic novels, mythology, and science fiction/fantasy (in that order), and Neil signed in front of the children's section next to the poetry bookshelf, which made sense for some reason, don't ask me why.
Now you know it's bad when you walk up to the table and this is your conversation:
Neil: "Fancy meeting you here."
Me: "Yeah funny that, after about an hour and a half of traffic."
Ellen: "Hi again. How are you?"
Me: "Hanging in there."
He signs AG for a couple of friends, and I ask him: "Now I have to know: Where did you go in Vegas while you were there?"
"Well, I stayed at the Maxim for a couple of days, and then I started to feel creepy. I had two breakfasts there: On the first day it was a big breakfast, and the next morning it was considerably smaller, and I noticed there weren't as many people around."
"Well, they were going through bankruptcy at one point."
"They were just getting out of it then. So I went over to the Tropicana, and when they found out I was going to be there for a couple of weeks writing a novel, they bumped me up to a suite."
"Must be nice."
"There's actually supposed to be a librarian from Vegas at Vroman's tomorrow," he said, which I thought was an odd thing to know. (Turns out she was from The Well discussion group. I didn't know this until tomorrow.)
Then he signs my Dream Hunters:
