Readercon 22: In Which the Pre-Raphaelite Sisterhood (well, some of them) Encounters Cannibal Towns, Dirty Limericks and Googly Eyeballs
The thought that preoccupies me is, “How the heck am I going to find enough pictures to go with this post?”
Unlike that one time when we crashed a Zeppelin into Madison, we did not document our epic journey across America with anything so practical as a camera. No!
Instead, we marked the miles in the bellowing of bawdy (need I say, alternate?) lyrics to “There’s a Hole in My Bucket, Dear Liza,” the scrawling of character notes, place names and plot devices for a story about a stolen moon, the counting of times the word “Beloit” was mentioned in the back seat (Brendan Detzner being an alum and S. Brackett Robertson, or “Brackett,” a current student), in Billy Joel sing-alongs and idle speculations about the nature of certain malevolently leaning shacks in Guilderland, New York.
“Meth shed?” Patty postulated.
“Cannibals?” I countered.
“CANNIBAL METH SHEDS!” we roared together, with, perhaps, more delighted gusto than was strictly necessary.
“So… Do the cannibals eat the meth heads?” Brendan asked. “Or are the cannibals themselves meth heads?”
The conversation went on. I will not trouble you with further details. By this time we had been driving approximately ten hours and still had nine to go.
