When I was a kid one of the songs we sang at school was “Rolling down to Rio,” the lyrics of which I was told years later were written by Rudyard Kipling. It went something along the lines of

I’ve never seen a jaguar
Nor yet an armadillo
Dilloing in his armor
And I spose I never will.
Unless I go to Rio
These wonders to behold
Go rolling down to Rio
Roll down, roll down to Rio
And I’d like to roll to Rio
Some day before I’m old
To roll…
I’d like to roll to Rio
Some day before I’m old

Because of this, I cannot think of armadillos, or indeed Armadillocon, without thinking about rolling down to Rio.

But enough of that. Other Brains have mentioned the food (o! the food. Were I wise, I would simply content myself with what I ate this weekend and never eat again–barbecue, Chinese, Mexican, quite aside from Maureen’s Brain Food) and even the company, which was excellent, both among the Brains and at the convention. But this weekend I realized that my convention-going experience is old enough to vote!

I went to my firstt con in 1981, right after I left Clarion: the Worldcon in Denver. Thereafter I’d go to the odd Worldcon, Boskones and Readercons and Lunacons–all relatively local to New York, where I lived. Occasionally I’d go to another convention if I was invited and could afford it. I came to recognize a lot of people I’ve never actually met–people who move in costuming circles or gaming or are seriously into media fandom, some part of the Empire I don’t wander into much. I became, I think, a familiar enough face so that I stopped having people ask “are you somebody?” (The only proper answer to that, I think, is “Hell, no. Do I look like somebody?) Sometimes I would get on a plane or a train or stopping at a highway rest stop and recognize someone who was also on the way to the convention.

And then we moved West. Now, having been to enough Orycons and Baycons, the odd Mythcon or Potlatch or Radcon, I’m getting to know a whole different set of faces (and seeing some people from the old milieux–fandom does travel). And this weekend I met a whole new set of new faces. I felt very welcome, and only once did someone ask if I was somebody, which is not bad for conquering a new region of the country.

Plus, you gotta love a city whose motto is “KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD.”

Late Sunday evening, I finished cutting Feral Sapiens down to size. Wrapped it up at 119,600 words’ worth of blood, calamity, planet-eating machines, betrayal and redemption. Go, me!

That night, I went to a friend’s house and stayed up most of the night watching the Perseid meteor shower.

(Check out the pic link, btw. I found the shot at Astronomy Pictures of the Day, and followed the link to a GREAT astronomy website called Moonglow Observatory run by Fred Bruenjes, an amateur astronomer. He has set up his own observatory, as a hobby, and has tons of fascinating astronomical photography and movies up at his site. )

All I can say is, wow. What a show. At the peak we had 3-4 per minute, with plenty of zippers (the ones that scream across the sky at 150,000 mph), and a few smokers (the big, slow ones that plough the atmosphere), as well as all manner of other phenomena: satellites, jets, and lots of stars, planets, nebulae, globular clusters, and the like, thanks to a friend with a really cool, 8-inch reflector telescope and a remote that let him program in whatever we wanted to look at (Hat tip to Bob Norton). I gotta get me one of those.

I’m still brain dead from sleep deprivation.

Speaking of which, The Onion writes an excellent article on zombie nutrition. Don’t miss it.