So Laura and I spent last weekend in Chicago. Saturday was a long, long day of looking at apartments, some of which were very tempting and which we had to reluctantly conclude were not right for us. The most tempting of them all was a giant four-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a graystone on a large lot-and-a-half. It was a steal for the price, but still about $300 over our budget.
After dinner with the in-laws who had generously and heroically driven us around the city all day, Laura and I headed north to arrive in time for dessert with at Ysabeau Wilce's fabulous and humongoid apartment, where we also crossed paths with Paul Witcover of theinferior4 fame. No dueling blogs ensued, but Guitar Hero II was played. We shout, shout, shout at the devil!
We were nervous about our prospects upon restarting the hunt Sunday morning. If we didn't find something that day, Laura would have to make a solo hunting trip back alone. Fortunately, the second place we saw Sunday morning was perfect. First floor of a greystone in Humboldt Park, good neighbors in the building, El stops convenient, nice communal yard for the dog, friendly landlord, only $100 over our budget, and best of all two blocks away from TASTEE FREEZ! Oh, dear. I have shed 17 pounds in the past two months through brute willpower, but now I fear their return is incipient.
But we have a place to live! Now the only thing to worry about is the moving itself.
Welcomed Brook and Julia West to New York City this morning, and despite a kerfluffle which involved their cab speeding away with their walking sticks still in the trunk, followed by a hey-it-coulda-been-far-less-helpful call to 311, I think they got settled in well. Brook and Julia are in town to receive the Service to SFWA Award at this week's Nebula Awards Weekend, and Derryl Murphy spearheaded the effort to get them here from Salt Lake City to accept in person. I knew Brook and Julia when I lived in Utah, and hadn't seen them in 12 years or so. Such great people. I hope they have a great visit here.
So, the Nebula Awards Weekend kicks off tomorrow, and I am trying just to relax, go with the flow, and have fun. The internets are a great help to me in not getting too invested in the outcome. I never know from one day to the next if I am supposed to feel worse about being a white male American writer, a logrolling vote trader, or a representative of the entrenched regressive old-school badly written skiffy boy-story movement. Am I supposed to be more embarrassed about the Nebula nomination or the Hugo nomination? Is it a double blessing, a double curse, or do the two just cancel each other out? Inquiring minds need to know.
I wish we could all just be writers, writing the best stories we know how, and none of the rest was important.