Today more than made up for yesterday. The feeding-frenzy book grab portion of BEA began in earnest, and WE! MET! MIKE! HOLMES!
What? You can't not hug him. He was so nice and so pleasant and the line was full of giddy girls (ourselves not excepted).
We also met R L Stine, which was deeply weird because he's not so much a person as an amorphous presence of my teen years and yet hey look, he is also a person. Wacky.
And we met Temple Grandin, and Chuck Klosterman, and my internet-friend 'blackbird,' and many bloggers, and we had whoopie pies and a black-and-white cookie that came with a preview of a Shel Silverstein book (we would have taken either the preview or the cookie alone, but TOGETHER OH MAN) and then went to a sci-fi/fantasy reading with Cat Valente and Lev Grossman and John Scalzi and Scott Westerfeld and Cat Valente made me a little starstruck because she is Cat Valente, is she aware?
And it was hot like summer and we had brought a wheelie-bag to wheel our loot the fourteen blocks back to our hostel and were so glad we had because even being our most discriminating and restraining selves, we came home with this:
And, like, and infinite number of pens.