Twenty Things About TARcon
She shakes my hand. "Now, you're the site my son went to, aren't you?" I smile tightly. "Yeah...yeah," I say, "I think I remember something about that." "Oh, my gosh!" she says. "I told him, 'I'm going to have to go to this party and apologize for you!'" I blink rapidly. "I don't -- I actually think he was doing the kid thing perfectly, in a way." She laughs. "No, really -- he was being your kid, you know? It's not like I would enjoy people picking on my mom, either." She is extremely nice. I don't know at the time that she will turn into the new Guido Bill, in that she will spend the next couple of weeks patiently answering a million questions on the forums, and even helping Rinaldo with the famous timelines that would otherwise cause him to lie awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how he has neglected the effect of crossing the international dateline.
The first person to kiss-kiss me was Mr. Pseudostudent, who asked first. Techniques varied. Some opened with a request (which was fine), some didn't (which was also fine). A few went for the single kiss, most went for the kiss-kiss, and a choice few went for the oh-so-European kiss-kiss-kiss. Some came nowhere near me, getting nothing but the air by my ear. Lots actually got me right on the cheek. Only Brennan approached me with an actual warning -- "Are you ready?" Hee. (Honestly, what do you say to that? "Hi, I won a million dollars. These are my leather pants. I'm a lawyer. Do you mind?") It was a veritable festival of kissing, which more than made up for last year's sorry showing.
It's hard to say enough about what a really terrific evening it was. To all of you who came to the party, to all of you who didn't, and to all of you who were there in spirit, I thank you profusely for everything. Hell of a party.