Sundays at conventions and conferences are always lazy days, and this is particularly true during Nebula Awards weekends. With no scheduled programming, Sunday tends to be spent primarily in the bar, hospitality suite, and restaurants, and that was how I spent the day, except for the hours I returned to my hotel room to either work on Science Fiction Weekly or update this blog.

I wandered over to the Hickory Street Bar & Grill with Mike Marano and Laura Domitz for brunch. Mike and I know the insides of each other’s heads far too well, but I’d never had a chance to catch up that intimately with Laura before, which is strange, considering that, as I learned over waffles, we’d been at many of the same conventions in the early ’70s, including the first Star Trek convention. While we exchanged convention war stories, Mike got along so well with our waitress that it almost felt as if Laura and I were intruding, but as far as I could tell, no phone numbers were exchanged.

Between bunch and dinner I hung out with Connie Willis and Liza Groen Trombi in the bar, oohing and aahing over baby pictures (and a video) before Liza headed for home.

For dinner, Geoff drove us out to the Salt Lick, while I attempted to navigate using the hotel’s faulty pre-preprinted directions, which were flawed both coming and going. (Connie and Mary Turzillo managed to hide their horror as we bumbled our way to the outskirts of Austin.) The smell from the parking lot was stunning, and we stood awhile in front of the pit just breathing in the smoke. The restaurant sells barbecue sauce, but based on the overwhelming aroma, what I really think they should be bottling is perfume!

Our waitress brought over a bottomless plate of sausage, brisket, and pork ribs, which we did our best to do justice to. Luckily, we failed, because “all you can eat” should not be taken as a challenge. As for the quality, the brisket was far superior to that which I described a few days ago at Stubb’s, but as for the pork ribs, I think Stubb’s has the edge. (Though because of the peppery crust on the ribs at Stubb’s, I have a feeling that some might find their flavor a little too nontraditional.) The conversation, as always, was even better than the food, and hopped around from Robert Heinlein to the recent raid on that polygamist sect to George Bush (whose name we only mentioned in a whisper, since this is Texas, after all) to Tristan and Isolde to the primaries and around and back again.

We got lost once more on the way back—I’ll have to talk to the front desk this morning about their mis-directions—but as you can tell by the fact that I’m blogging here, we did eventually get back to our rooms. And unless I bump into someone in the lobby as I head to the airport this morning, this will be the end of my Nebula reporting, and these will be the last of my posted photos.

I’ve been hearing uncomfirmed reports that next year’s gathering of the tribe will be in Los Angeles, but until you hear that from someone who knows better, that’s just a rumor.

Next stop on the science-fiction caravan—Balticon 42.