Irene and I went to dinner Thursday night with Bill Shunn, Laura Chavoen, Geoffrey Landis, and Mary Turzillo. Laura charmed the concierge into getting us reservations at Vesta Dipping Grill, which we were told was a hot restaurant in the hippest part of town.

What that turned out to mean was a room so dark that the menus were almost unreadable, and food so overproduced as to detract (as far as I was concerned) from the true pleasure of the ingredients. After all, does a well-cooked scallop really need to come with three overpowering dipping sauces that mask, rather than complement, the tender taste of the flesh?

But both the conversation and company were excellent, which, after all, was why we were really breaking bread together anyway. (Above, in order, that’s me, Laura, Irene, Bill, Geoff, and Mary.)

After dinner, we headed straight for the SFWA suite over in the Sheraton, where I got embroiled in a conversation about science-fiction cliches with Benjamin Rosenbaum, John Kessel, Michael Swanwick, Leslie Howle, and others, sparked by some comments Ben had on a story John recently wrote. Eventually, I slipped away with Sheila Williams and Robert Silverberg to a quiet and air-conditioned back room to discuss the history of magazine price and page-count changes going back the beginning of the SF magazine. We chewed over this topic for at least an hour, which would probably interest no one except those who also have ink for blood the way we do.

Nearing exhaustion, Irene and I finally left, and—after a brief survey of the Australia party and the Con Suite—staggered off to the free bus at 16th Street which would get us a little closer to the Marriott. Lawrence Watt-Evans and Julie Evans were already there. As we chatted, Paolo Bacigalupi turned up, which changed the wait into a mini-convention all its own.

For those who need more visual aids to imagine themselves there, I’m now up to 72 photos over at flickr.