Irene and I started the day with breakfast at the 16th Street Einstein’s Bagels, after which she headed to the Dealers Room while I went off to check the Green Room for the rest of the members of my 10:00 a.m. panel. I didn’t find any of them there, but I did find Pat Cadigan, who was loudly proclaiming to the rest of her table that “The 21st Century can kiss my ass!”

“The 21st Century can kiss your ass?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You can quote me on that.”

So that’s what I’m doing.

The two panels I participated in Saturday left me feeling melancholy. My first panel of the day was “A Tribute to Jack Williamson,” which also featured Connie Willis, David Hartwell, and Melinda Snodgrass. A couple of hours later, I took part in “Wonders of 1958: Algis Budrys’ Who?,” which while focused more on the book than the man, did turn into a memorial of sorts. That latter panel also contained John Hertz and G. David Nordley. These two panels, while celebratory, and while they contained many happy, warm, funny, and uplifting memories, left me feeling somber.

In between the two memorials, I had lunch with Risa and Sandy Stewart and Karen Newton, which turned into yet another opportunity for me to eat bison. All three of them, by the way, are members of the writing workshop I used to belong to in Maryland back before Science Fiction Age took over my life and forced me to give up that habit.

On the way back to the convention center, we paused at the first Denver street band I felt was worth hearing. A bunch of guys from Phoenix (sadly, I didn’t get the actual name of the band) were armed with a banjo, an accordion, a snare drum, a bassoon, a washtub, a kazoo, a mandolin, a few gourds, and even more instruments. They were playing upbeat jazzy songs which all seemed to me to be from the ’20s through the ’40s, featuring a lot of the call and response which was in vogue back then. After listening to a couple of songs, I tossed them a few bucks and then took off for a panel. But when I got 20 or so feet away, I heard the accordionist launch into the opening bars of one of my favorite songs, “St. James Infirmary,” which I think is best known through the Louis Armstrong version.

I immediately turned back, even though I was getting dangerously close to missing my Budrys panel, and stayed through what was a surprisingly moving rendition. It even gave me a few chills. Then I really had to go, so I tossed them a couple more dollars and dashed back. If there hadn’t been a convention going on, I’d be there still, listening to them for as long as they were willing to play. What can I say? It was my kind of music, played well and enthusiastically. I regret not getting their name. If any other attendees happened to catch them, please let me know, so that I can give the band a more proper nod.

Speaking of enthusiastic performances, at 2:30 p.m. I heard Mary Turzillo read “Steak Tartare and the Cats of Babakin Station.” Since it was Mary, I should have known that cats were inevitable. If you want to read this story of cats on Mars, watch for it to appear in a future issue of Analog.

When I arrived at the auditorium for the Hugo Awards ceremony, who should I see on one of the two jumbo screens but me, as images of the con to date scrolled by. Check out this photo taken in front of the Reno in 2011 bid party Wednesday night. That’s David Hartwell to the left, and my wife, Irene Vartanoff, peeking over the shoulder of, I think, Robert Reed.

Wil McCarthy was a witty and entertaining toastmaster, missing only the roller skates worn by the 1971 Denvention toastmaster, Ed Bryant.

As usual, I handicapped the Hugos with those near me. We don’t choose those whom we want to win, we choose those whom we think will win, based on the buzz and our knowledge of Hugo history. Mary proved to be the most prescient, guessing 8 of the 15 categories correctly. I came in second, with 6 right, while Geoff came in third with only 4 correct. I was also sitting with Doug Fratz, but I never heard his results. Doug, if you’re out there reading this, let me know how you fared.

My one disappointment with the awards was the lack of a win for Barry Malzberg. (Sorry, Jeff!) As much as I appreciated Brave New Words, Barry’s Breakfast in the Ruins should be required reading for anyone wishing to understand science fiction. Plus, he’s a friend, and I have a soft spot both for him and for the book. I understand he came in second, but I won’t find out how close he came until I see the final stats, which should be floating around the con on Sunday. With Barry’s luck, he’ll have lost by one vote, simply because he never got around to casting one for himself. We’ll see.

Then it was off to the parties, starting with the Hugo nominees party (colloquially known as the Losers party) hosted by Anticipation, next year’s Worldcon. Attendance is limited to this year’s nominees and their guests, so I am thankful that I was able to slip in with Graham Sleight. Then it was off to the SFWA suite for a party hosted by Ace, followed by a trip to the crowded 22nd floor for a party hosted by Japan fandom.

I love the Japanese fans, and look forward to them regaining their strength from the monumental task of putting on last year’s Worldcon, so they can launch another bid. When I pressed Tomonori Takeda, seen with me below, when Japan would leap once more into the fray (“2015 perhaps?” I asked), all he would commit to was that it will occur “this century.” I only hope that it will also occur within my lifetime, because last year’s Worldcon was one of my favorites (and I’ve been going since 1974). If Japan ever does put in another bid, make sure to support them.

I was running out of steam around 1:00 a.m. and crashed, so you’ll have to look elsewhere for early morning party reports. But I’m completely up to date over at flickr, however, so check out all 108 of my images.