I guess it’s an indication of how far I’ve come from my freshman year neohippy vegetarianism that I voluntarily ate a hot dog from a street vendor last night. It wasn’t wiggling or anything, but walking back to the train station I began to feel a gnawing horror as I remembered how exactly they make hot dogs, and that the last time I ate one off the street I threw up. But that was when I was something like seven years old, and it seems as though my stomach has become as jaded and bitter as the rest of me in the meantime, because I actually feel fine.

Today I’ll be wandering around Manhattan with the crew before they head out to that Other State for Ubercon. Several of you have asked if I’ll be at the con myself: it remains to be seen. I can say that I definitely won’t be there all weekend, having (as I do) theses to outline and existentialists to interpret by Monday, but it’s possible that I’ll be around for a while.