*01.29.02 pretend you've got no money

weatherpeople were very excited yesterday about the lowest high temperatures in twenty years. one must justify shuddering when it's forty degrees outside, i suppose, but i bet they have central heating, the pansies.

joe and i got to be The Last Line of Defense at the boxer thing last night, which meant that i whispered about sketchy rich people and he tattled on them to the secret service agents. most of the badgeless were genre authors who, er, didn't want to be swarmed. i don't really care about richard north patterson, though his wife's tapestry suit was fairly inflammatory.

as for clinton, he was very late and boxer didn't fancy a lag between his speech and hers, so a guy from battlebots took the stage and told jokes about bin laden's cellular plan. babs did a meandering bit about running again because of 9/11, then the authors and i rushed the one bathroom to primp for the headliner. i was already primped within an inch of my life, but i'd gone outside to smoke and was terrified that everyone could smell me.

then bill. i should point out that he was still the president last night: i was confused when he was introduced as such, but these donors were not in ha-ha denial, oh no. i wiggled through the guys with markers and athletic equipment, shook his hand and said it'sanhonorsir, and ran away. my hangnails didn't heal spontaneously or anything, but i was awed like a big old dork.

and my hair was on the ten o'clock news, whee!

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