As I turned out of the subdivision this afternoon, the storm spat fat, heavy raindrops down upon the asphalt. With the blinker pinging for a left turn, the Jetta's eyelashes swatted rain away as fast as the sky could give it. I stared, vaguely mesmerized by the glitter-like effect of water bouncing on the asphalt, reflecting light in the process.

We talked a lot on the trip tonight, most of which held little consequence to anyone else except us. Cats. Plans. Expectations for the convention.

If we are not ready for the convention by now, we're never going to be ready. Brian and Suzan have trunks packed with everything from the morning coffee most staffers will crave to the medical supplies affectionately nicknamed the OSK. I have the rasta hat and my notebook; Brian has the digital camera.We've packed the most comfortable socks and shoes we all have. It's part of the key to survival come dragon*con time.

There's more to it, of course, but most of it involves not pissing off the tech staff. Or Traci Lords' bodyguards. (There are rumors floating around that she'll have her own bodyguard-type staff. May I be the first to say, oh, joy, I can't wait to deal with THAT?)

Tomorrow morning we set up equipment. Fan tracks to keep somewhere around twenty-three thousand people happy and amused require a good deal of equipment. Not to mention the ballrooms, the in-house video system Brian has to set up, and the control center I'll be helping Suzan create.

(I make such an adorable, if insouciant, lackey.)

My plans to acclimate myself to dragon*con time appear to have succeeded. I am staring down three a.m. with barely a yawn. At this rate, I might even be able to attend the two a.m. RHPS showing this year.

We'll pick up our tech badges tomorrow, begin our plans to take over the dragon*con universe, and then come back to Brian and Suzan's for a night of…well, whatever we're physically capable of doing after load-in, which is probably best described as nothing. (As long as nothing involves making a vat of Rice Krispie Treats for the staff, I think we're in good shape.)

To my left is an hourglass, filled with water and oil. The oil is purple, and due to those oil/water issues we all know so well, this hourglass flows upwards. Somehow, it fits in with the concept of tech staff in a way that would only be revealed to me at three a.m. if I were completely stoned out of my mind.

Even then, I'd forget it in the morning.

Guess I'm just not meant to figure it out.

So far, it appears I've only forgotten to copy a CD for Heather. All other items (in their splendidly varied degrees of importance) such as hair bits, rasta hat, underwear, combat boots, and trusty notebook, appear to have made their way here.

I think we're about as ready as we're ever going to be for this most unconventional of conventions. Either way, it's fun to drop out of mundane life for a few days. Me, I'm looking forward to grabbing a spare headset, going up to the hotel lobby, and providing my best acerbic, off-color commentary to everyone listening to the tech staff channel. I'm still annoyed that I missed last year's radio party; I plan to be a full instigator in this year's.

Meanwhile, the hourglass has finished its slow upward trickle. The clock says 3:25 a.m. I think I'm ready to call it a night.

Cheers.