A judge’s diary: Part Eight
Listen to Charles Apple talk about judging at SND (New podcast)
(THIS IS THE LAST ENTRY. I PROMISE.)
TUESDAY, FEB. 20
Up early, once again. Pack my stuff. That suede SND bag gives me just enough room to bring everything home. Marshall Matlock, you da man.
I eat a great breakfast with Bill and Megan. My shuttle leaves at 10 a.m. I’m delighted to find I’ll be sharing a ride with such luminaries as Steve Dorsey and Denise Reagan. What did I do to deserve riding with the cool kids?
Then, I find that Steph Lim will be riding with us too.
Gulp!
I have to pause for a moment to tell you about Stephanie Grace Lim.
Stephanie is one of my most favorite people in the entire newspaper business. She’s incredibly talented. She’s incredibly creative. She doesn’t just think outside the box, she thinks outside the freakin’ solar system.
And, yes, she’s just one of the cutest things in the solar system. Must be the pigtails.
The incredibly talented Steph Lim. Photo by Kenny Marlatt
I met her at the San Jose workshop, but every time I tried to speak to her, nothing but mush came out of my mouth. I tried again in Houston. Again, I’d open my mouth and nothing but stray vowels would tumble out.
So in Orlando, I became determined I’d spend some quality time with her. But the only time I really got to see her was after I had tossed back a line of beers, courtesy of Rob Hunter and then ingested some strange, liquid-like substance in a shot glass given to me by Len DeGroot.
This time, sure enough, I couldn’t put together two coherent syllables. I have the photos to prove she gave me a big hug. But damned if I can remember what I said to her.
Yet, here she is, at the shuttle van. You guys can call shotgun; I call sitting next to Steph!
So for about 20 minutes — before she leaves the newspaper industry forever — I get to sit next to Stephanie Grace Lim as we ride to the airport. I even do that fake yawn thing and put my arm around her. I was about as subtle as I was in high school — meaning not very — but at least she doesn’t slap me.
Somehow, I think Steph understands that my brain turns to mush every time I’m around her. At least she seems very patient with me. I dunno; perhaps I’m not the only goofus who has that problem whenever I’m in the same room with her.
It was great seeing her again, though. I hope she’ll be in Boston. Perhaps she’ll attend if I agree to a restraining order.
When we arrive to the airport, we get hell of a shock: The lines are enormous for check-in and security. It’s winter break for school kids in Syracuse. Folks are headed south for warmer climates. I’m lucky that my flight leaves shortly after it was scheduled. I nearly miss a connection in Philly, but by early afternoon, I’m on the ground in Norfolk.
The temperature here when I return: 65 degrees. I drive home to Virginia Beach from the airport with my sun roof open.
I unpack and give Sharon and Elizabeth their Syracuse sweatshirts. I feel a little silly, given how warm it is outside. They don’t seem disappointed.
I log on and check Karl’s blog. The poor guy is stranded in Syracuse, holed up at a hotel near the airport.
I also discover he’s blogged twice about the little incident with the graphic he didn’t like. I feel badly that he feels so badly. I fire off an e-mail making sure he knows I have no problem with him.
I take a wild guess that now, he feels badly that I feel badly that he feels badly. Which, of course, would only make me feel more badly.
This makes my head hurt. I take an Advil and I go to bed.
My own bed.
I wake up about 13 hours later.
(THE END. FINALLY.)