Dreams last night were oddly fragmented and not along the usual subjects. I haven't dreamt of Minneapolis or any alternate versions thereof for a few months now. I guess my subconscios is working on finding another common topic.



The first part of the dream was a smaller convention, although the folks on staff were from AD, and I was working in the Programming department. The convention took place in a smaller, dingier version of the Thunderbird filled with oil paintings and lush Oriental carpets. A massive thunderstorm had settled in, scaring the con-goers into their rooms and leaving the convention staff with a good amount of free time.

There was a bit in there about sharing five bottles of low-quality vodka with staff members and a few other folks (who have never been to AD), and waking up with a really godawful hangover. Somebody observed that hangovers were the purpose of vodka.

At some point, I dragged somebody off to my room to have my way with them, and then things got really bizarre. Shortly thereafter, I woke up.

From: [identity profile] wombat-socho.livejournal.com


Somebody observed that hangovers were the purpose of vodka.
LIES.
On further review, this is probably more true of cheap shit like Karkov then Stolichnaya.

Speaking of dreams, Harry Potter and Charles Stross' Singularity Sky do not mix well.

From: [identity profile] phoenixalpha.livejournal.com


Charles Stross before bedtime is rarely a good idea, never mind combining it with tales of adolescent wizards.

From: [identity profile] wombat-socho.livejournal.com


Looking back on it, I can't believe how quickly I forgot what a relentless downer OOTP is. Anyway, Stross' Rachel Mansour novels aren't as twitch-inducing as the Bob Howard ones or Accelerando, which is just downright ugly and not likely to be read again, much like Glasshouse
.

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