Well, let's see. Nick Mamatas and I are among the Stoker Award finalists for our story "The Dude Who Collected Lovecraft", so if you're in the HWA, I hope you'll read the story and, if you find it worthy, vote for us. I stand by my prior promise to stage a photo of my Ultraman Hugo trophy menacing the Stoker haunted house trophy if I win this. It's Nick's third Stoker nom, and my first.

My friend Brian Auton, who was my housemate for who even remembers how many years back in college (and immediately post-college), is in town for the game developer's conference this week, so I convinced him to leave glamorous San Francisco and come over to Oakland for a few hours yesterday. We chatted, strolled around, got lunch, got gelato, and generally caught up and kibitzed into the afternoon.

So that part of yesterday was lovely, but my increasingly sick baby was not so lovely -- he was cheerful, but his eyes started oozing goop and it was pretty clear he was developing pinkeye. Heather braved the myriad horrors of the hospital today and got him examined and diagnosed and prescribed some antibiotic eye drops. It'll be a sick day at home for him tomorrow -- I can't bring a walking contagion like him into work, so no officebaby this week. (My own eyes are itchy today, I hope merely psychosomatically -- I tried to be good about washing my hands constantly.)

Ickiness aside, though, life has been good. Reading a lot of Westlake novels, working on my anthology projects, hanging out with my wife, chasing pigeons off the balcony, playing with my kid, enjoying the springtime weather. Saying la la la. Cooking good food. Drinking good booze. That sort of thing.