Dateline Boston, Logan Airport --

which is pretty damned nice in and of itself.

I got flagged as a security risk by US Airways, and so was subjected to my very first full patdown. Despite my request, said frisk was NOT performed by the nice-looking young brunette, but rather by a cheerfully efficient middle-aged bald guy.

Maybe I'll have better luck with my first strip-search.

Anyway, they were very thorough, which I actually appreciated. I thanked them when they were done. I WANT them to be thorough. That's what they're there for.

So the event at the Harvard Coop last night was pretty cool. About sixty or seventy people -- less then I was hoping for -- but the intro I got from the event coordinator was so good I wish I had a copy to post on this blog. This guy had not only read the book, but he understands exactly what is involved in making a novel out of a novelization . . . he was great, and I don't even remember his name. Richard was his first name; I didn't get his last.

And another thing: a young man offered an essay to me in a white envelope, one that he'd written for his English class. And I am such a thoughtless, ignorant, puddle-brained bastard that I somehow let it get buried in the stock signing I did after the event and left it behind.

But this is where the people at the Coop -- led by the aforementioned Richard and the thoughtful Karen Porter (whose name I know because she's the contact on my itinerary) -- they found it, and they're sending it to a certain very good friend of mine . . . along with a copy of Richard introductory essay. Which I hope he'll give me permission to post.

As for the young man's English paper -- I won't forget it again. I'll read it, and I'll tell you what I think of it. I promise.

Now, on to the reason I became the aforementioned puddle-brained bastard. The reason I can't even remember the name of the guy who gave me that stellar introduction. It's that aforementioned very good friend of mine.

It was because when I was walking in to do the event, I bumped into Bob Salvatore.

BOB FUCKING SALVATORE CAME TO MY BOOK SIGNING.

Just showed up. Because he's a great guy, and a really good friend, and he knew I'd already be more than ready to see a familiar face.

It was a gas. Shit, he asked the first question in the Q&A. I didn't point him out to the audience because, frankly, it was MY book signing and people would have instantly stopped paying attention to what I was saying because I may be Matthew Woodring Stover but he's Bob fucking Salvatore, y'know? I also didn't know if any of the fanboys in the audience still might be carrying a grudge over the unexpected Major Character demise in VECTOR PRIME . . . in fact, one of them admitted to me privately that he had been among those slagging Bob online back when VP came out, but that he'd since changed his mind about the book and thought it was really good. I told him that he probably shouldn't mention the part about the online slagging . . .


I did get to tell the story of how Bob and Mike Stackpole bullied me into writing Star Wars in the first place, and after the Q&A he came up to the table with me and hung out, which was really cool -- he didn't push himself in at all, but the fans who recognized him were kinda knocked out to find the authors of AotC and RotS together again for the first time.

I also got to have dinner with him afterwards -- hell, he even picked up the check, which'll make Colleen's tour-budgeteers smile . . .

While I'm talking Boston, I have to plug the Hotel Commonwealth, which was absolutely stellar -- the accomodations are lovely and the staff was impeccable. Listen, in my other life I work in a hotel; I know exactly what it takes to maintain even competence, let alone mastery. I have never received finer service.

I also should mention the hotel restaurant, Great Bay, which was INCREDIBLE. I worked four years in a four-star restaurant, under two of the finest chefs in the United States. I know a little bit about good food. The diver-caught sea scallops with blood-orange reduction over risotto-style Carolina rice were so good that they bafffle my powers of description. Bob and his buddy were similarly stunned by the sheer, stupendous goodness of everything they tasted. I saw a sign by the door that said Esquire Magazine had named Great Bay as the best new restaurant in Boston. Well, I haven't been to any other restaurants in Boston, but I've been to plenty in plenty of other cities, and the food here was as good as any I have ever had in my mouth. Period.

And I have to mention Jim and Ginny Bride, who were my escorts. They were both great -- great company, enthusiastic and indefatigable tour guides, friendly and knowledgable and all-around swell: setting the standard to which all other escorts will have trouble living up to.

Off to Buffalo!

Update --

Here I am in Buffalo. Just had some wings. They're better in Chicago.

Now I'm off for my very first TV appearance in which I play myself . . .

Tally Ho!