I slept late this morning, and had a long dream about attending a science fiction convention in Greece. Its being in Greece was not terribly relevant, since the entire dream took place in the hotel lobby, except for an excursion at some point to pick someone up from a train station. The only part of it I can remember really vividly involved sitting in the lobby eating peanut butter cups and talking about writing with various writerly friends, most of whom reside within 50 miles of where I live.

Hmmm...why peanut butter cups, I wonder?

Ran some errands today. I bought windshield wiper blade refills. Everybody was buying windshield wiper blades or refills today, because of the rain. I went to Kragen, and the wiper aisle was packed with guys holding old wiper blades, trying to measure them with tape measures and squinting in bewilderment at the racks of blades.

I went up to this little keypad doohickey and typed in the model year for my car, and the manufacturer, and then the model. The little screen gave me part numbers for replacements for the driver's side wiper from six manufacturers. I chose one, found it one the rack, and grabbed it. Then I hit 'Next' and got part numbers for the passenger side wiper. Grabbed it. I sail out of there, leaving behind six open-mouthed guys with tape measures. "Just use the keypad! Buy what it tells you to buy!" I call over my shoulder as I leave.

I can't take the credit for being smart about this: the first time I bought replacement windshield wiper blades I was completely clueless, and so I asked a store employee for help.

I bought new boots. I went to the discount shoe place on Shattuck to see if they had Caterpillar work boots, because I'd heard they were very comfy and sturdy. They didn't have women's work boots, but they had a men's pair in size 7 that fit me perfectly. And they cost $37 dollars less than what I would have paid for a pair if I'd ordered them online. Yay, discount shoe place!

And a self-described travelling monk gave me a print-on-demand copy of the Bhagavad-Gita and asked me to e-mail him when I was done reading it.

Do you ever feel like you're in a Bruce Sterling short story?

Gotta go. Type at you all later!