Twelve hours until Andrew's demo has to be turned in. I'm looking at him with it now, giving my opinions on the final cut. Every tweak is laborious for all the rewriting required and risky for how delicate the connections between the pieces.

The hotel sits on the bank of the Rhine. At breakfast, jetlagged and headachey from lack of caffeine, we watched long river transports carrying cars, gravel, and things encased navigate the bends and current. It was industrial pastoral to the max.

Well, the party hasn't officially opened, but we've been at the location for at least six hours. The first many hours involved meeting people and eating and drinking. And then someone told Andrew that the organizers would test his demo to see if it would run on the compo machine. A good idea. So he did that, and it didn't run. He knows the reason, but the reason challenges the way the entire thing is built. Now he is scrambling to rebuild it.

Men outnumber women by an incredible but completely expected margin. I can't find a bathroom dedicated to women and there aren't enough women to tail to follow.

. . .

Ah! Spied the bathroom as we were leaving. It's on the other side of the building.