Kind of a weird first thing to hear when I open my eyes in the morning, but that’s how it is when she wakes up two hours before me.
“Because it says here that she’ll be speaking today in some conservation event at De Anza College.” God bless the San Jose Mercury News and it’s advertisement-disguised-as-news stories.
Whee! Get dressed, grab a quick bite, and it’s off to the Wildlife Conservation Expo I go. Jane Goodall!
The event was organized by the Wildlife Conservation Network. All sorts of groups had stands there, with real honest-to-God conservationists who telling stories and giving details about the animal they were dedicated to saving, and in the main hall there were lectures by more or less the same folks. Very interesting stuff, really interesting people. Already worth the visit and the small donation I gave.
If nothing else, ComicCon teaches you to plan ahead for the main event. So I stayed inside almost all the time, and every time we had 10 minutes between speakers and some people left the hall, I moved to a slightly better seat. By the time JG was on, I was in the first row, right in front of the podium. Smooth.
There were some introductions by WCN, people, including the woman who sat three seats from me and turned out to not just look like Isabella Rosellini, but actually be Isabella Rosselini. The one who Rachel said Ross could sleep with, back when Friends was somewhat funny. And then the main attraction came up to the stage. Jane Goodall is inspiring. Her speech was so moving that I nearly got off my ass and decided to do something with my life. She is seventy-something years old and still tours 300 days a year. She has this little stuffed ape toy that she takes everywhere. And she’s so tiny, I could hardly see her behind the podium. Probably would have had a better view from third row, or if I weren’t right in front of the podium. Bummer.
Then I got in line for the book signing outside and listened in on what other people were talking about. The lady behind me was telling another lady how she recently received several wolf cubs, and the other lady was giving her the email address of a group in Minnesota that has experience with wolfs and can help her rise them. Only in fucking America.
Then a completely different lady told yet a fourth lady how a friend of her cousin’s neighbor’s ex-lesbian-lover’s aunt’s proctologist sat next to Ms. Goodall on a plane with her 3-year-old, and JG was all “get that fucking brat off me, you person of questionable hygiene!” If she’s such a cunt, why are you in line to get her to autograph? Everywhere, I’m afraid.
As if to prove she’s down with the rug rats, Goodall saw how long the line was and sent her people to collect all the parents waiting in line with their kids, and to bring them to the front of the line, so she could actually talk with the kids and tell the some stories before she get exhausted (which she certainly was by the time it was my turn).
This is me. With Jane Goodall.
Me. With Jane F. Goodall.
Suh-weet.
Then I went to say hello at a few of the stands, bought Okapi (he of my previous post fame), let a 4-foot snake climb all over me for about 10 minutes (W-O-W, what an amazing creature), and went home a very happy customer.
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