Foolishly, I ate food that I cooked myself, and subsequently wound up with an epic bellyache, including the part where I showed up in the ER convinced my appendix was about to explode. In between writhing in misery I read some more Hugo eligible stories, and submitted my nominations.
I nominated the things I already mentioned, and I threw in some more short stories after binge reading a bunch of them. Nominating is hard work, compared to voting.
With the exception of an entertaining post by one of my fellow File 770 addicts about Ruritanians, I didn’t nominate any puppy-war silliness, even though I really enjoyed some of it, such as Alexandra Erin’s. I don’t want the younglings of 2116 wasting time puzzling over slang dictionaries trying to decode all those neologism failures.