Well, the whole sun-and-sprawling thing didn’t exactly work out, as the powers that be decided for some reason that I’m a wicked little thing who deserves to be rained on during her Florida escape. But screw the powers that be, as I always say, which must be why they rain on me in the first place. I bravely lay out by the pool in almost total cloud cover Saturday morning, insisting that the chilling wind off the ocean was that relaxing thing the brochures call a “seabreeze,” and so enjoying the very occasional blast of sun making its way through a hole in the clouds that I managed to get my nose a little pink, like I really was on vacation.
I also dined alone at an octogenarian hot spot Friday night and had several drinks sent my way courtesy of an old gentleman who claimed he was a retired CIA agent with the gunshot scars to prove it, and he’d tell me more but then he’d have to kill me. For reals.
The conference itself—at least the part of it I attended, which included my panel, a plenary talk, a large dinner, and an open bar—was more fun than I’d anticipated. I don’t know why I hadn’t anticipated it, seeing as how the reason I keep going back to this conference is that it’s always fun. And it’s often located on a beach—that too. So no tan for me, but several new brilliant friends and acquaintances, which is better anyway.
As for my cyber travels, in the interest of getting in touch with some friends from whom I’ve drifted, I’ve colonized a page on MySpace. If you drop by, please note that I am now officially “Friends” with Rhett Miller. The boy is playing right into my hands.