It’s kind of like stage diving into a mosh pit, I think. I’m leaving for Santa Barbara this afternoon, beginning a week-long tour of a big chunk of California. Zeno has cruelly pointed out that my itinerary is a bit convoluted, but I say you take the tour you’ve got, not the one you wish you had.
The amazing thing is that I scarcely know what I’m doing. I show up in Santa Barbara tonight, and I’m hoping I’ll be caught by the locals (you know who you are: you should get in touch with Lyz at the SSA, who’ll give you my secret cell phone number), who’ll show me a couch or a bed or something, and then each day afterwards I’m just sort of expecting someone will show up or contact me and guide me to the next event in the schedule. Zeno is right that the tour leads me all over the place, but from my perspective, it’s all pretty much Brownian. I shall be buffeted by the impact of chaos, and I shall enjoy it, unless I get dropped and end up spending a night sleeping on a sidewalk in Fresno or something.
I’ll be back in Minneapolis on the 29th of January, where the Trophy Wife™ will meet me with a pile of clean underwear so I can repack for my trip to Ireland and the Affront to God tour, leaving on the 30th. I’m still juggling a few of the details on that one, so I’m not going to put up a map just yet…but I will note that when I sketched out the preliminary route there, Dublin to Galway to Cork to Belfast, my son snarkily pointed out that I’ll be making the sign of the cross over the island. I may have to rejigger something, since that would be blasphemous, and we can’t have that, no sir.
A lot of people are asking about social hours after the talks. I HAVE NO PLANS. I am but a feather in the wind. However, I’m also really easy, so if anyone wants to drag me away and ease my parched throat with local brews, I’ll be amenable.