The View From Kalamazoo

It’s the last day. For this and strong coffee and many other things I am grateful.

Made it through the Great and Glorious Saturday Dance intact. The DJ played I Wanna Be Sedated for me, as always. ‘Cause, you know, I did. (Hell, I do now.)

I shook my fat ass.

There were witnesses.

Now, of course, like every Sunday-of-Congress I feel wrecked. The dorm bed is awful, I get next to no sleep, and have been working at such a high stress level that I feel wrung out.

I made it to a couple of sessions, a few receptions, had lunch with TG (an honor at this point – there are a lot of draws on his time) and caught-up and that was Very Good. Had a lot of Good, Important, and Fruitful conversations and I appreciate the professional generosity of many. I bought many books. I no longer have any excuses to put off working on my June paper. (I’m the first of the first day of non-concurrent sessions. No pressure.)

Lots of nice folks have wandered by and told me they’ve had a lovely time and offered many thanks. It’s helpful to have positive feedback for the obvious reasons, and a little injection to sprits sinking low the face of crises and crabbiness and sheer exhaustion.

I’ve also been yelled at, emoted to, and accused of insensitivity beyond the bounds of the moons and stars. Yes, the construction is All My Fault. So is the weather, a paper cancelled You Really Wanted To See, and your watch set to central instead of eastern time. Despite the fact that the Program states that badges are required to attend the dance (page vi), the shuttle to hotels with special blocks for the conference is limited (page vi-vii), and we must have firm cut-off date for cancellation with refund, anyone inconvenienced by these and unhindered by foreknowledge of these through a cursory reading of their Program should blame me for these things, as well.

Next year I’m getting a t-shirt made up that states, clearly, “It’s All My Fault.” That will save the inconvenience of having to inform me and free up schedules otherwise bogged down by the responsibility of clueing me in.

I receive all sins. I will be slaughtered for the good of the community Sunday afternoon.

I’m glad it’s over – I always am. It’s a lot of prep and anticipation and planning, it’s here, and then I’m glad it’s done. We’ve already started on next year, so apart from the aftermath and post-mortem meetings I can look forward. I think I’ll not submit a proposal to organize a special for next year – maybe I’ll try to give a paper again. Or not – despite the cost I rather like going away to give papers. I think it’s easier to take a person seriously when they aren’t also the person you complain to when the men’s room is out of paper towel.

And the beat goes on.