These weekend I have not one, not two, but five parties to go to:
- A housewarming party.
- A housewarming barbecue.
- A party to celebrate the engagement of some friends.
- A reunion for alumni of my previous company.
- A book release party.
Lest you think I’m just saying this to brag about my fabulously full social life, please rest assured that this weekend is a fluke. I’m looking at my calendar right now, and every weekend is clear from now till September. Sometimes distributions are clumpy. I really wish they weren’t, though — I think I’ll need a weekend to decompress from my weekend.
The book release party, by the way, is for an anthology edited by my former teacher Ellen Sussman. The title is Bad Girls: 26 Writers Misbehave. I predict it will sell about a million kajillion copies.
NOTE: Careful and regular readers of this journal might have discerned that I tend to lean towards SF rather than mainstream fiction. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine at this party. If an SF type shakes hands with a mainstream type, it’s not like this produces a catastrophic matter/anti-matter explosion that generates photons with a characteristic energy of — Sorry! Sorry, got a bit carried away there. Anyway, who knows, maybe one of these writers managed to sneak in some rocket ships or dinosaurs or something. In fact, my friend Shelly implies that at least one of the stories might contain aliens with zit-producing rayguns. Sounds like an excellent start!
UPDATE: Well, the weekend is over — I even skipped one of the parties, and I am still exhausted. How did people back in the Studio 54 era manage all that?
Oh, that’s right. Lots and lots of cocaine.