I had a fantastic time working the World Convention, even if it did mean running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I did manage to sneak away to have lunch with friends on Friday, and dinner with a couple others that same evening. I had the privilege of driving George Carlin in a golf cart to his dressing room, then to the stage, and then to the loading dock where he left at the end. Damn, he’s old! I enjoyed his show, but some others didn’t, apparently. Perhaps I should tell them the Aristocrats joke.
San Antonio was nice, even if I didn’t get to see the city at all. I stayed in a hotel a couple blocks from the Alamo, and didn’t even make it over to see that. Such is life. I had fun and saw lots of people, old friends and new. I had to walk away from the work I was doing around 3 in the afternoon yesterday to head to the airport for my 5 o’clock flight, and I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be at home, with no urgent responsibilities to fulfill. I got back to the scorching heat of the San Fernando Valley around 9 or 10 at night and quickly fell fast asleep. When I woke up late in the morning, I set about the work of being back at home: unpacking, doing laundry, cleaning up. I got the message that I’m not allowed to go to work tomorrow, so maybe I’ll finally get that maintenance done on my motorcycle and take my car in for an estimate on the damages done back in July. And maybe I’ll go get a massage!