That ain’t no way to have fun, son!

Saturday night I had the opportunity to meet some prominent South Florida bloggers face to face. While vows of secrecy and blood oaths prevent me from divulging the names of the cabal present, I feel I can safely mention that — contrary to social stereotyping — the members of this community are without exception youthful, attractive, talented, educated, witty, committed, and urbane. (I am certain the regular patrons of Tobacco Road were wondering if this was a casting call for America’s Next Top Model, and if they are models, why are they using such big words?). For those who were there, it was a pleasure to meet you, and my only regret is that I didn’t have as much time there as I had hoped.

You see, I was quite late to the event, due to some unfortunate circumstances. While getting ready for the event I stumbled in the shower, slicing my scalp open with a razor and turning the bathroom into an outtake from Psycho. There’s nothing to get your evening off to a good start quite like a head wound. I waited almost an hour for the bleeding to stop, twice having to change shirts because ill-considered movements renewed the flow. After this sort of bloody omen I considered staying home. So for those who attended, no, I don’t normally wear bandages on my head as a fashion statement.

This incident, together with an annoying technical issue regarding my credit union and the ATM network, lead me to be almost two hours late. While I confess that punctuality is not included in my slim volume of virtues, I was particularly annoyed by this delay, and was in a somewhat foul humor by the time I arrived.

Fortunately, the event itself was a delightful (if sweaty) affair, and any apprehension and irritation was quickly dissolved by the warmth and enthusiasm of the attendees. (The two swift applications of Myers Dark on the rocks with a twist helped, too.) Perhaps the blood loss and alcohol replacement combined to render my unanticipated self-introduction to the group a bit incomprehensible, but at least no one called me on it to my face. Perhaps, though, they were being indulgent, in the way you tend to make allowances for your grandfather’s rambling tales of the old days.

I hope it is something we do often, so if you want to be in on the next meeting of the minds, drop me a note. Beyond that there’s little I can say, mainly because the rest of my comments will be part of an upcoming installment in the Internet Years series.

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