Tuesday, July 31, 2007


24 hours and I'll be on a plane for Ireland. I've got a spanking new Visa card (my first ever - I finally succumbed to the machine and got a credit card), borrowed Rudy's camera (mine was killed permanently in Wadi Rum), did all my laundry, sorted my personals, turned in most of my reports at work, and did my final paddling practice for the next week and a half ... and now I guess it's time to pack.

20-some hours from then I'll be in Dublin. I have an eight hour layover in LAX, but I'm not even worried about that. I've stocked up on books, and am looking forward to digging in. I'll start with Michael Chobon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union, and bring either Arturo Perez-Reverte's The Club Dumas or Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore on the plane as back-up. I'm thinking Murakami; Perez-Reverte writes thrillers (sorry, make that gothic noir metafiction, according to the cover) and that might be better for the return.

I've got twenty-four hours in Dublin to act up, and then I hop a bus for the west coast. I'll meet the kin at McGann's Pub in Doolin 7:30 Saturday night, and then the party will begin. I just heard that John won't make it, which is sad; I don't know that it will feel fully complete without him.

Meanwhile, I think Cadiza got exorcised last night. Poor demon. I fessed up to the director that I was the a-hole to told 'em to shut up - they had blamed the other neighbors. He was flattered that I thought the drama was real.

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