BARELY CONTROLLED PANIC ATTACK IN MOTION
Remember that li'l book party tonight for Trust Fund Boys. See the sidebar for details. All are welcome; and, yes, there will be some bloggers in the house.
If you so desire, you can buy a book tonight (cash or check only, please), bring one you've already purchsed for an Official Rob Byrnes Inscription, or just come and hang out with an eclectic group of people drawn from my professional, personal, blogging, and bar lives. Meet the famous Bradykins (and more than likely a few of my exes)! Meet fabulous lesbians! Meet Horshack! Meet a slew of off-duty bartenders from other establishments! Meet the guy who cuts my hair!
How am I holding up? Thanks for asking. Frankly, I feel as if this party is coming together in a bit too much of a seat-of-the-pants manner, if you know what I mean. I've had weeks to plan, but now that it's eight hours away I'm realizing that there is still a lot to do. Unlike the party at xl in September, 2002 to celebrate the publication of The Night We Met, I feel totally unprepared. Or maybe I did then, too. Who can remember? I can only hope to have the crowd I had at that party -- more than 100 people (party pix here) -- but I can't stress about it. I know a lot more people than I did then. More people know me. Things will be fine, right?
More people know me. More stress. I've always been bad at the face/name thing, and I meet a lot of people in bars, which adds to the problem. People are going to expect me to remember them, and I'm going to look at them blankly and ask them for their names, and they're going to be insulted. Then they'll become Cumming fans, or something. Already I have several e-mail correspondents I can't recall, but who seem to vividly remember me. When I launched The Night We Met in Rochester a few years ago, one guy came wearing a shirt he had printed with the book cover on it. I thought that was great, and said so when I inscribed his book:
I love your shirt! All my best,
His name was Jimmy.
Speaking of The Night We Met, I'm bring some copies of the trade paperback. Just in case. I'm also bringing my complete stock of Trust Fund Boys. Usually, you'd have a bookstore sell the copies, but since it's the day immediately following Pride Weekend, the independent GLBT bookstores I usually work with begged off, pleading exhaustion. So book sales are up to me.
I just remembered I need sharpies. Damn, I'll never get this together.
Okay, I've got to get home this afternoon, get Bradykins out of bed, pack up 50 books, grab a cab, get to Posh, set up... Posh! I never told them when I'd be getting there this afternoon. Did they remember the food? Did they remember to put on extra staff? What if there was some Pride-related disaster last night, and the bar is now closed until the police investigation is concluded?
Okay... okay... relax... everything will be all right...