I'm having trouble keeping up myself. After the aforementioned trip to Europe, which was beyond outstanding (even though that sounds like a dangerous medical condition), I found myself back in New York for 10 uncomfortable days. After that it was off to Montreal in formal celebration of Jeff Pepe, bachelor extraordinaire and a go-go. From there, home for a day and then off to Atlanta on a work-related jaunt.

Long story short, by my completely made up mathematics, I'm about two metric tons behind in packing my things and four hogsheads behind in unpacking them. Or maybe that's the other way around. The point is this: I'm tired and my brain hurts.

Is it too late to talk about Owen Wilson trying to kill himself? Probably, but even so, I'm still interested in making a tasteless joke about it. Ah, forget it.

Book update: we're in our final round of edits, after which the salespeople will begin to sell it. My understanding is that we'll know by January if the book is a horrible flop or just a disappointing failure.

Labels: books, mathematics, travel