Sociology

I just returned from Boston, where I spent the past five days attending the American Sociological Association meeting.

It seems I've been traveling to Boston a lot for work--and in all cases staying near Copley Square and that rather grotesque mall of designer goods anchored by enormous conference hotels.

I do very little in the evenings except order room service, drink beer, and watch extended marathons of The First 48 or The Two Coreys.

The reason why I am so brain dead in the evening is because my days are so packed--meetings, panels, shaking hands, hearing book pitches, schmoozing, buying coffees and drinks, exploring.

I'm finally getting to a point, after three years, where I feel like I have a pretty good handle on the meeting--the players, the younguns, what each publisher's niche is, how we're viewed, where I want to go, where the association is going.

And people are getting to know me, to expect me. I'm becoming a presence at this meeting, and a steady one at that. It's all very professional.

Which is not to say I didn't find time to relax.

Wonderful friend Tom took the train up from Providence to rescue me and give me some downtime.

I had been at the Sexualities subsection reception at Club Cafe, where an author (lesbian) dirty-danced with me and felt up my leg.

We went out to Jamaica Plain, to where Dan was housesitting, jumped in a hot tub, and ate barbecue.

Per usual, Tom crashed with me at my hotel that night, and in the morning I treated him like the dirty hustler he is.