If, when my book is published, I sell twenty-five copies, I will count
myself lucky (though my publisher surely won’t) so long as I sell those
copies to the amazing people who showed up to my little Julie/Julia
wake on Wednesday. The problem with these things is that inevitably
someone gets, not forgotten, never forgotten, but misplaced for a
moment at the time of writing. This goes double on the day I am to
load my husband and my hundred pound dog into a rented car to drive
back to Austin, when my house is still a wreck and I haven’t bathed in
two days. But I will do the best I can:
Thanks be to Rebecca and Bill of the tamales and Deborah and Cassandra
of the cigarettes and Jane and Ellen and the Antstett cousins (all the
way from Connecticut!) and Bala, and Helene and John and George, a
co-book-slogger, and Amy from Nylon, and Hellkatte was there, though I
hardly got to talk to and now I’ve misplaced your card, grr argh! Not
to mention oh-so-classy Amanda, and poor Katie and Brandon and Amelie,
and my faithful Bekkah and Lisa, and Jeff and Konrad and even NoSluggo
Dave – well not in person, but he called the bar from Memphis, which is
plenty good enough for me! There are people whose names I never caught
and of course I didn’t get to talk to any of you as much as I’d like,
but in case I was weird or distracted or getting high on gimlets, and
you got the wrong idea, please know now that it was one of the most
incredible nights of my life, and I am utterly in awe of each and every
one of you. Thank you.
My god. Sometimes it hits hard, just how much I have to thank you for.
So. I just got my 12-year-old Ford Bronco with the busted rear window
and mirrors and torn up seats and mushrooms growing in the back seat
towed away, so I’m on the right track, And this afternoon I’m off on
our drive to Texas, where to pack back on the few sad pounds I’ve lost.
And all this I’ll be doing without you to talk to about it. Which is
sad. But good. And so. On to the next….
10:59:36 AM 
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