I leave early tomorrow—earlier than I think I'm capable of waking my rapidly deteriorating body—for Austin, Texas and SXSW. I think I'm ready for the trip. I haven't packed yet, but I've already drunk two bottles of barbecue sauce, to slick my throat in anticipation of all the slow-cooked meat I'll need to rush into my stomach. I'm also bringing my old 60-pound Underwood manual typewriter, which I plan to use to send emails and instant messages during all of the Interactive Panels. When people ask me about my typewriter, I will tell them, "Oh, you mean my machine of loving grace?" and then drink from a flask of Chardonnary secreted in the breast pocket of my hunting vest.

Maybe I'll see you there.