Notes so far:
The OTHER John J. Collins was on my flight out of Dulles. He seemed rather bemused when I introduced myself.
Larry Hartudo was on my shuttle from the airport, where I also met Frances Flannery from JMU, who has apparently managed to leverage her expertise in apocalyptic into a side-line in counter-terrorism. So much for my insistence that what I do had no practical applications.
The Hard Rock Hotel is just cheesy enough to enjoy ironically. The rest of the Gaslight District is a little TO cheesy. But that would be like judging Baltimore by the Inner Harbor, so I won't hold it against San Diego.
I think part of the reason I have so much trouble socializing at these things it's I can't tell the guys apart. Skinny white dudes with receding hairline, scruffy beards, black-framed glasses and tweed blazers.
Or maybe those were hipsters.
Regardless, would it hurt to get something pieced or tattooed so I can tell you guys apart? (Oh, yeah, I guess it would...) I'm missing my accustomed cultural cues.
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