Remember the Alamo

I'm off to San Antonio for the next few days, to congregate with my fellow Americanists. I love SAM. As conferences go, it feels very...human. Sometimes the AMS feels like it is populated by robots. For better or for worse, the attendees at SAM are definitely human. Sometimes gloriously dorkily so, of course. I admit to being one of those who packs up his own copy of the Sacred Harp for the annual shape note singing.

I'll be giving a paper Saturday afternoon, on a panel with my estimable colleague Loren Kajikawa. The theme of panel is whiteness in pop music; Loren is talking about Eminem, and I'm talking about the glorious Rosemary Clooney. Guy Ramsey is chairing, should be good times.

I'll tell you one thing that will be missing at my paper though: my good suit. My only suit, actually. I picked it up at the dry cleaners this afternoon, and when I was packing this evening, I noticed that although it is a dark grey J. Press suit in a 42 long, it was not actually mine. It was a three-button, mine is a two-button. What are the odds of two dark grey J. Press 42 long suits being at my little neighborhood cleaners at the same time? Slim, but apparently large enough to occur. Sigh.