taking a meeting

When I was a kid, grown-up importance was determined by two things: you carried a briefcase (god, I love you, Alex P. Keaton) and you went to meetings. If you ran to meetings, jerking your briefcase up and down as you checked your watch every few steps, you were about as important as they came, in my seven-year-old mind. Silly kids. Had I known then that people flew to other cities for lunch meetings and then flew right back home, I’d have rethought that bit about the briefcase. Who needs a stupid briefcase when you have frequent flier miles? That cyborg guy was right. It really is all about the exec platinum.

Tomorrow morning, I’m heading to Phoenix — just for the day — for a meeting about this new! exciting! freelance gig! I’ll be starting. I’m still holding back on the details, but let’s just say it involves travel. And writing. And did I mention travel? To Europe? Yesssss.

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