Update: Over 50 people showed up at the Colorado Skepticamp meeting today, including Phil Plait, from Bad Astronomy. One of the attendees is writing up a recap that I’ll be posting here soon, along with some photos. Sounds like it was a great event.
Goddamn, I don’t know how I can compete with Elyse’s illustrious post this morning, so instead I’ll throw out a remnant of guilt from my Jewish-Catholic upbringing. Yes, I got hammered with the guilt gene from both sides. Fortunately I managed to escape it for the most part, but every once in a while I do something that still brings attacks of the guilt monsters to the active part of my brain.
I ditched the Skepticamp meeting in Colorado today. I didn’t set my alarm, I slept in, and I decided not to make the 90 minute drive to Castle Rock. It’s even worse than it sounds, because I decided this in advance — I wrote this yesterday.
This is the second time I planned to go and read some excerpts from my book-in-progress, and changed my mind at the last minute. It’s because of the damned “tentative” schedule thing. If the schedule was fixed, I knew people were expecting me, or if I was the only speaker in a specific time slot, I would show up. But the flexibility just lets me off the hook. Plus, well, there’s the whole being anti-social thing.
I know a lot of skeptics are friendly, outgoing people who love to get together to eat, drink, and talk skepticism. But I am not one of them. I like to stay home or go out to a cafe by myself and read. Once or twice a month I like to have coffee or see a movie with friends. And that’s about all the social interaction I require. I know I’ll have fun if I get out in public and actually show up at one of these events, but I also know that I usually back out of social obligations at the last minute because I decide I’d rather stay home with Mr. WriterDD and watch DVDs or, well, just do nothing. I’m tempted to ditch my writers’ critique group every single month, and I even think about calling in sick when I’m scheduled to teach knitting classes, but I don’t do that because they’re expecting me and people have paid to attend. Maybe this is also why I really stopped going to church in the early 1990s — I just got tired of going out and smiling and talking to people.
At any rate, I’m sure everyone is having a wonderful time and I probably would have had a better time if I’d gone, because now I’ll just sit here all day feeling like a heel. At least I’ve confessed.
So, Oh Skepchical Priestesses, what’s my penance?