The Day of Reckoning is nigh!

On 6 September, 2011, I, Kyle Patrick Brown, will land on the only island sans snakes. Thank you, my middle-namesake St. Patrick. My left leg is shaking, my senses are tingling, my bit is chomping. Excitement is oozing out of me. Or does not this odd paragraph already show it?

Pardon me, I've been practicing, partaking.

Sometime on the morning of the sixth of September, I'll be setting foot in a new city, a new country. The land of Joyce, Swift, Beckett, Frank O'Connor, Bono, the Edge, whiskey, Guinness, and potatoes (or a lack thereof). Also, my great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather John Brown who sailed from Belfast and settled in and immediately made himself an infamous Scotch-Irish redneck of eastern-Kentucky whose rebellious offspring would later defy the family friend McCoys to co-mingle and make babies with the Hatfields.

And now look at the result.

I have much still left to plan, and I seem to like it that way. That's what my procrastination tells me. One day on Labor Day weekend, I'll pack. One day next week I'll buy a round trip ticket from Dublin to London so I can see London again and try to change my negative opinion of it. (Don't say I'll never give you a second chance--I want to love you, I want to love all of you.) But for now I'll blog about my future-journey, my future-adventure, and try to articulate just a hint, a slight touch of my excitement. There. I think that's enough before things get creepy.

Stay tuned, dedicated readers of my multitude of spurious blogs! More is to come!