If you missed previous segments of the CMEslinger saga, you can read them here:

• Part 1
• Part 2

And now, our latest segment:

Part 3 (Derek)
As time continued its relentless march forward, the CMEslinger was forced to face the harsh reality that he was never going to catch the man in black at his current pace. He needed to take action, and he needed to do it now.

Reining the pony to a halt, he shielded his flinty grey eyes with the gnarled right hand whose pinkie finger was starting to have trouble reaching the shift button on his keyboard. Scanning the horizon, he caught a glint of sunlight bouncing off the tin roof of a farmhouse a quarter mile to the west. He gave the pony a gentle nudge with his heels and headed in the direction of the farmhouse at a trot.

As he neared the house, he noticed two things immediately. One was the mud spattered Jeep Wrangler in the dirt driveway that was so filthy it was impossible to determine the color of the paint job. The second was the silver haired woman clad in faded jeans and a chambray shirt, seated at what looked like an old school desk that someone had dragged onto the front porch of the farmhouse. She had a beat-up old Lenovo Thinkpad in front of her and was typing on it with such force that the clacking of the keys drowned out the angry curses emanating from her mouth.

The sound of hoofbeats eventually reached the ears of the furious typist, and she glanced up from the laptop with the surly look of a trapped wolverine. Her expression softened when she noticed the CMEslinger approaching, and she rose to greet him.

“Well, howdy there stranger. I apologize for the unkind words you might have heard just now. I don’t get too many visitors in this here neck of the woods.”

The CMEslinger nodded with a slight grin. “No apologies needed, ma’am. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s got you typing madder than a bear with her paw stuck in a hornet’s nest?”

The woman gave a short laugh and a helpless shrug. “I appreciate your concern, mister, but it’s nothing you can help with. I work for the local health center, and I keep getting my dang CME grant proposals rejected. To make matters worse, won’t nobody give me a good reason why. It’s incredibly frustratin’!”

His grin growing even broader, the CMEslinger slid off his horse and gave the woman a brief nod of his head. “Ma’am, today just might be your lucky day. Let me take a look at one of those proposals. Perhaps we can work out some kind of a deal…”

(Three hours later)

“Las Vegas 300 miles,” read the road sign now rapidly shrinking in the Wrangler’s rearview mirror. The CMEslinger was making excellent time now that he was able to trade the pony and a few hours consulting for a temporary lease of the silver-haired woman’s muddy Jeep. It only took the CMEslinger a few minutes to scan one of her grant proposals to realize she was stuck in a CME time warp where non-referenced needs assessments and standalone live conferences without a tandem enduring program were the norm. It took him a bit longer to explain how she should update her approach to program planning and instructional design, but once he reviewed and gave a thumbs up to her freshly written executive summary, their deal was set.

The CMEslinger looked at the dashboard clock, grimaced, and gave the Wrangler more gas. He had to get moving.

This is a reminder to submit an abstract to present at CMEpalooza Spring 2025.

This is a reminder that you can find all the details about submitting an abstract to present at CMEpalooza Spring 2025 by clicking on this link.

This is a reminder that the deadline for submitting an abstract to present at CMEpalooza Spring 2025 is Wednesday, February 12.

This is a reminder that we don’t care if you have never done a presentation before.

This is a reminder that you can submit an abstract for a kooky idea and that, in fact, we encourage kooky ideas.

This is a reminder that CMEpalooza Spring 2025 will be Wednesday, April 16.

This is a reminder that CMEpalooza is pretty cool even though Scott and I are not pretty cool (note from Scott: Wait just a sec…, OK, fine, you are right) and you should submit an abstract to present at it.

This is a reminder that, if you want excellent advice on matters personal and professional, you can Ask Us Anything. Don’t be shy – we may not always know what we are talking about, but we fake it pretty well.

This is a reminder that Scott and I are, for reasons that still are not clear to me, writing a short story about a “CMEslinger” in serial form, thus confirming my previous reminder about us not being cool.

This is a reminder that I totally stole the opening line I used for The CMEslinger from Stephen King’s The Gunslinger, and that I hope Mr. King is not litigious.

This is a reminder that the Philadelphia Eagles won their playoff game yesterday, which has nothing to do with CMEpalooza, but I’m mentioning it anyway because it’s my blog and I can do what I want.

This is a reminder that the Philadelphia Eagles play their next playoff game this coming Sunday, which also has nothing to do with CMEpalooza but just happens to be my birthday.

This is a reminder that I definitely did not mention that this coming Sunday is my birthday so that someone would send me a bottle of Lagavulin 16 as a gift.

This is a reminder that pandering for birthday presents is very gauche, and I would never stoop so low.

This is a reminder that I need to focus and get this blog post back on track.

This is a reminder that it is freaking cold out there, and since you’re going to stay inside anyway, you might as well work on your abstract to present at CMEpalooza Spring 2025.

If you missed Part 1 of the CMEslinger saga, you can click here to read it.

Part 2 (Scott)

It hadn’t always been like this, of course.

There was a time when the CMEslinger and the man in black were the industry’s dynamic duo, groomed by Phinneas not only to eventually take over his mantle, but to surpass his myriad accomplishments. They worked hand in hand on everything — project management, accreditation, outcomes, business development – there was nothing they couldn’t do. So feverishly did the CMEslinger and the man in black collaborate that they eventually knocked down the wall that separated their lavish offices so they could communicate through the mere expression on their faces.

Six satellite symposia in two days? No problem.

An unexpected visit from an ACCME site surveyor on Christmas Eve? Piece of cake.

That overzealous new employee who swore a P value of 0.08 was “good enough” for their company’s outcomes reports? They escorted her out the door arm in arm.

“Just remember boys,” Phinneas always told them. “The best of the good things are never great enough for you.”

But then came “The Incident,” and things were never the same. It was an unspeakable breach of trust that the CMEslayer refused to talk about with any of his four ex-wives. Even Ned, his favorite bartender at The Last Straw, got the cold shoulder when he asked, “Say there old timer, what happened to that friend of yours? Haven’t seen him ‘round these parts in a while.” The wounds were too deep, the damage too destructive.

Yet as the CMEslayer wiped his gritty hands on his black leather chaps, his soul couldn’t help but cry out as the memories of past glories flooded back. This was why he spurred on his palomino across the wind-swept plains, why he ignored the pangs of hunger in his ample belly, why he continued on for hours and hours getting closer…closer…closer to the final showdown.

The conference was in 36 hours and the man in black was far, far in the distance. He could no longer see the plumes of smoke from the 2014 Ford F250 rental, but he could see the scowl of the man in black on the horizon. He had to get moving.