Another sign that times really are hard: Las Vegas is whining that convention business is drying up, & apparently blaming President Obama for telling corporations accepting bailout—sorry, stimulus—money that it’s not meant to fund group jollies. Obama had cited Wells Fargo’s intention to send “top performers” on a 12-day junket to Vegas as an example of what not to do.
In January, 30,000 conference-associated hotel-room nights were cancelled, & meeting planners are having to be more creative about throwing parties—uh, I mean, seminars—on shoestring budgets.
Vegas hospitality reps got up on their hind legs & moaned that the Prez was picking on them, that theirs is a serious city, & companies can have way more fun for way less money than in SF or Dallas or Chicago.
Yeah, right. Perhaps if they plan on sending everyone to those dreadful buffets on the cheaper casino floors. Now there’s a good time.
But the NY Times reports that meetings are down across the board & across the country, with seven percent of meetings previously scheduled for 2009 being cancelled, & lower attendance expected at those that will still take place.
Not surprising, really: laid-off workers aren’t going to be sent to seminars or symposia; & those still employed are keeping their heads down hoping that travel budgets will be all that are axed.
Those chomping at the taxpayer trough, for once, appear to realize that appearances matter; banking, credit & construction industries are conspicuously not consuming.
There’s an interesting statistic in this story: a month ago, the occupancy rate of US hotels was 47%. What’s interesting is that name any flight going between two cities, & you can pretty much guarantee that the plane doesn’t leave the gate until they’ve crammed a butt in every seat.
I guess that means people are mostly sleeping in refrigerator cartons under freeway overpasses when they get to their destinations.
Naturally there’s a knock-on effect: fewer meetings on tighter budgets mean lowered hotel tax revenues for local municipalities, & fewer gigs for caterers, speakers & entertainers.
I wondered about that when I was at CES last month: it seemed to me that if you’re in the lower echelons of meeting support—brochure-stockers, directions-givers, registration-takers, busboys, booth-constructors, taxi drivers & so on, CES still had a place for you.
In September of 2007 I was at a huge users conference for a major software company in San Francisco. In addition to the above, there were quasi-name bands, buffet-builders, A-V managers & bartenders for the dozen bars that appeared on the trade show floor every evening by 1800.
I’m betting that there’s going to be fallout among the ranks of the folks that make these things run, who work hard for low pay & no benefits.
That’s a pity; & also laid at the door of those whose greed got us into this pickle.
Showing posts with label CES. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CES. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
What I learned at CES
Thoughts inspired by CES 2009 in Las Vegas:
There are some conditions under which it makes sense to have nothing but a drink for lunch. Walking seven miles on tradeshow floors before noon is one of them.
The days of cool giveaways appear to be over. Gone are the tee-shirts, water bottles, sports bags, even key-chains. (I got ten years’ worth of tees to wear to the gym from one Comdex show; and a bag to schlep them in from an InterOp.) These days you’re lucky to find a piece of hard candy or even a cheap pen. Times are officially, definitely hard.
Wolfgang Puck’s pizza crust isn’t a patch on my neighbor Heather’s.
Having a “name” company on your convention badge is an invitation for people to vent or to hit you up for free advice/help. For the guy at the SilversSummit whose mother wants to create a brain-fitness website but needs a tech company to help her develop and host it—I’m not your conduit to success. No amount of following me around the room asking for my business card or email is going to change that. (If I’d had the name of my last employer on the badge, no one would have noticed I exist.)
I hate being indoors where people are smoking.
I’m not that wild about being outdoors where people are smoking.
What is it with Glaswegians’ aversion to personal hygiene? I was talking with the CEO of a company that’s bringing to market a seemingly cool device (although the $1000 price point is problematic), and his breath about to melted the titanium frames to my glasses. And I wasn’t in that close proximity to him.
I so definitely need to lose weight—this was grueling. But there were people there with a good 100+ pounds on me, and people in their 70s (from the looks of them) cruising the floor. How do they do that?
Playing piano at Nordstrom is not the most demeaning job in the music world. Singing arias in Renaissance dress as part of the “Streetosphere” isn’t even the worst. Poling a gondola for tourons on an indoor fake “Grand Canal” and singing truncated arias is the worst.
After a day on the trade show floor, the only thing that keeps me from total crippling is a bath with Japanese mineral salts. If those of the male persuasion think that's too girly, well, I guess you have to suffer for your machismo.
When you are a waiter in a jumped-up, grotesquely overpriced Mexican restaurant within a closed hotel ecosystem serving mediocre food to captive tourists and conventioneers, attitude is a tip-limiting move. It’s also ludicrous.
Eating in any restaurant that caters to tourists and conventioneers is a crap shoot: they for sure don’t care about repeat business. (Corollary, learned while at William & Mary: never eat at a restaurant that has parking for tourist coaches. Food will be bad and service surly.)
Never fly coach out of Vegas on a Sunday morning. Too close to people who obviously spent every waking moment of the previous two days in town drinking (and also none bathing). That stale distillate stench oozing out of them is hard to take. (I thought my seat-mate was going to hurl at one point, but he managed to keep it in.)
Vegas—so not my kind of place. It’s entirely dedicated to pandering to the worst instincts of humanity: greed, irresponsibility, excess, stupidity, selfishness, lust; if I’ve left anything out, them, too. Vegas doesn’t just encourage bad and self-destructive behavior; it depends on it.
These mega hotels are so huge it requires a big effort just to get outside—if you can find your way. All that relentless fantasy carefully calculated to over-stimulate your activities: no rest, keep moving, keep spending, until they’ve shaken the last nickel out of your pockets. Then buh-bye—make way for another coach- or plane-load of suckers.
Sometimes coming home is the best part of the journey. Even if it’s Seattle.
There are some conditions under which it makes sense to have nothing but a drink for lunch. Walking seven miles on tradeshow floors before noon is one of them.
The days of cool giveaways appear to be over. Gone are the tee-shirts, water bottles, sports bags, even key-chains. (I got ten years’ worth of tees to wear to the gym from one Comdex show; and a bag to schlep them in from an InterOp.) These days you’re lucky to find a piece of hard candy or even a cheap pen. Times are officially, definitely hard.
Wolfgang Puck’s pizza crust isn’t a patch on my neighbor Heather’s.
Having a “name” company on your convention badge is an invitation for people to vent or to hit you up for free advice/help. For the guy at the SilversSummit whose mother wants to create a brain-fitness website but needs a tech company to help her develop and host it—I’m not your conduit to success. No amount of following me around the room asking for my business card or email is going to change that. (If I’d had the name of my last employer on the badge, no one would have noticed I exist.)
I hate being indoors where people are smoking.
I’m not that wild about being outdoors where people are smoking.
What is it with Glaswegians’ aversion to personal hygiene? I was talking with the CEO of a company that’s bringing to market a seemingly cool device (although the $1000 price point is problematic), and his breath about to melted the titanium frames to my glasses. And I wasn’t in that close proximity to him.
I so definitely need to lose weight—this was grueling. But there were people there with a good 100+ pounds on me, and people in their 70s (from the looks of them) cruising the floor. How do they do that?
Playing piano at Nordstrom is not the most demeaning job in the music world. Singing arias in Renaissance dress as part of the “Streetosphere” isn’t even the worst. Poling a gondola for tourons on an indoor fake “Grand Canal” and singing truncated arias is the worst.
After a day on the trade show floor, the only thing that keeps me from total crippling is a bath with Japanese mineral salts. If those of the male persuasion think that's too girly, well, I guess you have to suffer for your machismo.
When you are a waiter in a jumped-up, grotesquely overpriced Mexican restaurant within a closed hotel ecosystem serving mediocre food to captive tourists and conventioneers, attitude is a tip-limiting move. It’s also ludicrous.
Eating in any restaurant that caters to tourists and conventioneers is a crap shoot: they for sure don’t care about repeat business. (Corollary, learned while at William & Mary: never eat at a restaurant that has parking for tourist coaches. Food will be bad and service surly.)
Never fly coach out of Vegas on a Sunday morning. Too close to people who obviously spent every waking moment of the previous two days in town drinking (and also none bathing). That stale distillate stench oozing out of them is hard to take. (I thought my seat-mate was going to hurl at one point, but he managed to keep it in.)
Vegas—so not my kind of place. It’s entirely dedicated to pandering to the worst instincts of humanity: greed, irresponsibility, excess, stupidity, selfishness, lust; if I’ve left anything out, them, too. Vegas doesn’t just encourage bad and self-destructive behavior; it depends on it.
These mega hotels are so huge it requires a big effort just to get outside—if you can find your way. All that relentless fantasy carefully calculated to over-stimulate your activities: no rest, keep moving, keep spending, until they’ve shaken the last nickel out of your pockets. Then buh-bye—make way for another coach- or plane-load of suckers.
Sometimes coming home is the best part of the journey. Even if it’s Seattle.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Report from the CES trenches
Okay, CES has wound down, although it never seemed to have got wound up, if you know what I mean. No buzz, no announcements of really cool new stuff; a whole lot of electronic components—cables, cases and circuit boards—which I’d have thought were not, technically, consumer stuff; but if not for them, it would have been a lot smaller.
As it was, I clocked more than 16 miles over the two days going through the Las Vegas Convention Center and the Sands Expo Center. Would have been more, but I spent about four hours on Saturday at some sessions on the Baby Boomer market, which permitted me to sit down for a couple of hours.
That was interesting—I’ll post separately on that, as well as some of my Vegas-CES thoughts.
For the rest—well, here’s the ex sum of the trip.
The entire North Hall of the LVCC was a Y-chromosome paradise: nothin’ but vehicle tech—mostly sound systems.
The noise was excruciating; it was like getting a full-body vibrating massage from all the reverberations. But guys of all ages were slavering all over the merchandise.
Some of the players had certainly splashed out: HP, Toshiba, Microsoft, Sony and others had huge displays. Samsung, however, had an entire zip code for their use—it was like being swallowed up by 42” flat-screen Hi-Def TVs.
On the Friday, it seemed as though there was an inordinate number of working girls, even for Vegas. But then I saw the signs for the porno convention that was taking place at the weekend right next to CES at the Sands. I didn’t see any actual wardrobe malfunctions, but there were many that looked like they were in progress.
They were out in force on Saturday.
On the extra-CES side, I never really got out of the whole Venetian-Palazzo world (except to take the shuttle to LVCC). For one thing, after walking ten miles the first day I just wasn’t up to anything else.
So, I had Italian on the faux Saint Mark’s square the three nights I was there. Mario Batali’s Enoteca was more style than substance. The Wolfgang Puck Postrio was perhaps the least pretentious. But they served me the Albarino at room temperature, I had to ask for more than the 12 shreds of basil on the pizza Margherita, and I realized that my neighbor in Reston makes better pizza crust than this place. Canaletto (allegedly run by another celebrity chef—of whom I’d never heard) had the best food.
BTW: the hotel refers to its roving entertainment as "Streetosphere". I am not making this up:
What was interesting was watching all the schmoozing & potential deals being made at these places. It’s amusing to imagine what partnerships are being forged, and wonder whose Centurion card will pay the tab.
The hotel (Venetian) itself was pretty good, which I’d certainly hope, as the posted price for my “suite” was $999. I especially liked the nightly turn-down service—they brought ice, replaced any towels I’d used, and took care of the teddy bear.
Naturally the sheets were high-end, high-threadcount cotton, which could well spoil me. Biggest treat for me, though, was the soaking tub. The only thing that gets me through trade shows is a good soak in Japanese mineral salts at the end of the day. Along with a cocktail of ibuprofen and paracetamol.
I kept getting more amenities, too (possibly because I tip the maids): a loofah one day and cotton pads and swabs the next.
Also good—the rooms seem well insulated for sound.
On the down side, for some reason there are no drawers in the room for you to put your clothes; there's a dresser with shelves--what's up with that? Also, I don't think I should have had to reset the bleeding wireless router three times in a session--for $999 plus $9.95 for connectivity per day, the thing should, you know, work.
And, BTW—none of these “in order to save the environment, please signal to us that you’ll reuse your towels by hanging them back up after use” notices. This is Vegas, baby—it’s all about conspicuous consumption.
All in all, though, I was really happy to be heading out of it all Sunday morning (having accomplished my mission). Even better—I got Alaska air to swap out my five hours of return flying/layover thru PDX and get me on a direct flight that got me back to SeaTac more than three hours earlier than scheduled. Got home, took a shower and sucked down two pots of green tea to try to get out some of the toxins.
I suppose Vegas did have one positive outcome: it made me glad to see Seattle again.
As it was, I clocked more than 16 miles over the two days going through the Las Vegas Convention Center and the Sands Expo Center. Would have been more, but I spent about four hours on Saturday at some sessions on the Baby Boomer market, which permitted me to sit down for a couple of hours.
That was interesting—I’ll post separately on that, as well as some of my Vegas-CES thoughts.
For the rest—well, here’s the ex sum of the trip.
The entire North Hall of the LVCC was a Y-chromosome paradise: nothin’ but vehicle tech—mostly sound systems.
The noise was excruciating; it was like getting a full-body vibrating massage from all the reverberations. But guys of all ages were slavering all over the merchandise.
Some of the players had certainly splashed out: HP, Toshiba, Microsoft, Sony and others had huge displays. Samsung, however, had an entire zip code for their use—it was like being swallowed up by 42” flat-screen Hi-Def TVs.
On the Friday, it seemed as though there was an inordinate number of working girls, even for Vegas. But then I saw the signs for the porno convention that was taking place at the weekend right next to CES at the Sands. I didn’t see any actual wardrobe malfunctions, but there were many that looked like they were in progress.
They were out in force on Saturday.
On the extra-CES side, I never really got out of the whole Venetian-Palazzo world (except to take the shuttle to LVCC). For one thing, after walking ten miles the first day I just wasn’t up to anything else.
So, I had Italian on the faux Saint Mark’s square the three nights I was there. Mario Batali’s Enoteca was more style than substance. The Wolfgang Puck Postrio was perhaps the least pretentious. But they served me the Albarino at room temperature, I had to ask for more than the 12 shreds of basil on the pizza Margherita, and I realized that my neighbor in Reston makes better pizza crust than this place. Canaletto (allegedly run by another celebrity chef—of whom I’d never heard) had the best food.
BTW: the hotel refers to its roving entertainment as "Streetosphere". I am not making this up:
What was interesting was watching all the schmoozing & potential deals being made at these places. It’s amusing to imagine what partnerships are being forged, and wonder whose Centurion card will pay the tab.
The hotel (Venetian) itself was pretty good, which I’d certainly hope, as the posted price for my “suite” was $999. I especially liked the nightly turn-down service—they brought ice, replaced any towels I’d used, and took care of the teddy bear.
Naturally the sheets were high-end, high-threadcount cotton, which could well spoil me. Biggest treat for me, though, was the soaking tub. The only thing that gets me through trade shows is a good soak in Japanese mineral salts at the end of the day. Along with a cocktail of ibuprofen and paracetamol.
I kept getting more amenities, too (possibly because I tip the maids): a loofah one day and cotton pads and swabs the next.
Also good—the rooms seem well insulated for sound.
On the down side, for some reason there are no drawers in the room for you to put your clothes; there's a dresser with shelves--what's up with that? Also, I don't think I should have had to reset the bleeding wireless router three times in a session--for $999 plus $9.95 for connectivity per day, the thing should, you know, work.
And, BTW—none of these “in order to save the environment, please signal to us that you’ll reuse your towels by hanging them back up after use” notices. This is Vegas, baby—it’s all about conspicuous consumption.
All in all, though, I was really happy to be heading out of it all Sunday morning (having accomplished my mission). Even better—I got Alaska air to swap out my five hours of return flying/layover thru PDX and get me on a direct flight that got me back to SeaTac more than three hours earlier than scheduled. Got home, took a shower and sucked down two pots of green tea to try to get out some of the toxins.
I suppose Vegas did have one positive outcome: it made me glad to see Seattle again.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
CES--too much to report today
Mes chers amis—
What can I say? I’ve clocked more than 16 miles on my pedometer in the past two days, & that doesn’t count pre- & post-show floor activity. (Finding meals, you guttersnipes!)
I’d have to move several stories up to be shattered.
So I’ll report on my impressions of CES later—possibly tomorrow, although I’ll be traveling all day again to get from Vegas to Seattle.
Let me just say this: it’s not possible for the door to hit my butt on the way out of here; that’s how fast I’ll be getting out of town.
What can I say? I’ve clocked more than 16 miles on my pedometer in the past two days, & that doesn’t count pre- & post-show floor activity. (Finding meals, you guttersnipes!)
I’d have to move several stories up to be shattered.
So I’ll report on my impressions of CES later—possibly tomorrow, although I’ll be traveling all day again to get from Vegas to Seattle.
Let me just say this: it’s not possible for the door to hit my butt on the way out of here; that’s how fast I’ll be getting out of town.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Vegas Day 1
Nothing really about CES today since, as I had feared, I got to the hotel after 1600 (even though I left SeaTac on a 1000 flight), & didn’t get my show badge until 2030 from the coordinator. That means I have to cram a lot of exhibits & demos into the next two days.
But a couple of observations, based on walking about & conversations here & there.
The tanking economy has hit even Vegas. My cabbie actually returned to driving because his janitorial service business dried up; companies will clean their own premises when it comes to saving money. (I once worked for a failing concern in the Research Triangle; & they passed on cleaning a couple of months before they locked the doors.)
Also, according to a couple of fellows in the elevator, this CES isn’t a patch on last year’s, in terms of numbers of exhibitors. Didn’t look that way from the surge of badge-wearing tote-trudging showgoers, but I’ll see what I see when I actually get inside the LVCC.
I’m staying at the Venetian, & since I hadn’t had anything to eat all day, I trawled the in-house eateries. Came across “St. Mark’s Square”, a faux-Rialto ecosystem, complete with roving opera singers, jugglers in Renaissance get-up & those human statues. (What’s up with that, anyhow? They think no one will notice they’re essentially mimes in freeze-frame?)
Oh, (& I swear I’m not making this up) & gondola rides. Complete with house photographer taking pictures so you can commemorate your glide through the fakery.
There were several restaurants in imitation-Euro style. I ate at a Mario Batali outlet—Enoteca San Marco. First time at one of his places. I wasn’t much impressed with the Gemelli pasta—cooking time was about two minutes short of al dente, & it was over salted. But I’ve had the experience.
I walked around some kind of maze of upmarket shops (or “shoppes”, as they’re styled) between the Venetian & its sister property, the Palazzo; not a lot seemed to be doing much business. But the bars were certainly chockablock.
Learned something: I used to think the guys playing piano at Nordstrom had the worst job in the music world. Spending all those years developing your talent & here you are, next to the cosmetics counter come day, go day. After seeing the lounge singer at PDX, & the tricked-out opera singers at the Venetian, I realize I was wrong.
But a couple of observations, based on walking about & conversations here & there.
The tanking economy has hit even Vegas. My cabbie actually returned to driving because his janitorial service business dried up; companies will clean their own premises when it comes to saving money. (I once worked for a failing concern in the Research Triangle; & they passed on cleaning a couple of months before they locked the doors.)
Also, according to a couple of fellows in the elevator, this CES isn’t a patch on last year’s, in terms of numbers of exhibitors. Didn’t look that way from the surge of badge-wearing tote-trudging showgoers, but I’ll see what I see when I actually get inside the LVCC.
I’m staying at the Venetian, & since I hadn’t had anything to eat all day, I trawled the in-house eateries. Came across “St. Mark’s Square”, a faux-Rialto ecosystem, complete with roving opera singers, jugglers in Renaissance get-up & those human statues. (What’s up with that, anyhow? They think no one will notice they’re essentially mimes in freeze-frame?)
Oh, (& I swear I’m not making this up) & gondola rides. Complete with house photographer taking pictures so you can commemorate your glide through the fakery.
There were several restaurants in imitation-Euro style. I ate at a Mario Batali outlet—Enoteca San Marco. First time at one of his places. I wasn’t much impressed with the Gemelli pasta—cooking time was about two minutes short of al dente, & it was over salted. But I’ve had the experience.
I walked around some kind of maze of upmarket shops (or “shoppes”, as they’re styled) between the Venetian & its sister property, the Palazzo; not a lot seemed to be doing much business. But the bars were certainly chockablock.
Learned something: I used to think the guys playing piano at Nordstrom had the worst job in the music world. Spending all those years developing your talent & here you are, next to the cosmetics counter come day, go day. After seeing the lounge singer at PDX, & the tricked-out opera singers at the Venetian, I realize I was wrong.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
CES-Bound
In an odd turn of events, I’m headed to the Consumer Electronics Show, that annual excess of coolness in Las Vegas. It’s scaled back this year, due to the economy, so it’ll just be me and 129,999 of my closest acquaintances.
I’ll recount my impressions over the next few days here—you know I’m not going to be commenting on the official stuff so much as the ancillary weirdness.
I got on the roster rather late in the game, & so have to change planes in Portland both today and Sunday—no direct flights.
I’ve never been here, if you know what I mean—only landing and taking off. So imagine my surprise to find a tuxedoed lounge singer with canned music entertaining us in the main…well, area. Very Rat Pack-ish. “It Was a Very Good Year” at the moment.
And this being PNW, of course there’s free Wi-Fi. So I’ll do the PNW thing and post in-transit.
More on CES as time permits.
I’ll recount my impressions over the next few days here—you know I’m not going to be commenting on the official stuff so much as the ancillary weirdness.
I got on the roster rather late in the game, & so have to change planes in Portland both today and Sunday—no direct flights.
I’ve never been here, if you know what I mean—only landing and taking off. So imagine my surprise to find a tuxedoed lounge singer with canned music entertaining us in the main…well, area. Very Rat Pack-ish. “It Was a Very Good Year” at the moment.
More on CES as time permits.
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