It’s 1800 PST on Tuesday, 20 January 2009. Six hours ago (minus a couple of minutes) a new era began for the nation and the world.
I listened to the ceremony, caught only part of the video online since my employer’s network couldn’t handle the load.
Hard to say when I’ve been so moved by anything involving elected officials, but it’s good I was wearing waterproof mascara. I started sniffling when Obama took the oath of office, and pretty well lost it in his inaugural address.
And; what a sight—two million people on the National Mall, in the January cold, waiting to witness this moment.
The parallels with the inauguration of FDR in 1933 are obvious. Democratic President taking office in the worst financial crisis of the century—which the experts say is far from over. Massive unemployment. We of course have the addition of two wars going on and the loss of international standing rivaled only during the Vietnam era.
I worry some that the expectations that have been laid on the new President are so unrealistic that, short of a string of miracles, he’ll disillusion them. We need to give him room and realize that none of his solutions is going to make us all happy.
That being said, I feel such a sense of relief and hope unprecedented when associated with government. In fact, I’m going to pour one more little glass of champagne to wash away the taste of the last administration.
It's a new era, a new deal.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Hail to the Chief
As you would expect, the WSJ’s resident beverage columnists have recommendations for liquid aids for celebrating the inauguration of President Barack Obama.
Wine columnists Dorothy J. Gaiter & John Brecher naturally focus on American sparklers. I don’t understand why they didn’t include Roederer Estate amongst their recommendations, especially if they singled out Schramsburg’s Mirabelle instead of their Blanc de Noirs. But, as Leonard Wibberley was wont to remark, de gustibus non est disputandum.
Of course Eric Felten takes us down a more bibulous inaugural history & gives a couple of pointers on local taverns where you could find suitable potables if you happen to be in DC for the event.
(Assuming you can actually get close enough to the bar to place an order. I have a feeling you’d be better off carrying a flask.)
It’s interesting that Felten cites the handover from (JQ) Adams to Jackson as an example of free-handed liquid hospitality. The reference is certainly apt:
Jackson was swept into office as a representative of we-the-people who would bring change to the country. Adams stood for the Old Guard, who hadn’t kept up with the times or the needs of the growing nation. The effusiveness of the crowds who followed Old Hickory to the White House were viewed a clear signs of America headed straight to a populist hell by Adams supporters. The Jacksonians, on the other hand, felt the field of possibilities & hope was wide open for the first time in, well, a long time.
So the parallels are self-evident.
Whether you’re a Champagne sipper or a Black-Jack-rocks fan, this is truly an occasion for making the effort to pour the beverage of your choice & drink to the new administration.
Wine columnists Dorothy J. Gaiter & John Brecher naturally focus on American sparklers. I don’t understand why they didn’t include Roederer Estate amongst their recommendations, especially if they singled out Schramsburg’s Mirabelle instead of their Blanc de Noirs. But, as Leonard Wibberley was wont to remark, de gustibus non est disputandum.
Of course Eric Felten takes us down a more bibulous inaugural history & gives a couple of pointers on local taverns where you could find suitable potables if you happen to be in DC for the event.
(Assuming you can actually get close enough to the bar to place an order. I have a feeling you’d be better off carrying a flask.)
It’s interesting that Felten cites the handover from (JQ) Adams to Jackson as an example of free-handed liquid hospitality. The reference is certainly apt:
Jackson was swept into office as a representative of we-the-people who would bring change to the country. Adams stood for the Old Guard, who hadn’t kept up with the times or the needs of the growing nation. The effusiveness of the crowds who followed Old Hickory to the White House were viewed a clear signs of America headed straight to a populist hell by Adams supporters. The Jacksonians, on the other hand, felt the field of possibilities & hope was wide open for the first time in, well, a long time.
So the parallels are self-evident.
Whether you’re a Champagne sipper or a Black-Jack-rocks fan, this is truly an occasion for making the effort to pour the beverage of your choice & drink to the new administration.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Squat right here
Rather interesting story in Saturday’s Washington Post from their London Bureau Chief about squatters taking advantage of the hard times to take over properties in Britain.
In the US we tend to think of squatting in terms of westerns—a phenomenon of the frontier range lands, not so much an urban experience. You know—the cattlemen hire guns to toss out the squatters spoiling their grazing. Our contemporary homeless don’t seem to take over unoccupied houses, going instead to shelters, parks or doorways.
But in Britain, it’s quite the social statement, partly because appropriating property is a civil, not a criminal, offense, & the burden is on the owners to go through a process that can take months (or longer) to evict the squatters.
According to Wikipedia in 1979 there were an estimated 50,000 squatters throughout Britain, 30,000 in London. (Well, makes sense, doesn’t it: if rent money is no object, why would you choose to live in Luton or Glasgow when you can have Picadilly?)
Today’s squatters seem to be a mix of the genuinely homeless (although the reporter didn’t find anyone who said he had no legitimate place to live) & the usual cohort of “artists” & others who spend their time getting up the noses of the establishment instead of, you know, getting a job.
There are a couple of things I find interesting about this. I noticed in my years in Britain that there’s this innate horror at the idea of living anywhere to which you don’t own the deed. Paying rent “is just throwing your money away”, so people will mooch off their friends & families for months (or longer) until they can “get on the property ladder”.
I can sort of understand this, given the landlord-lessee laws that weigh heavily in the formers’ favor (& the fact that there’s nothing like what we would recognize here as apartment complexes & management companies: flats in a huge building will be individually owned & rented out, & you’re lucky if the landlord will fork out money for a management service to take care of things that go wrong). But the idea that the ’rents or your college buddies should subsidize you while you rack up a deposit instead of you actually living independently just strikes me as rather entitlement-infused.
The other thing I find odd is that the Brits are so wishy-washy about property rights. Not only is squatting viewed as a sort of stick-it-to-the-man cocked snook that does no real harm to anyone (although I wonder whether the average owner of a detached semi in Hampshire would be quite so blasé if he returned from a month in his vacation villa in Majorca to find twelve “artists” in residence), but there’s also a legal right for walkers to cross land belonging to private parties. If any property owner should dare to fence off his land, you’d hear the squawking in Uganda.
Now, this is just bizarre, given that the template for Thomas Jefferson’s inalienable rights of “life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness” came from John Locke’s Two Treatises of Government. Locke, the Enlightenment philosopher of law & the social contract, declared that the function of legitimate government is to preserve, so far as possible, the rights to life, health, liberty & property of its citizens.
Somehow that idea got transferred to the Colonies & transmuted in the mother country.
In the US we tend to think of squatting in terms of westerns—a phenomenon of the frontier range lands, not so much an urban experience. You know—the cattlemen hire guns to toss out the squatters spoiling their grazing. Our contemporary homeless don’t seem to take over unoccupied houses, going instead to shelters, parks or doorways.
But in Britain, it’s quite the social statement, partly because appropriating property is a civil, not a criminal, offense, & the burden is on the owners to go through a process that can take months (or longer) to evict the squatters.
According to Wikipedia in 1979 there were an estimated 50,000 squatters throughout Britain, 30,000 in London. (Well, makes sense, doesn’t it: if rent money is no object, why would you choose to live in Luton or Glasgow when you can have Picadilly?)
Today’s squatters seem to be a mix of the genuinely homeless (although the reporter didn’t find anyone who said he had no legitimate place to live) & the usual cohort of “artists” & others who spend their time getting up the noses of the establishment instead of, you know, getting a job.
There are a couple of things I find interesting about this. I noticed in my years in Britain that there’s this innate horror at the idea of living anywhere to which you don’t own the deed. Paying rent “is just throwing your money away”, so people will mooch off their friends & families for months (or longer) until they can “get on the property ladder”.
I can sort of understand this, given the landlord-lessee laws that weigh heavily in the formers’ favor (& the fact that there’s nothing like what we would recognize here as apartment complexes & management companies: flats in a huge building will be individually owned & rented out, & you’re lucky if the landlord will fork out money for a management service to take care of things that go wrong). But the idea that the ’rents or your college buddies should subsidize you while you rack up a deposit instead of you actually living independently just strikes me as rather entitlement-infused.
The other thing I find odd is that the Brits are so wishy-washy about property rights. Not only is squatting viewed as a sort of stick-it-to-the-man cocked snook that does no real harm to anyone (although I wonder whether the average owner of a detached semi in Hampshire would be quite so blasé if he returned from a month in his vacation villa in Majorca to find twelve “artists” in residence), but there’s also a legal right for walkers to cross land belonging to private parties. If any property owner should dare to fence off his land, you’d hear the squawking in Uganda.
Now, this is just bizarre, given that the template for Thomas Jefferson’s inalienable rights of “life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness” came from John Locke’s Two Treatises of Government. Locke, the Enlightenment philosopher of law & the social contract, declared that the function of legitimate government is to preserve, so far as possible, the rights to life, health, liberty & property of its citizens.
Somehow that idea got transferred to the Colonies & transmuted in the mother country.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Third Saturday
This being the third Saturday of the month, I walked the labyrinth at Lake Washington United Methodist Church.
I really needed the anchoring because this turned out to be a hellish week. I’ve been feeling like a fish out of water in my department, and Friday there was a meeting that had me looking for the melted watches dripping over the tree branches.
So I was glad that this is the weekend for the walk.
It was a struggle for me to shed all the nonsense of the week, to clear my mind enough so that I could concentrate on the actual path before me. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? I managed it, although I had to shake it off because it crept up on me part-way through.
In the end, I felt like I left the labyrinth in a better state than I’d entered it; but I still have miles to go.
One of the Labyrinth Keepers gave me some leads to outdoor labyrinths in the area. None of them is easily accessible—they’re either across water or require that you call ahead. But they’re something I can hold on to.
I really needed the anchoring because this turned out to be a hellish week. I’ve been feeling like a fish out of water in my department, and Friday there was a meeting that had me looking for the melted watches dripping over the tree branches.
So I was glad that this is the weekend for the walk.
It was a struggle for me to shed all the nonsense of the week, to clear my mind enough so that I could concentrate on the actual path before me. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? I managed it, although I had to shake it off because it crept up on me part-way through.
In the end, I felt like I left the labyrinth in a better state than I’d entered it; but I still have miles to go.
One of the Labyrinth Keepers gave me some leads to outdoor labyrinths in the area. None of them is easily accessible—they’re either across water or require that you call ahead. But they’re something I can hold on to.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Eating like it's 2009
I’m not sure how I feel about this list of “good-for-you” foods via the NY Times. I’m just envisioning a meal with all eleven.
I’d need a couple of vodkas to get through it.
But this being the Month o’ Resolutions, I had a look at what the Washington Post hands out, and this story’s recommendations seem…doable.
The plan and eat slowly are well-known to me; although one forgets about them. There are some others that are useful, too.
So, I share with you. Good luck.
I’d need a couple of vodkas to get through it.
But this being the Month o’ Resolutions, I had a look at what the Washington Post hands out, and this story’s recommendations seem…doable.
The plan and eat slowly are well-known to me; although one forgets about them. There are some others that are useful, too.
So, I share with you. Good luck.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Another modest proposal
A colleague & I were talking about the whole hell-in-a-handbasket economy, specifically Bernie Madoff. We both came up with the same general idea that would bring in money, help people vent their frustration & provide a lesson pour encourager les autres:
Bring back public stoning. & give it a 21st Century twist:
Do a “Big Brother” type survey that charges $1.50 per call so that people can vote who goes onto the mat. We’d have one event per month, & allow the publicity to build up. Personally, I’d start with Madoff, then move on to Rick Wagoner (GM), Dick Fuld (Lehman Brothers), Alan Fishman (WaMu), Marty Sullivan (AIG) &…well, you append your own candidates.
I’d add in Bernie Ebbers (WorldCom), John Rigas (Adelphia), Denny Kozlowski (Tyco) & even Jeffrey Skilling (Enron). Hell—I’d dig up Ken Lay & put him on the block, too.
Make it pay-per-view (maybe $29.95 per subscriber; more for bars & social clubs).
Sell “stoning slots”—the chance to heave one stone at the slimeball. Maybe $25 per throw; two for $40.
There’s also a huge merchandising opportunity: tee-shirts, coffee mugs, stadium blankets, martini glasses souvenir stones—I mean, the list goes on & on.
We could franchise the concept, too: take this down to the state or county level. We’d limit it to political & business figures to keep it from becoming a general blood purge. (I've had a vote to include celebrities; but if we went after all of them, I think we'd burn out the population too fast.)
Think of all the jobs this would create—stonemasons, PR flacks, event organizers, tee-shirt manufacturers…
This could bring in millions—possibly even billions if promoted right—into our depleted tax coffers. It would instill hope into a battered nation. & it would not only clear out the malefactors from the corporate gene pool, it would definitely be an object lesson to any middle or senior managers who have ideas of following in the footsteps of the stoned.
I think we’d all feel better for having been able to take action against the greedy, selfish, intelligence-challenged suits who caused the biggest financial crisis since the 30s.
Bring back public stoning. & give it a 21st Century twist:
Do a “Big Brother” type survey that charges $1.50 per call so that people can vote who goes onto the mat. We’d have one event per month, & allow the publicity to build up. Personally, I’d start with Madoff, then move on to Rick Wagoner (GM), Dick Fuld (Lehman Brothers), Alan Fishman (WaMu), Marty Sullivan (AIG) &…well, you append your own candidates.
I’d add in Bernie Ebbers (WorldCom), John Rigas (Adelphia), Denny Kozlowski (Tyco) & even Jeffrey Skilling (Enron). Hell—I’d dig up Ken Lay & put him on the block, too.
Make it pay-per-view (maybe $29.95 per subscriber; more for bars & social clubs).
Sell “stoning slots”—the chance to heave one stone at the slimeball. Maybe $25 per throw; two for $40.
There’s also a huge merchandising opportunity: tee-shirts, coffee mugs, stadium blankets, martini glasses souvenir stones—I mean, the list goes on & on.
We could franchise the concept, too: take this down to the state or county level. We’d limit it to political & business figures to keep it from becoming a general blood purge. (I've had a vote to include celebrities; but if we went after all of them, I think we'd burn out the population too fast.)
Think of all the jobs this would create—stonemasons, PR flacks, event organizers, tee-shirt manufacturers…
This could bring in millions—possibly even billions if promoted right—into our depleted tax coffers. It would instill hope into a battered nation. & it would not only clear out the malefactors from the corporate gene pool, it would definitely be an object lesson to any middle or senior managers who have ideas of following in the footsteps of the stoned.
I think we’d all feel better for having been able to take action against the greedy, selfish, intelligence-challenged suits who caused the biggest financial crisis since the 30s.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Third finger salute
Oh, those droll academics—they’re at it again. According to a BBC story scientists at Cambridge University “found that financial traders whose ring fingers are longer than their index fingers make the most money.
& the determining factor is in utero exposure to testosterone, which could improve “rapid decision-making skills”, & of course is linked tightly with aggressive behavior.
& the delta between the long-ring-fingered & the long-index-fingered is substantial: £838K as opposed to £154K on average (for the experienced set).
What’s interesting about this study & the story is that the assumption seems to be that only males are financial traders, because that’s who was studied.
At the very bottom of the story, a Belgian researcher from a similar study (which indicates that the long-ring-fingered set cling more tightly to their dough; although I’m not understanding how the study worked, since the stinginess was “after watching aggressive movies”. Who hits up a guy coming out of a Rambo movie for a donation to Amnesty International?) mumbled that this longer ring finger phenomenon might apply to women, too.
But of course that aspect isn’t worth studying at length or writing about.
& the determining factor is in utero exposure to testosterone, which could improve “rapid decision-making skills”, & of course is linked tightly with aggressive behavior.
& the delta between the long-ring-fingered & the long-index-fingered is substantial: £838K as opposed to £154K on average (for the experienced set).
What’s interesting about this study & the story is that the assumption seems to be that only males are financial traders, because that’s who was studied.
At the very bottom of the story, a Belgian researcher from a similar study (which indicates that the long-ring-fingered set cling more tightly to their dough; although I’m not understanding how the study worked, since the stinginess was “after watching aggressive movies”. Who hits up a guy coming out of a Rambo movie for a donation to Amnesty International?) mumbled that this longer ring finger phenomenon might apply to women, too.
But of course that aspect isn’t worth studying at length or writing about.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Ancien Régime's parting shots
Our Fearless Leader gave his final press conference on Monday, his last official attempt to persuade the media that he’s leaving a legacy that’s worth talking about.
What’s interesting to me is that while Bush did admit that prancing about in a flight suit on the Lincoln with a huge “Mission Accomplished” banner behind him was “a mistake”, he characterized such things as “no weapons of mass destruction” and that whole Abu Ghraib thing as “disappointments”. Not "I perverted intelligence operations, lied to the American people and encouraged our armed forces to behave like the Republican Guard so I could take the country to a righteous war that was supposed to be short and victorious, but I obviously miscalculated."
Does that not say it all?
Well, perhaps not. His idea of “doing something different about” Katrina revolved around whether he should have landed Air Force One in New Orleans or Baton Rouge (instead of, you know, just being photographed looking down from on high). Doesn’t seem to occur to him that “something different” might have involved taking action before the hurricane struck, getting FEMA’s ducks in a row, etc.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he ducked the whole Guantanamo Bay/torture/abrogation of the Constitution thing and chose to bleat on and on about how that and waging unilateral war on Iraq may have damaged the US’s moral standing in the world “amongst some of the elite”, but it appears that our little third-world brothers (who perhaps may not have Internet access) still love us. (No, he didn’t use those terms; he said we should "go to Africa...ask Africans" and "go to India...and ask" and "go to China and ask". I'm not making this up.)
Apparently it’s just those snooty Euros who are holding us accountable for behaving like Nazis.
Well, he leaves office the same way he entered: clueless, arrogant and a true-believer.
I’m thinking of sending President-elect Obama a shed-load of sage to burn throughout the White House and OEOB, to clear out some of that really bad karma.
What’s interesting to me is that while Bush did admit that prancing about in a flight suit on the Lincoln with a huge “Mission Accomplished” banner behind him was “a mistake”, he characterized such things as “no weapons of mass destruction” and that whole Abu Ghraib thing as “disappointments”. Not "I perverted intelligence operations, lied to the American people and encouraged our armed forces to behave like the Republican Guard so I could take the country to a righteous war that was supposed to be short and victorious, but I obviously miscalculated."
Does that not say it all?
Well, perhaps not. His idea of “doing something different about” Katrina revolved around whether he should have landed Air Force One in New Orleans or Baton Rouge (instead of, you know, just being photographed looking down from on high). Doesn’t seem to occur to him that “something different” might have involved taking action before the hurricane struck, getting FEMA’s ducks in a row, etc.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he ducked the whole Guantanamo Bay/torture/abrogation of the Constitution thing and chose to bleat on and on about how that and waging unilateral war on Iraq may have damaged the US’s moral standing in the world “amongst some of the elite”, but it appears that our little third-world brothers (who perhaps may not have Internet access) still love us. (No, he didn’t use those terms; he said we should "go to Africa...ask Africans" and "go to India...and ask" and "go to China and ask". I'm not making this up.)
Apparently it’s just those snooty Euros who are holding us accountable for behaving like Nazis.
Well, he leaves office the same way he entered: clueless, arrogant and a true-believer.
I’m thinking of sending President-elect Obama a shed-load of sage to burn throughout the White House and OEOB, to clear out some of that really bad karma.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)