This week I drove down to Washington with my boss to attend a 3 day conference. Well, two and a half actually, so tomorrow we can attend a few morning things, drive up to Philly, and I can be home early for a bleedin’ change.
I certainly won’t presume to bore you with details of the convention — not details of its content at any rate. What fun would that be? Instead, I will inform you of the other — the real vital components of the whole affair:
Hotel = suite. Sweet. Couple of blocks from the white house. Here’s an update since I lived here in the early 90’s: Clinton is a big fat pig dog head. He’s blocked off Pennsylvania Ave. between 15th and 17th so you can’t drive by the back of the White House anymore. On second thought, it is a good plan for privacy. Maybe I’ll do that with my street at home. A couple of strategically-placed 800 pound stone planters would cut down on traffic immensely.
Oh, and it looks like they’re finally starting to take down the scaffolding off the Washington Monument. Such a phallic thing anyway, but all that spikey hardware for the last couple of years made it look like it was encased in a condom — but ribbed for whose pleasure?
Convention stuff:
- 8:30—Morning talk. Speaker had the beadiest eyes I’ve ever seen. And trifocals to enlarge his non-existent eyeballs. When he became excited about a subject, his eyes would squint and the entire viewable area of his eyes was no bigger than the iris of a camera. Cartoon man.
- 10:00—Keynote speaker in big hall. Seattle fag. His blond-dyed Chinese lover worked the computer behind him as he spoke and occasionally stood by him, handing him scarves in a very Vanna-like manner to help illustrate points. Scarves? Well, we all know the Hanky Codes, don’t we?
- I should mention that between speeches, we wander the exhibit hall perusing “products”, but really just scamming on all the free shit we can get. I entered a raffle for a digital camera, won it, and was handed a khaki baseball cap. My outrage found no suitably vituperative words to spew at this dreadful slight, so I grabbed my hat and stormed off in a bitchy gait.
Niki and I play the “Convention Game” which is where one attends a convention, tries to find the most random, pointless, obscene or bizarre promo item stamped with a company’s logo, then mail that to the other. I confess I’m not doing very well this time. I have a few hats, a squishy thing, a twisty thing, and little else. Rumour has it one booth is giving away stupid beanie baby toys. I have yet to find it, but I’m on the prowl.
- 4:00—Speech by Ohian bank manager. Dull. Until he started with the prizes. “Anyone who interrupts my speech with a question gets a treat.” Suddenly everyone had a question. Some were obvious ploys for treats, making the poor, dull man come down off the podium and throw cups and frisbees and pens at the querant: “What kind of company do you work for again?” was one question. “A bank. Here’s a beer-cozy.”
I desperately wanted to raise my hand and ask my question, but he just looked so haggard and unhappy that I didn’t have the heart. My question, of course, was, “Why does it smell like Band-Aids in here?”
- 4:30—Keynote speech by a guy who looks and sounds like a cross between “Norm” from Cheers and the hillbilly keyboardist from “Southern Culture on the Skids” complete with baggy pants and suspenders. The point of his speech was “People are stupid, and they’re gonna stay that way,” but delivered with aplomb and some wit. A+.
What I don’t understand is why so many speakers insist on using stupid magic tricks to illustrate their points. Hoakie pitches do nothing to add zip and zing to a speech. Someone should say something.
Or we should at least get compensated with more useful promo crap if we must sit through such bad presentations. How about a bottle of merlot with a company’s stamp on it? Or better yet, a cheque with a company’s logo at the top?
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