Ashni (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ashnistrike) wrote,@ 2007-08-01 12:11:00 |
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Think of It as Evolution in Action
Warning: unusual levels of kvetch ahead. Proceed at your own risk.
I really shouldn't be complaining. I'm at the Cognitive Science Society conference, which is cool in and of itself since I usually don't get to go. There's an actual philosophy panel in a couple days, if I can survive that long, and many nifty-looking papers in between.
And the conference is in an honest-to-gods arcology. If you haven't read much Niven lately, it's basically a giant building with everything in it--living quarters, restaurants, shops, fitness center, and even semi-reliable simulations of the outdoors. If you don't spend a lot of time at professional conferences, you probably assume that this is one of those food-pill-esque ideas that were a little too sterile to make it to the actual future. In fact, they exist, they just happen to be built around conference hotels rather than apartment buildings. The last one I stayed in was in Kansas City. The hotel was of a fairly standard size, but was connected to another hotel by a long walkway full of shops etc. There was a waterfall in the lobby of the other hotel. The Gaylord Opryland is of an entirely different caliber.
The hotel is built around three giant atria, each full of tropical gardens and larger than most normal hotels. There's a small riverboat that takes tours through the Delta Atrium. The expensive rooms look out over the gardens, and the stores and restaurants scattered among them; an impish-feeling guest could have dropped a water balloon on my head while I ate dinner last night. My room, of course, looks out over the parking lot. This is fine by me, because I'm already sick of the gardens, having wended my way through each of them at least twice since last night trying to find affordable food. I have stayed in overflow hotels that were closer to the action than my room is to the actual convention halls. I am also tired of the stores, which are every last one full of tacky kitsch and/or souvenirs for the Grand Ole Opry. And the restaurants all look wonderful, but the cheaper ones are closed for renovations. The thought of explaining to my boss why I had gourmet food on her dime five nights running is somewhat unnerving.
Also, I miss the actual sky. Some time today, this will probably drive me outside, where it is in the 90s and the air is fit for swimming.
I know I ought to be more adventurous, and I'm sure I'll feel better once the conference starts. But all the same, I'm looking forward to going home.
Warning: unusual levels of kvetch ahead. Proceed at your own risk.
I really shouldn't be complaining. I'm at the Cognitive Science Society conference, which is cool in and of itself since I usually don't get to go. There's an actual philosophy panel in a couple days, if I can survive that long, and many nifty-looking papers in between.
And the conference is in an honest-to-gods arcology. If you haven't read much Niven lately, it's basically a giant building with everything in it--living quarters, restaurants, shops, fitness center, and even semi-reliable simulations of the outdoors. If you don't spend a lot of time at professional conferences, you probably assume that this is one of those food-pill-esque ideas that were a little too sterile to make it to the actual future. In fact, they exist, they just happen to be built around conference hotels rather than apartment buildings. The last one I stayed in was in Kansas City. The hotel was of a fairly standard size, but was connected to another hotel by a long walkway full of shops etc. There was a waterfall in the lobby of the other hotel. The Gaylord Opryland is of an entirely different caliber.
The hotel is built around three giant atria, each full of tropical gardens and larger than most normal hotels. There's a small riverboat that takes tours through the Delta Atrium. The expensive rooms look out over the gardens, and the stores and restaurants scattered among them; an impish-feeling guest could have dropped a water balloon on my head while I ate dinner last night. My room, of course, looks out over the parking lot. This is fine by me, because I'm already sick of the gardens, having wended my way through each of them at least twice since last night trying to find affordable food. I have stayed in overflow hotels that were closer to the action than my room is to the actual convention halls. I am also tired of the stores, which are every last one full of tacky kitsch and/or souvenirs for the Grand Ole Opry. And the restaurants all look wonderful, but the cheaper ones are closed for renovations. The thought of explaining to my boss why I had gourmet food on her dime five nights running is somewhat unnerving.
Also, I miss the actual sky. Some time today, this will probably drive me outside, where it is in the 90s and the air is fit for swimming.
I know I ought to be more adventurous, and I'm sure I'll feel better once the conference starts. But all the same, I'm looking forward to going home.
