Sunday is what a lot of people think of as Day 1 of Lotusphere. Since I number Saturday as Day 0, this is OK. However, there has already been so much that's taken place that we should probably invent a new number that comes between 0 and 1. Kinda like how the late George Carlin said that scientists had discovered a new number between 6 and 7, called "bleem."
I was delighted to have the luxury of sleeping until after noon. By then, housekeeping had already put the room on death watch and the bizarre climate control system had decided that while we set the room to 77, we must have been referring to the Kelvin scale. I got up, finished off my slides, had the world's best eight-dollar-two-dollar chili dog at The Fountain for lunch, and then went over to the delightful martini party outside the Swan hosted by some of our friends at Maysoft, GSX and (oh, fark, edit this later once you remember the third sponsor, you ungrateful dickhead). After my epinephrine adventure Saturday night, I still needed something to calm me down before I did my show at 6:15. The Lotusphere Martini helped a great deal. Thanks as always to Steve, Eileen and everyone else who helped make that a great event. Why no one in the history of Lotusphere has ever used that palm-shaded terrace for an afternoon event before, I don't know. I would vote for making that an annual tradition. Seriously.
I went back to the room, grabbed the venerable MacBook Pro, and went to the show. Unlike last year, I didn't have to tase the crap out of the Jumpstart presenters who were in the room. They left voluntarily and left me enough time to plug in, set up and start my walk-in music.
If you were there, or if you weren't, I have by far the greatest walk-in music of any show at the Sphere. This was the playlist:
Eric Clapton, From The Cradle, "I'm Tore Down," 1994
Sonny Boy Williamson, "Your Funeral, My Trial," 1957
Eugene Church, "Miami," 1960
Etta James, "The Pick-Up," 1956
Dick Dale & The Del-Tones, "Miserlou," 1963
Van Morrison, "Domino," 1970
The Reverend Horton Heat, "Beer"
Some of these choices will be obvious to long-time Sphereians. Some won't. Go download it. You know you want to.
Anyway, the session was a ball of fun for me. I finallly got to whip out a film I actually started making for my session in 2009, but which I cut from that show because the &*&#*&#^T^!#^!# video didn't compile in time, even though I let it run all the way from my hotel room, across the lobby and up the escalator. I literally cut it from the slide deck 10 seconds before I had to start the show, and talked around it. Now, it's part of history, and I was delighted with it. Half the room was full of first-time Sphereians, and I hope at least half of them will come back next year, for you (and not necessarily those college students) are the future of Lotusphere.
44 minutes later, we were done. I was pumped. I was also sweating my ass off. I dumped the MBP back at the room and hit the beach.
WTF was up with the total lack of protein? Come on, man, bread bowls??? I think it was some sort of plot. Maybe in some sort of weird logic they thought, "well, if we only provide food that is so messy you have to eat it with two hands, they won't drink as much!" I know better. True Sphereians will either just not eat, they will hire a subcontractor to hold their beer, or they will grow a third hand. We are not that easily stymied.
As usual, it was difficult for me to navigate the crowd. One of these days I will get one of those head-mounted cameras that snowboarders and skydivers use to document their runs, and I will use it to show just how hard it is for me to get through a Lotusphere crowd. I can't get ten feet before I run into someone I know or who knows me (preferably both) and with whom I wanna talk. Wes. Natalia. Ed. Alan. Kim. Matt. Kristin. Kitty. Todd. Andrew. Jess. Gab (who, with Kitty, bestowed upon me my NerdGirl badges, which I wear with pride). Duffbert. Bill. Mary Beth. Mat. Eric. Rob and Liz. Innumerable new Sphereians.
I never said this shit was gonna be easy. Still, had they had carved roast beef somewhere at the end of the journey, I could justify it. Nope. Never found it.
Other thing I noticed: the gorgeous Montevina white zinfandel of years past is no more. They're back to Beringer. IBM, I sure as shit hope Disney isn't charging you more than $10 a bottle for that stuff, because I can buy it at home for $7. It's no better at home. Note for the future, OK?
After the party shut down, I was amazed at how many people were still clustered together, talking. That's kinda how this place is... we're not here for the food and beer, we're here to be together, and by gosh, we're gonna stay that way even if Disney is rolling up the sidewalks. I was happy. I was also wanting to sing, so a bunch of us invaded Kimonos and sang our asses off until they shut down. Many of us stuck around talking well into the night, and the shit got real.
I say again: I have wonderful friends. No, wait, let me put it in old-school terms:
10 PRINT "I HAVE WONDERFUL FRIENDS"
20 GOTO 10
I don't know when I made it home to the roost. My roommate and I stayed up talking even later than that, and finally it was time to move the weird tubular pillow and go to sleep. Another Lotusphere Sunday in the books, my mates...
And now we get into the meat of the week. Stay tuned for the Monday edition. To be written sometime Tuesday after the sun comes up.