Earlier this week. I havent yet booked my flights to Tampa to attend the annual meeting of the Association of American Geographers. As a stress management strategy, I usually try to book my flights months in advance. Legend has it that prices are also lower by booking in advance, but honestly, airline economics makes no sense, and prices vary widely by hair color, relationship status, favorite sports team, and other seemingly random factors. This time I have been distracted, am late, and find to my dismay that Air Canada is already priced beyond my willingness to pay – a concept that I understand only too well, and not simply in academic terms. With some trepidation, I choose Westjet instead. Similarly, I havent booked my hotel yet. All hotels recommended by the conference – at amazing rates – are already booked solid. Worse, there is no hotel anywhere close to the venue that is available at this point. My choices are limited. I mean, I could always stay in Hamilton, but at the conference I am part of a session on the future of autocorrelation, and if I can be part of the future of anything, by god, I will be. So going back to my hotel choices, I discover that most recommendations by a popular hotel search site are near the airport (which appeals to me as much as a case of ocular shingles), or in random locations in a city that I dont know at all. A very handy feature of the website is that it provides distance to a landmark, so I check my alternatives based on how close they are to Tampa Convention Center, where the conference is being held. Based on this criterion, I select the hotel that is closest to the venue, while being furthest from the airport. This is one of the advantages of being a geographer: I can make quick (and efficient!) geographical trade-offs in my mind. While trying to complete my hotel reservation something nags at me. My intention is to book a room with a check-out date of Saturday. This is the latest that I wish to be in Tampa. But there is something discordant about the date, so I double check my flight information, and realize that I have foolishly booked a return flight for Sunday. This is one of the disadvantages of being a geographer: I do not handle time very well. Wednesday Not a bad experience flying Westjet from Toronto. It does help that travel monster is with me, instead of doing voodoo on me from afar in Hamilton. Travel monster and I are friends again, after that lamentable episode a few weeks ago involving a backpack and a regrettable human error. This time travel monster even has the courtesy of not spilling my smoothie when I have breakfast at the airport. This is a first for both of us since we started traveling together. Full of peace and harmony, I sleep all the way from Toronto to Tampa. My hotel, semi-randomly chosen based only on distance considerations, turns out to be in one of the most interesting parts of town. Or at least that is what I tell myself and all my friends in an effort to make them jealous. It is in Ybor City, a designated historical neighborhood, for a long time known as the Latin Quarters. My friends, in contrast, are staying near the convention center, in a newer and rather bland part of town. I arrive earlier than my check-in time at the hotel, so I put travel monster in suitcase guarding detail, while I go out for a walk with the aim of finding some food for lunch. I do not walk very far, only about a block actually, when I find The Bricks of Ybor. The music playing inside is House of the Raising Sun by The Animals. That alone is sufficient to draw me in. Then the food and great service keep me in. The Bricks becomes my base for the next few days. Thanks to the magic of social media, I connect with The Widener, who meets me at The Bricks for a beer. After that, all is a whirlwind of receptions, networking, and catching up with friends. Hard work, I know, but at least Rachel Franklin and Harvey Miller are there to ensure that nobody slacks. Harvey in fact gives me one of his free tickets for drinks, an act of generosity that he would later regret. Friday My presentation on the statistical test of the difference of two Moran’s I coefficients goes well. Despite the obscure subject matter of the session – the future of autocorrelation – the room is almost full. And not all in attendance are crazy people. I am somewhat surprised. In fact, I feel oddly out of place. As these things go, I wrote the abstract for this conference last year. When working on the abstract, I knew precisely what I wished to achieve with the research. I thought, gee, this WILL be interesting. It was one of those cases, however, whereby as the date of the conference approached I thought, gee, this is HARDER than I thought (and not just because I procrastinate). At the time of the conference it is more like, gee, guys, I be stuck. Fortunately, I have enough material to present the case that motivates the research that I wanted to do in the first place. This material, moreover, is sufficiently interesting that I am not pelted with pamphlets and empty coffee cups, nor booed out of the conference. The crazies, furthermore, have some good advice, and I have now a clearer idea of how to proceed with my work. Once that I am free from the tyranny of high expectations, I get together with some friends for a drink and conversation. There is a group of us planning to go for dinner, but Harvey thinks it would be a good idea to invite Jennifer Miller. The idea is met with unanimous approval, because Jennifer is liked all around. The proposition has only one defect. Jennifer is currently engaged in conversation with a different (and presumably competing) group. So Harvey sends me to ask if she would like to go out on a date with him. I know, I know. These guys, they are unbelievable. I feel like I am back in high school, and the only serious person there is Serge Rey. At least my romantic meddling is met with success, and Jennifer graciously accedes to going out on a date with Harvey and his merry band of geographers. This is fortuitous for all of us because Jennifer later invites us all to the University of Texas reception. This is an act of generosity that the University of Texas would later regret. Today It is Saturday, and I am in Tampa already for one day longer than I wanted to be. The beginning of the day is not auspicious. The lady who cleans enters the dark room and is scared almost out of her wits when she sees me emerging from under the blankets at 11 am. I am scared almost witless with the intrusion. Fortunately for both of us, I wear a t-shirt for sleeping, so there is no scope for misunderstanding my intentions, which are always, and I mean always, benign. We both learn important lessons for life. 1) Always knock before entering a room, not after; and 2) if you are going to sleep until late, use the damn “do not disturb” sign. Since I am still in Tampa, I think that Ill have to make my presence worthwhile. By attending to every single session at the conference today. Probably being the only non-presenter in attendance at each of these sessions. That should surprise everybody, but may also result in my ejection from the Association of American Geographers, where good manners are held in high esteem. For the time being, I am back at The Bricks having lunch. My sandwich is called, for some obscure reason, The Elvis: creamy peanut butter, bananas, bacon, honey, all wrapped in deliciously toasted Cuban bread. Outside, the sun shines, the sky is bright blue, and a crazy old man plays the air guitar in the middle of the street. Life is good, at least for this brief span of existence.
Posted on: Sat, 12 Apr 2014 19:40:10 +0000
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