BlogWorld Expo & Not H1N1

Shuffle, shuffle...creak, creak. Those sounds are me trying to get upright and in the saddle again after several (SEVERAL!) weeks off. First, I was at BlogWorld & New Media Expo in Vegas--about which more anon. Then I was at death's door (okay, slight exaggeration) from the dreaded flu. Well--not The Flu. But some flu.

Here's what I wrote before I got sick:

It has become the convention for bloggers that after a conference, one writes a roundup of sorts, in which one links to all those new and exciting people one met. One does this; I, however, do not. It's just another example of how stubborn I can be about doing what one is supposed to. Especially when it would be helpful to one's goals....do I hear some whispers about "cutting nose to spite face"?

To continue and finish all those thoughts....

After BlogHer'09, the roundup I wrote attracted the attention of several of the bigwigs at BlogWorldExpo, most notably Rick Calvert who started the who thing. I compared the sessions at BWE08 to those at BH09, with the former coming out ahead in substance and relevance. BWE09 was no different. The sessions were, in the main, incredibly informative. Last year I just went wherever my interest took me; this year, however, I had a plan. I started out in the news business as a radio reporter, so it makes sense that I'm interested in adding a multi-media aspect to MidLifeBloggers. Therefore, I chose the Podcasting/Audio/Video track, and the basic ones at that.

Andy Walker of Butterscotch filled his session, "Video Podcasting 101", with an hours-worth of helpful information, such as "Plan your show, perform your plan. Ad lib with structure. Whiteboard with bullet points. Improvise inside a structure." Similarly, Lee and Sara O'Donnell of Average Betty gave solid advice about all aspects from pre through post production in their session "Work With Whatcha Got: Video Production." By the time I had sat through those sessions, I knew enough to know that I'm not quite ready for prime time when it comes to videoblogging, but I've got a good idea where to start.

Because there's such a wide range of bloggers at BlogWorldExpo--political bloggers and sports bloggers, real estate bloggers and PR/Marketing bloggers, Mil bloggers and med bloggers and, yes, mommy bloggers--there are a wide variety of sessions and tracks to choose from. No complaint there at all. The exhibits on the showfloor were similarly diverse. There, too, I tried to narrow my focus to those exhibitors that had something to say to MidLifeBloggers, and in the future I expect you'll see some results of my conversations. But---you knew this was coming, didn't you--here's where BlogWorldExpo leaves me cold: the socializing.

Yes, there are parties and sponsors and keynotes and-- it all seemed aimed at guys in their 30s and their aging wannabes. Okay, it's Vegas, so probably the emphasis on waitresses with huge tits is unavoidable. But what was with the showgirls wandering around with a photographer in tow at the Opening Night party at the Mirage's JET Nightclub? And why is it that the open bar at all the "official" parties offered only bottles of warm beer? And who decided that the Closing Keynote should be Guy Kawasaki playing (badly) David Letterman to Kevin Pollak, Chad Vader and Jenny The Bloggess? You've never heard of Chad Vader? Oh, then you're not a thirty-something geek who's never gotten over Star Wars. And Jenny The Bloggess? I know she's got quite a following; what I can't figure out is why. Her "humor" (quotes intentional) seems aimed at--oh yeah, thirty-something guys and their aging wannabes.

It is possible to create a party that appeals to men and women, young and not so young. ScreenLife did it at their party to introduce their new game SceneIt. Next year at BWE10, I suggest that there be several women on the party planning agenda. And, at the least, the beer be icy cold. Oh, and a couple of near-naked dudes be sent to the various venues wander around for the viewing pleasure of the ladies. Is that too much to ask?

The Newly Single Woman Flies Solo

Traveling by myself has never been a big deal to me. I know it is for lots of women; my sister, the inveterate world traveler, for one, cannot get on a plane by herself. But our mother liked me better, or well enough, that is, to pass on to me her zeal for meeting life's challenges as and when they came. So having company on a trip has never been an issue for me. I did Paris on my own and London, and New York more times than I can count. It isn't the doing of the destination that's new to me these days; it's getting to the airport by myself.

In the past, D would drive me, and pick me up: sort of my personal limo service, as it were. He would nag me (incessantly) about leaving on time and query me (querulously) about whether I had packed everything, YES EVERYTHING, I needed. He would then get me to the airport on time without getting lost and deliver me and my luggage to the curbside checkin of whatever airline I was flying. Coming home, the procedure played out in reverse. I would call him from the plane once it landed, and he would drive up to fetch me and my luggage from the same curb at which he'd left me. He hauled the luggage; I lounged in the front seat and regaled him with tales of my trip. Or not, depending on his level of interest. Which was most often, not.

That all changed on my trip to Las Vegas last weekend. It was the first time I've had to haul my luggage and my ass to and from the airport alone. Without any help. Just me and my laptop and my luggage and my purse left to our own devices in that complex known as the Sacramento International Airport (and no, that's not an oxymoron).

I researched and then assessed the cost of having a shuttle pick me up versus driving myself and parking at the airport. The former would certainly be easier, but the latter would be cheaper--by a relatively wide margin of dollars, I might add. So Friday morning, I dropped Molly off at Kritter Kamp, loaded my bags into the trunk and wended my way up Interstate 5 to the airport. I was, I must say, quite proud of myself. I noted that this was a first for me, and that I had handled it successfully. I did all the adult things: left when I said I would, didn't get lost, arrived on time, parked close to the tram stop and carefully marked my parking space number on the lot ticket. I so was proud of myself for having done that--so mature am I, considering that I regularly lose my car in the Target parking lot. Then, as the final mark of my maturity, I carefully placed said ticket in my wallet, so that it would be readily, easily, and handily available when I got back on Monday.

Which it was--readily, easily, and handily available, that is. I pulled it out of my wallet as I sat on the tram taking me back to the long term parking lot. God, I am so mature, so together, so--ready to see my dog and my own bed. I automatically reached into my bag to get my car keys. They were in there, of course, exactly where I had put them when I left the car on Friday. Except I couldn't actually remember which bag I'd put them in: my laptop bag...or my purse...or my suitcase. I started fishing around in each and every one of the twenty or so zippered compartments on the bags. Then I fished around some more. Then I emptied out my purse. Then I fished around some more. All this time, the tram is taking me closer and closer to the parking lot, and then suddenly we're at my spot. And there's my car, exactly where I left it. But my keys? I realize that I have absolutely no memory of them and I can't remember even seeing them during my time in Las Vegas.

This was going to be very interesting. Indeed.

My luggage and I descended from the tram and approached my car. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. In fact, I wasn't sure what I could do. There was a little burble of not-quite-panic, but let's call it discomfort. Then I noticed that--could it be? was my driver's side door really unlocked? Ohhhhnooooooo......... Ohhhhhhyyyeesssss...... I got to the car, opened the door and--

--there on the floor by the gas pedal were my keys. In a flash I knew what had happened: I was so intent on putting the parking lot ticket in a safe place and so proud of my having done the whole trip to the airport by myself, that after I got my luggage out of the trunk, I merely closed it and left. With my keys hanging in the lock of the trunk.

So, kind generous wonderful human being who came along later and saw them dangling there. Honorable person who did exactly the right thing by leaving them where I would easily see them. I don't know if you were a fellow traveler or a Lot C parking attendant, but you are, for me, the hero of Sacramento International Airport.

What Happens in Vegas?

Tell me; I wanna know. Besides people throwing coins--cha-chung--into machines? There was a time when I felt a frisson of something or other when travelling to Nevada. But it didn't last. I just don't have the constitution or something for serious gambling. I'm always sure I'm going to lose.

I was here last about four years ago, and: my my, how you have grown, Las Vegas. The building and the buildings are overwhelming. Bricks and mortar on steroids. But I can't help wondering who's crying now that the market has done its double-dip.

I'm waiting to go to a party. It starts about now and finishes about midnight. Then another party starts at nine and goes until.... I'm thinking I may be too old for this. That kind of partying works best, I've found, when one is on the hunt. Then it's exciting to see what quarry might be lurking. Alas, my guns are rusty and my moccasins are down at the heel.

Speaking of which, I left the major pieces for my carefully planned party clothes hanging in the closet at home. Freshly ironed. Waiting to be packed. Poor things, they're gonna have a long wait.

Okay, I must fluff my hair and kick up my heels--or whatever one does on a Friday night in Vegas.