TAM8 Hookie

I thought I wanted to go to that skeptic conference again, in Vegas, last week, although I would have felt at least as much an outsider as I do walking around, hometown-wise. I imagine I would have heard the word "credulous" about a hundred times and I could have made it a drinking game. That is what it would have been, too. A drinking game where I sit in my hotel room flipping past 9 channels of horse-races, listening to conferences with a notepad and trying really hard to not appear to be the only person without at least a bachelor's degree, let alone the doctorate it is assumed most of the attendees carry around tucked inside their baggy twill blazer pocket. Last year it was a humbling experience to sit shoulder to shoulder with genuinely smart people and feel like the dumbest person in the room.

So that meant that I drank my vodka in my room and thought about why I even spent the money. I was wildly interested in the speakers, was in on many of the less technical jokes, and was familiar with many of the rock-stars of nerddom from reading the magazines, and listening to the podcasts and downloading the films. I was unable to muster the courage to talk to anyone of note, except once to introduce myself to James Randi. This went badly because I had left the talent show party minutes before, whence I silently sipped my Vod-cran and brooded about bespectacled nerd-girls that I was petrified to speak to. Mr. Randi was wheeling himself down the long open conference hall and a approached and clumsily asked permission to say hello. The great man asked me what I did in the world ,and I barely choked out my unimpressive blue-collar occupation. I mus t have looked terribly embarrassed to have to admit to such a job in a a conference full of professors, scientists and celebrities because Mr. Randi replied through white beard and mustache that the world needs XXXXX too. This did not sooth me in any way and before I could politely thank him, two handlers trotted swiftly up and rolled his chair away, leaving me feeling small and more out of place than I ever have been, in the deserted upper atrium of this massive golden casino

Circumstances did not let me go to the conference this year and it was mostly because I did not make an effort to go. I stayed home and drank and avoided painting the house. Maybe I will buy the DVD set, and while I am watching it, pretend I am an incredulously wise gentleman with so many valid arguments and articulate criticisms to add to the debate.