Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2014-06-19 12:50 am
azurelunatic) wrote2014-06-19 12:50 am
Entry tags:
Conference, day 1!
Tuesday, Chairwoman Sparkles was not the calmest she's ever been. Neither was I, what with the one thing and all the others. I asked her: What are the things that absolutely have to happen in order to have the conference? What is the bare minimum? She answered: presentations and food. So we chatted about some of the ways in which both of those were nailed down, and how they could be secured a little extra. Everything else is helpful, but gravy. That settled us both quite a bit.
Today: Woke up before alarm. Dressed. Arrived. Hauled stuff from car with help from Madam Standards and The Norseman.
Logistics ensued and also breakfast. We were on the alert for problems occurring which involved the swag item, a pretty nice portable charger device. The problem that did occur (almost immediately) took everyone off-guard.
Artistic Muscles was pulling his cables out of the package and trying to figure out whether it did iThing, when *PLOP!* -- the sealed plastic packet with his cables escaped the box, escaped his grasp, and plunked itself squarely in his heavily creamed coffee, splattering the table, him, and his hat. He fished the cable out of the coffee and attended to his hat with the hastily-proffered fistfuls of napkins, while the rest of us tried to not giggle too hard. (It did, in fact, do iThing.)
The conference started. I stood guard by the door, opening it quietly for latecomers.
Once things were underway enough for me to take my seat, I did so. I pinged Purple with various updates on the status of the conference, and would continue doing so at intervals throughout.
I shifted the leftover breakfast pastries to the coffee station at some point post-breakfast. This was helpful at coffee break time.
It turns out that when you have approximately 90 people in a large hallway, you have to be pretty damn loud to overcome the general chatter. Reader, I am not only the chief logistics officer for this conference, but apparently I am the chief bellower. Also, when the ambient noise levels are lower, a whistle echoes in that space like you wouldn't believe. (Or perhaps you would, if you've been in echoey spaces. It doesn't compare to straight-up concrete, but it's still significant.) (I whistlebetter louder on the inhale than on the exhale, apparently.) People came back inside.
A brief sartorial note. One does not prove one's prowess as a Mighty Hunter by stalking and slaying a 1970s gold-and-black burlap couch. These beasts, while not docile while in motion, nevertheless do not pose a serious challenge to a well-equipped hunter. Having done this anyway, wearing the hide as a jacket does make a statement -- perhaps not the intended one.
Eventually I popped out to keep an eye on the setup for lunch. There was a little bit of concern about labeling -- I could have sworn that I'd asked for it to be labeled for dietary requirements and allergens, but there wasn't anything like that. So catering had someone fetch a sign. And then looking at the sign, it listed a few things which weren't on the table. So someone went and fetched the missing items.
My Overlady and I scored seats in the shade (we are requesting umbrellas for tomorrow). We were subsequently joined by The Snake Wrangler and someone from docs who is also From Fandom -- the person who I saw in the hall and immediately knew that she was One Of My People, even though we haven't interacted particularly much. Lunch was consequently pretty great. My Overlady and the Snake Wrangler seemed to hit it off fairly well. :D
None of the breakout sessions really caught my eye (if I were actually in the field, I'd have been a lot more interested, but I'm just a minion) so I got a little quiet time (and I was around to keep an eye on the main lecture hall).
Again with the clattering about in the hallways, and again with the whistling.
After that, I was waiting for the party setup to start.
A lot of moving tables and chairs ensued, with a certain amount of general uncertainty as to what we should do occurring. The events lady we were working with was there, as was the Party Commandant and Madam Standards. It eventually worked all out. We were about ready at 5pm, and the conference was due to let out at 5:30.
Early-ish on, when there was more waiting and less shuffling stuff, I pinged Purple about milkshakes. He showed up with lb and R. By this time the arcade games had started to show up. They looked about in a pleased/envious sort of way, wondering what was going on.
"I can't invite you to gatecrash my party," I said, and waited a beat before adding, "Which starts at 5:30." Snickering.
Our milkshake adventures coincided with the afternoon break, and therefore my manager and Aunt-Manager joined us in the Secret Milkshake Bunker. I introduced the crew as is becoming my wont, as "my partners in crime", because the bonds of #cupcake are occasionally close and sacred, and also I didn't particularly need to flag to my chain of command that these two folks are my buddies, but Purple is my straight man, my partner in crime (at least within the workplace), the guy who incorriges me a lot. Most of #cupcake got milkshakes, but I got a double scoop with a double espresso poured over.
In the end, the party looked awesome enough that random passers-by stopped to take pictures. That sheerly delighted me. And then I attacked the sign with the double-sided tape that Madam Standards helpfully found, securing the sign to the easel, and the easel to the very large umbrella with the weighted base.
Eventually the conference let out. I joined the bar line, noticed that Designer Bro's drink looked nice, and consequently wound up with a Manhattan.
We had two casino tables (blackjack and craps), three arcade stations (two each of basketball, skeeball, and motorcycle racing), and of course dinner.
I fetched myself a plate of dinner. By that time, I was starting to look a little the worse for wear. My Overlady observed me, and ordered me to go sit down, which was the direction I was headed, via the lemonade. I was allowed to get lemonade.
I'm promised to help the PM who stepped up for Researcher Carmageddon's event figure out some bits of not!Facebook tomorrow. Dinner involved a lively table which included (at various times) that PM, the lady in the pretty red and white striped outfit who stayed to help clean up and will be getting a thanks on not!Facebook for stepping up, the Snake Wrangler, the lady from Docs, my Overlady, Madam Standards, and people I am forgetting entirely and who don't have nicknames.
I found myself explaining a few times why my title is Chief Logistics Officer: it involves the thing where I had tagged every email relating to the conference with a special tag, and then post-conference, went through and assembled a timeline of the conference prep events. After that, I figured out which things we'd done in time and which were crunched, and made recommendations based on that for the next year. I intend to do the same for this year. And of course I wasn't the only one handling logistics: various members of the committee did a lot of things for stuff under their supervision. But still: lots. Manylots.
I went back to the bar; by this time they'd scored some oranges from a component of the build-it-yourself salad bar, and when I asked for something fruity, sweet, and cold, they suggested an Old Fashioned, which they'd not had the oranges for when Designer Bro wanted one previously. So I had that.
I came back to observe the vaguely terrifying sight of my Overlady bonding with the Snake Wrangler.
Purple mentioned that he was contemplating escape; I contemplated whether the party was dying down enough to admit gatecrashers.
Azz: nobody's playing skeeball at the moment
Azz: oh lol Bro is dribbling
Azz: this is going to end well
Azz: (a basketball, not a drink)
Azz: ooo, cupcakes
Purple: hehe
Azz: I have to stay for another 2 hrs at tye paety
Purple: *grins*
Purple: gonna survive?
Azz: maybe
Azz: my Overlady and the Snake Handler are bonding. scary.
Purple: hehe
Azz: :)
Purple: why scary?
Azz: they both know me
Azz: they both know my real name
Azz: and my skippy list
Purple: lol
Eventually I returned to the bar to borrow a nice big beer glass to put lemonade in. I got that. I also had a really nice conversation with two of the ladies working the bar. (Apparently I have nice energy or something?)
At about this point, Madam Standards got around to challenging me to skeeball. She'd been challenging basically everyone to skeeball.
About 45 minutes later, I popped back into chat to inform Purple that I'd lost horribly. That wasn't quite true. I'd lost most of the games, won one, and managed to do things with the ball that nearly required the operator's intervention (got the ball balanced precisely on the top of the 50 chute, but fortunately the next and final ball dislodged it), along with at least two instances of the ball leaping utterly out of the lane due to a really poor bowl.
Last call was 8:30. "We should tell everyone it's last call," the Party Commandant said.
"LAST CALL!" I bellowed.
"Last call for what?" someone wanted to know.
"LAST CALL AT THE BAR!" I amended.
The entire population of the next table over got up and headed to the bar for last call. Ahh, youth.
The dregs of the party hung around chatting as the various vendors started to clean up. The party people helped clean up the decorations. A few of us snagged leftovers for later. Om nom nom beef. I ducked in to the auditorium and propped one of the back doors open, and we moved decorations inside. Then we did a sweep of the room for various debris, clearing away cups, cans, wrappers, and the various things that people are not supposed to bring into the auditorium but still do. I found two pieces of silly putty on the floor. *sigh* Poor Chairwoman sparkles managed to score a garbage bag with no bottom, which was truly helpful in making more mess for her to then clean up.
Eventually Madam Standards and I marched off to our cars, and thence home.
Tomorrow is the second (and last) day of the conference, with no party, although there's a chance that the various members of the committee may debrief post-conference.
Since I'm not to my knowledge fighting off The Plague, my post-conference this year is anticipated to be much better than last year's.
Today: Woke up before alarm. Dressed. Arrived. Hauled stuff from car with help from Madam Standards and The Norseman.
Logistics ensued and also breakfast. We were on the alert for problems occurring which involved the swag item, a pretty nice portable charger device. The problem that did occur (almost immediately) took everyone off-guard.
Artistic Muscles was pulling his cables out of the package and trying to figure out whether it did iThing, when *PLOP!* -- the sealed plastic packet with his cables escaped the box, escaped his grasp, and plunked itself squarely in his heavily creamed coffee, splattering the table, him, and his hat. He fished the cable out of the coffee and attended to his hat with the hastily-proffered fistfuls of napkins, while the rest of us tried to not giggle too hard. (It did, in fact, do iThing.)
The conference started. I stood guard by the door, opening it quietly for latecomers.
Once things were underway enough for me to take my seat, I did so. I pinged Purple with various updates on the status of the conference, and would continue doing so at intervals throughout.
I shifted the leftover breakfast pastries to the coffee station at some point post-breakfast. This was helpful at coffee break time.
It turns out that when you have approximately 90 people in a large hallway, you have to be pretty damn loud to overcome the general chatter. Reader, I am not only the chief logistics officer for this conference, but apparently I am the chief bellower. Also, when the ambient noise levels are lower, a whistle echoes in that space like you wouldn't believe. (Or perhaps you would, if you've been in echoey spaces. It doesn't compare to straight-up concrete, but it's still significant.) (I whistle
A brief sartorial note. One does not prove one's prowess as a Mighty Hunter by stalking and slaying a 1970s gold-and-black burlap couch. These beasts, while not docile while in motion, nevertheless do not pose a serious challenge to a well-equipped hunter. Having done this anyway, wearing the hide as a jacket does make a statement -- perhaps not the intended one.
Eventually I popped out to keep an eye on the setup for lunch. There was a little bit of concern about labeling -- I could have sworn that I'd asked for it to be labeled for dietary requirements and allergens, but there wasn't anything like that. So catering had someone fetch a sign. And then looking at the sign, it listed a few things which weren't on the table. So someone went and fetched the missing items.
My Overlady and I scored seats in the shade (we are requesting umbrellas for tomorrow). We were subsequently joined by The Snake Wrangler and someone from docs who is also From Fandom -- the person who I saw in the hall and immediately knew that she was One Of My People, even though we haven't interacted particularly much. Lunch was consequently pretty great. My Overlady and the Snake Wrangler seemed to hit it off fairly well. :D
None of the breakout sessions really caught my eye (if I were actually in the field, I'd have been a lot more interested, but I'm just a minion) so I got a little quiet time (and I was around to keep an eye on the main lecture hall).
Again with the clattering about in the hallways, and again with the whistling.
After that, I was waiting for the party setup to start.
A lot of moving tables and chairs ensued, with a certain amount of general uncertainty as to what we should do occurring. The events lady we were working with was there, as was the Party Commandant and Madam Standards. It eventually worked all out. We were about ready at 5pm, and the conference was due to let out at 5:30.
Early-ish on, when there was more waiting and less shuffling stuff, I pinged Purple about milkshakes. He showed up with lb and R. By this time the arcade games had started to show up. They looked about in a pleased/envious sort of way, wondering what was going on.
"I can't invite you to gatecrash my party," I said, and waited a beat before adding, "Which starts at 5:30." Snickering.
Our milkshake adventures coincided with the afternoon break, and therefore my manager and Aunt-Manager joined us in the Secret Milkshake Bunker. I introduced the crew as is becoming my wont, as "my partners in crime", because the bonds of #cupcake are occasionally close and sacred, and also I didn't particularly need to flag to my chain of command that these two folks are my buddies, but Purple is my straight man, my partner in crime (at least within the workplace), the guy who incorriges me a lot. Most of #cupcake got milkshakes, but I got a double scoop with a double espresso poured over.
In the end, the party looked awesome enough that random passers-by stopped to take pictures. That sheerly delighted me. And then I attacked the sign with the double-sided tape that Madam Standards helpfully found, securing the sign to the easel, and the easel to the very large umbrella with the weighted base.
Eventually the conference let out. I joined the bar line, noticed that Designer Bro's drink looked nice, and consequently wound up with a Manhattan.
We had two casino tables (blackjack and craps), three arcade stations (two each of basketball, skeeball, and motorcycle racing), and of course dinner.
I fetched myself a plate of dinner. By that time, I was starting to look a little the worse for wear. My Overlady observed me, and ordered me to go sit down, which was the direction I was headed, via the lemonade. I was allowed to get lemonade.
I'm promised to help the PM who stepped up for Researcher Carmageddon's event figure out some bits of not!Facebook tomorrow. Dinner involved a lively table which included (at various times) that PM, the lady in the pretty red and white striped outfit who stayed to help clean up and will be getting a thanks on not!Facebook for stepping up, the Snake Wrangler, the lady from Docs, my Overlady, Madam Standards, and people I am forgetting entirely and who don't have nicknames.
I found myself explaining a few times why my title is Chief Logistics Officer: it involves the thing where I had tagged every email relating to the conference with a special tag, and then post-conference, went through and assembled a timeline of the conference prep events. After that, I figured out which things we'd done in time and which were crunched, and made recommendations based on that for the next year. I intend to do the same for this year. And of course I wasn't the only one handling logistics: various members of the committee did a lot of things for stuff under their supervision. But still: lots. Manylots.
I went back to the bar; by this time they'd scored some oranges from a component of the build-it-yourself salad bar, and when I asked for something fruity, sweet, and cold, they suggested an Old Fashioned, which they'd not had the oranges for when Designer Bro wanted one previously. So I had that.
I came back to observe the vaguely terrifying sight of my Overlady bonding with the Snake Wrangler.
Purple mentioned that he was contemplating escape; I contemplated whether the party was dying down enough to admit gatecrashers.
Azz: nobody's playing skeeball at the moment
Azz: oh lol Bro is dribbling
Azz: this is going to end well
Azz: (a basketball, not a drink)
Azz: ooo, cupcakes
Purple: hehe
Azz: I have to stay for another 2 hrs at tye paety
Purple: *grins*
Purple: gonna survive?
Azz: maybe
Azz: my Overlady and the Snake Handler are bonding. scary.
Purple: hehe
Azz: :)
Purple: why scary?
Azz: they both know me
Azz: they both know my real name
Azz: and my skippy list
Purple: lol
Eventually I returned to the bar to borrow a nice big beer glass to put lemonade in. I got that. I also had a really nice conversation with two of the ladies working the bar. (Apparently I have nice energy or something?)
At about this point, Madam Standards got around to challenging me to skeeball. She'd been challenging basically everyone to skeeball.
About 45 minutes later, I popped back into chat to inform Purple that I'd lost horribly. That wasn't quite true. I'd lost most of the games, won one, and managed to do things with the ball that nearly required the operator's intervention (got the ball balanced precisely on the top of the 50 chute, but fortunately the next and final ball dislodged it), along with at least two instances of the ball leaping utterly out of the lane due to a really poor bowl.
Last call was 8:30. "We should tell everyone it's last call," the Party Commandant said.
"LAST CALL!" I bellowed.
"Last call for what?" someone wanted to know.
"LAST CALL AT THE BAR!" I amended.
The entire population of the next table over got up and headed to the bar for last call. Ahh, youth.
The dregs of the party hung around chatting as the various vendors started to clean up. The party people helped clean up the decorations. A few of us snagged leftovers for later. Om nom nom beef. I ducked in to the auditorium and propped one of the back doors open, and we moved decorations inside. Then we did a sweep of the room for various debris, clearing away cups, cans, wrappers, and the various things that people are not supposed to bring into the auditorium but still do. I found two pieces of silly putty on the floor. *sigh* Poor Chairwoman sparkles managed to score a garbage bag with no bottom, which was truly helpful in making more mess for her to then clean up.
Eventually Madam Standards and I marched off to our cars, and thence home.
Tomorrow is the second (and last) day of the conference, with no party, although there's a chance that the various members of the committee may debrief post-conference.
Since I'm not to my knowledge fighting off The Plague, my post-conference this year is anticipated to be much better than last year's.