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I'm back from Las Vegas. It didn't suit me. I was going to a trade show and staying in a convention hotel. The point of both is to meet people, mingle, interact casually. (Go back and forth through the casinos many times a day.) This was actively unpleasant for me, to put it mildly.
Thursday afternoon, one of the companies I do business with hosted a luncheon. There were about 100 people in a small banquet room. The men at my table were talking about how wonderful it was to be in Las Vegas, how it was worth all the inconvenience of travel and jet lag and so forth. (Inconvenient enough for me, coming from Boston, but I was sitting beside guys from England and Malaysia.) One of the supposed attractions of the place was the open bar that came with the luncheon, but I'm not impressed by being served Diet Pepsi when I ask for Coke. The tap water tasted foul, and bottled water was $2-6/liter, with the less expensive stuff requiring more time walking through casinos.
The table conversation turned to techniques for overcoming jet lag. Melatonin and scotch were highly praised. Someone mentioned consistent bedtime rituals, to the general scorn of the group. I pointed out that consistency could be soothing, like the teddy bear and lullabye that are the same every night, no matter where you are. There was an odd mix of reactions to that, with a few people nodding, "Oh yes, of course! I'll have to try that..." and others laughing nervously, "Don't be ridiculous! Can you imagine a 40 year old sleeping with a teddy bear?" (Heroically, I refrained from saying anything about pandas being more appropriate for people that age. Not that I let propriety control what I do in bed.)
I'm only 37, and I don't travel with my teddy bear anymore. Not because I am too old, but because he is too old, and I'm afraid the stress of travel would not be good for him. My turtle comes with me, instead. Dracomir is a stout-hearted, sturdily-quilted puppet. He comforts me in strange places. I've always known he was fearless (slow, but fearless), but I've come to realize he is also more outgoing than I am.
At the Las Vegas airport before coming home, I took Dracomir out of my bag in hope of distracting one of our fellow passengers from her tantrum. She might have been a little over a year old, walking but not talking (or not talking to strangers.) She decided she would rather play with the turtle than scream, a decision which thrilled dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people. We had a few minutes of introduction and discussing gentle touches and bringing the turtle back, then she and Dracomir went off to greet people. Delta runs big planes to Atlanta, and there were more than 200 people waiting. Some staggering fraction of them patted Dracomir's head when the child toddled up, put the turtle on their knees, and looked up expectantly. She brought the turtle back to me when it was time to board. I thanked her for taking such good care of him and bringing him back safely, and wished her a good flight. It's too bad Dracomir couldn't do more of the networking and general dealing-with-people this trip required. He seems so good at it.
Thursday afternoon, one of the companies I do business with hosted a luncheon. There were about 100 people in a small banquet room. The men at my table were talking about how wonderful it was to be in Las Vegas, how it was worth all the inconvenience of travel and jet lag and so forth. (Inconvenient enough for me, coming from Boston, but I was sitting beside guys from England and Malaysia.) One of the supposed attractions of the place was the open bar that came with the luncheon, but I'm not impressed by being served Diet Pepsi when I ask for Coke. The tap water tasted foul, and bottled water was $2-6/liter, with the less expensive stuff requiring more time walking through casinos.
The table conversation turned to techniques for overcoming jet lag. Melatonin and scotch were highly praised. Someone mentioned consistent bedtime rituals, to the general scorn of the group. I pointed out that consistency could be soothing, like the teddy bear and lullabye that are the same every night, no matter where you are. There was an odd mix of reactions to that, with a few people nodding, "Oh yes, of course! I'll have to try that..." and others laughing nervously, "Don't be ridiculous! Can you imagine a 40 year old sleeping with a teddy bear?" (Heroically, I refrained from saying anything about pandas being more appropriate for people that age. Not that I let propriety control what I do in bed.)
I'm only 37, and I don't travel with my teddy bear anymore. Not because I am too old, but because he is too old, and I'm afraid the stress of travel would not be good for him. My turtle comes with me, instead. Dracomir is a stout-hearted, sturdily-quilted puppet. He comforts me in strange places. I've always known he was fearless (slow, but fearless), but I've come to realize he is also more outgoing than I am.
At the Las Vegas airport before coming home, I took Dracomir out of my bag in hope of distracting one of our fellow passengers from her tantrum. She might have been a little over a year old, walking but not talking (or not talking to strangers.) She decided she would rather play with the turtle than scream, a decision which thrilled dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people. We had a few minutes of introduction and discussing gentle touches and bringing the turtle back, then she and Dracomir went off to greet people. Delta runs big planes to Atlanta, and there were more than 200 people waiting. Some staggering fraction of them patted Dracomir's head when the child toddled up, put the turtle on their knees, and looked up expectantly. She brought the turtle back to me when it was time to board. I thanked her for taking such good care of him and bringing him back safely, and wished her a good flight. It's too bad Dracomir couldn't do more of the networking and general dealing-with-people this trip required. He seems so good at it.
