Been here a few hours, in fact, but much of the afternoon was spent getting my bearings (including figuring out the wifi situation here — it isn’t free, and in fact the $10/day service is the least rapacious) and registering. But a quick recap of the afternoon so far.
Landing in Vegas to balmy 52 degree weather was like entering paradise after a solid weekend of ice and sleet in Austin. Checked into the Riviera, which I was pleased to find did not live down to the brutal reviews I was reading on various travel sites last night. My room was clean and nice, with a full battery of amenities like any decent hotel, and with no smoky smell, trash, or bedbugs to be found. Now, granted, the Riv isn’t exactly in the “nice” part of Vegas, the new spiffy trendy part where Britney likes to skank around. This is old-school, Rat Pack Vegas, and the Riv caters solidly to the penny-slot crowd. Damn near everyone in the casinos downstairs is retirement age, including the one security guard I saw, walking along with a visible effort. I imagine if Danny Ocean were to pull a heist here and take off at a practiced run, the poor fellow wouldn’t last thirty yards in a foot chase.
Anyway, got checked in, unpacked, and wandered the labyrinthine corridors looking for the TAM 5 registration booth. When I passed James Randi walking the opposite direction, I figured I was getting warm.
He’s a small guy. But a giant in his realm, of course.
So now I am, right this second, blogging to you from the Top of the Riv Ballroom on the 24th floor of Whatever-the-Hell-It’s-Called Tower, at the opening reception, typing away while enjoying horse doovers and a fizzy beer. I’ve been taking some pictures, too, but I went and left the goddamn USB cable to my camera back in the room. So I’ll update later and post those.
I am now going to quit geeking, get another beer, and mingle. Randi is getting ready to speak.