In the last three weeks, I have presented at two @smedia, in San Francisco on May 25 and in London on June 7. That’s a lot of travelling.
Notes are finally available. Now, would everyone please get over the fact that, for the first and only time ever, I was onstage three minutes too long for the allotted time? It happens even if it shouldn’t.
And could you also figure out that the title of both presentations was “When Accessibility Is Not Your Problem”? The first word is kind of important.
In any event, I have learned the hard way that one cannot really write a travelogue of individual trips, or even of individual conferences. Check the personal Weblogs of people who do a lot of public speaking: The farther along they are in their careers as speakers, the less they recap once they get home. It’s just too much.
I will, however, note the following:
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Islington has a lower incidence of aggressive-looking skinheaded British guys rounding every corner in my direction. Even if they’re nice businessmen with laptops in their manbags, they are a certain type and too many of them in a row simply scare me. Unlike the last time, I was not itching to get out of London for my own safety.
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I still can’t get over how British people “look.” I was pleased to see that many pasty British computer geeks at least go to the gym. (I met many supporters and a couple of detractors. Photos shall be Flickrized in due course. Additionally, I shot every ginger at the conference save one, a program that was met with universal suspicion.)
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British television is dreadful and its captioning is worse. I knew that already, but I will have a substantial addition to my CCfoto set coming up.
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Steerage class in a 777 is only marginally more tolerable than in any other aircraft. I know of only one person who has a near-perfect record of insisting on flying business. Given that I’m scarcely ever deemed worth the money I charge for actual work, it goes without saying that I’m also not deemed worthy of arriving in a halfway human state. In fairness, business class to London costs nonuple the economy fare.
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Brighton is still the acceptable face of England. I very much enjoy the place. It is claimed to be the gayest city in the country. But Brighton’s seaside becomes a sort of anthropological exercise: If public male shirtlessness is associated mostly with the uneducated, dirt-poor yobbo and with the overbuilt homosexualist, then the surprise is that Brighton hews to the classic demographic – with legions of scrawny, chain-smoking Brits displaying their many tattoos, while curiously age-discordant gay couples fail to fool anybody in their tucked-in polo shirts. And I’m going back in September for ATypI, where I am presenting twice.
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I bought my first Oystercard. I suppose this makes me a genuine transit fan.
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I spent Monday afternoon pretending to have a real job in Web development at ClearLeft.
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I saw the Concorde and was gobsmacked and thrilled. For a certain generation, the Concorde represents the future.
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I had the pleasure, at last, of actually reading Private Eye while in England.
