I was gently informed this morning on the shuttle from the hotel that I should be (read: would be) attending the General Motors conference this morning. These conferences are held by all the manufacturers on a scheduled basis, usually directly across the facility from each other. This is mostly great fun to watch, as laptop-toting herds of jounalists trundle from place to place with very determined looks on their faces.
I figured out yesterday you don't have to run. You simply find the approximate right area, and there are giant screens everywhere projecting the show. A booming disembodied voice starts telling you why which company is excited about which product, and everyone takes notes.
I mostly creep around trying to find out where the voice is coming from. It's all very Wizard of Oz, though I think they might take it a tad seriously if I started yanking down curtains to find the source.
Last night everyone went to a place across the street, the Fire Hall. Chrysler sponsors a big booze fest (sorry: hospitality dinner) for the journos, and we met the cowboy from yesterday who was in charge of rounding up the steers. A lad from Oklahoma, he looked positively petrified as Nika and I used him as a prop for pics. I told him to relax - the ladies were only helping themselves to the buffet that Chrysler was paying for.
Off to another conference, though we have discovered a manufacturer who is offering massages. With a little luck, I'll be able to take notes while lying face down.