Yesterday was the second day of the APRA conference. I attended a good session in the late morning about database conversions, which gave me some info that I hope will be helpful in my own institution’s pending conversion to SCT PowerCampus. In the afternoon there was a session about “next generation” data mining, in which I discovered that the presenter was advocating something that I was pretty much already doing anyway.
Early in the evening Colleen “Official Conference Buddy” Marlow and I hit the hotel pool and jacuzzi, alternately freezing and roasting and generally having a good time. Colleen [deleted at Ms. Marlow’s request] during an attempted demonstration of solo synchronized swimming, and kicked my ass in our weird little improvised sport of foam pool stick float-racing. After getting dry and dressed, we hit the Distillery District, hoping for some good food and a taste of some gritty old-school industrial vibe. Unfortunately, we discovered that the place had been gentrified to death and was packed with yuppies and $40-a-plate restaurants. I suppose it’s better to strip-mall such places than to lose them entirely, but can’t we keep at least a little of the original flavor rather than turning them into some kind of Disney-Main-Street-USA theme park version of their former selves? Anyway, we managed to find one place called “1832″ that wasn’t terribly expensive and enjoyed an outstanding meal. After that, it was back to the hotel and to bed.
My room at the hotel is next door to, and shares a bathroom wall with, a person that I have come to privately call the Urinator. All night, and throughout most of the day, the toilet in that room flushes every 45 minutes to 1.5 hours. Sometimes it flushes only once, sometimes a few times in a row. I know the room is occupied, rather than suffering from some mysterious plumbing malady, because there’s a copy of the paper outside the door every morning. I’m not sure what the Urinator’s problem is, but I’m sure he/she deserves my sympathy. I just find it a little hard to give when I’m being kept awake by constant flushing. I have yet to meet the Urinator face-to-face, and I’m pretty sure I’d just avert my eyes and walk quickly down the hall if I did. Something about calling someone the Urinator in your inner monologue makes normal interpersonal conversation seem highly unlikely.
Tonight is the boat tour, which should be fun. I’ll post more later. Special thanks for this post goes to Colleen, who is letting me borrow her laptop so I don’t have to suffer the 10 minute time limit of the Resource Center and the accusatory stares of its guardians. Thanks! 
