Stooped and typing II

The title is a misnomer. As it happens, I'm lying nearly on my back, in a green corduroy armchair, feet up on a tufted leather ottoman. There's Frank Sinatra on the CD player, which is the only music to play with tufted leather ottomans. Laundry's going downstairs, so I've got 25 minutes or so. I'm going to pour out the remnants of the half-bottle of Bailey's Waterhouse gave me as a housewarming gift and try to reacquaint myself with the blogging instinct.

Women seem taken with this week's New Yorker cover, a painting of a cartoonishly wide-faced, narrow-eyed, and ivory-skinned woman whose hair and blouse both are converging thatches of vines and blossoms. Two made special mention of it. I think they think it's pretty.

In unrelated news, you'll see below that I was at Northern Voice, the "blogging and social media conference." (I include the quotation marks because that's the way I say it in my mind—the same as on the news, when you hear "Facebook, the social networking website" in each new report about the Filipino kid whose stabbing death on an East Van schoolyard provoked a flurry of RIP "wall" posts.)

I spend the day among the bloggers, and before I run down to secure my position among the dryers, let me tell you that they're smart, chubby, and casually dressed. That you could have guessed. Their defining characteristic, though, is more interesting, and more alien: an unqualified love of technology and, by extension, the future.

The belief seems to me to have an ominous underside, but I don't know why.

Dept. of stooped and typing

Um, if it's a cliche to be blogging in the Tim Horton's right next to a blogging conference, it's a new one.

Today is Northern Voice, which describes itself as a "blogging and social media conference." You'd think all these hip, connected people could come up with a name that sounds less like a souvenir shop at YVR, where tourists buy maple syrup, vacuum-sealed smoked salmon, and deep-green sweatshirts emblazoned with stylized loons.

Silly me, I woke this morning, ate a bowl of Raisin Bran, grabbed a coffee by the bus stop, and was out here 70 minutes before the thing started. I'm working on workaday time, obviously. I'm going to chill out here with a breakfastwich, or whatever they call them.

Oh, there's activity around the registration table now. I'll tell you what I see.

One overweight, bespectacled guy in a blue plaid shirt punching the air, animating a story. Star Wars blogger.

A half attractive girl in a black skirt with a slit, carrying a packing tape dispenser. She has a limp, though. Maybe she's a hot blogger.

An artsy-looking guy with tight jeans, bright orange Chuck Taylors, high feathered bangs, and a scarf. Emily Carr blogger.

Three girls behind folding tables: one's shifting from foot to foot, one's looking at a piece of A4, one's talking to the sort of older man that proliferate at Canadian universities (sorry, the conference today is at UBC)—kind bearing; red Gore-Tex windbreaker; longer hair, usually white; backpack with laptop inside. A kind of dorky intellectual yachtsman.

I gotta get over there. They're giving out the lanyards.

More to come.