Tomorrow's Treasures, Day 1 - SIGGRAPH 2006

Today's post marks the first in a series of entries covering ACM's SIGGRAPH 2006 conference in Boston's aptly-named Convention and Exhibition Center. Throughout the coming week, I'll be providing updates of the goings-on in the various exhibition halls of the BCEC, conversely skipping from coverage of SIGGRAPH's Emerging Technologies exhibit to its main show floor, stopping along the way to do some interviews with various folks that may or may not make it to your computer screens. To start things off, I've detailed the happenings of my first day's visit to the convention, from its illustrious beginning to its foot-aching end. If you've got the time and inclination, sit on down and stay awhile. I even brought cookies.

No, you can't have any. I've got to eat something, after all.

9:31 A.M. I'm off. For those of you without immediate access to a calendar, today happens to be Sunday -- the Lord's day, day of the sun, and all that, but also the first day of the SIGGRAPH 2006 graphics and animation conference in Boston. Though its connection to the classic interests of Computerworld's readership may be tenuous at best, SIGGRAPH is undeniably attractive to a 21-year-old intern: a five-day romp through an exhibition center stuffed end to end with new and emerging technologies -- like a multi-touch wall screen / interface, a full-stereo holographic projector, and a tabletop that uses lasers and plasma to create 3D shapes and images floating in mid-air in the round. I still have no idea how I managed to land the assignment, but I'm not complaining; it looks to be one heck of an interesting week.

9:39 A.M. The conductor – I don't know if that's his title, but he's wearing a funny striped blue cap and makes me think of old Mickey Mouse cartoons, and by God I'm going to call him the conductor -- swings by my table here on the train. Did I mention I'm on a train? Whoops. Anyways, he whips out a sheaf of blue tickets and a handheld hole punch and proceeds to, in the space of 0.6477 seconds (rounded off, of course), punch out a pretty decent rendition of Monet's Haystacks onto a two-by-six card. Or something close to it, at least; I must admit to being dazzled and distracted by the fountain of blue shards that are spewing from his dancing fingers as he works on his newest masterpiece. In a flash, I have my ticket in hand and Michelangelo has moved on. I look down on impulse to the floor, and though I'm unsurprised to find my shoes speckled in sapphire, I'm also undecided as to whether the additions are an annoyance or an improvement. For now, the conductor's gifts shall stay.

11:17 A.M. The hike from Boston's South Station to the BCEC is of moderate length and severe temperature, and I'm immediately sorrowful I opted not to wear sneakers. The walk is assuredly but a taste of the extensive marching to come, and though I face it stoically, I'm rewarded about two thirds down its length by a sight that makes me smile. The Convention Center looks for all the world like a modern airline terminal, obscenely massive, with an arching overhang on its leading edge that calls to mind images of every other convention center on the planet. The architect who first dreamt up that style of entryway has got to be filthy rich -- everyone seems to use it.

11:25 A.M. The main entrance lobby is filled, row after row, with research posters of every shape and type. Their content is as varied as can be expected from engineers and artists from all over the world; I would venture to say that the only quality they have in common is their complete lack of interesting content. Now, I admit I'm not giving them their fair share of my attention, but when I see weird lines colored puce and pages of text stapled to flimsy white card, there are not words to describe my disinterest. I move on.

11:27 A.M. Just beyond the entrance lobby is a spectacular teaser of what's to come in the days ahead. A wall of windows hangs high above a massive exhibition hall, filled to the brim with towering installations trying desperately to outdo each other's glory and succeeding in creating one heck of a visual. The place is still being set up -- it doesn't officially open until Tuesday morning -- but it's already got me exited about being here. I fire off a quick e-mail to my folks (because such excitement simply must be shared), and then turn left and head off in the direction of the Media Headquarters for check-in. I have no doubt people are curious as they watch me pass by, what with a maniacal grin plastered to my face.

11:37 A.M. I manage to saunter my way into the media lounge, and an image jumps into my head: Jerry Seinfeld's standup comedy routine in which he imitates a flight stewardess pulling an aisle curtain closed, separating coach from First Class. "Maybe if you worked a little harder," I paraphrased to myself as I looked back on all the other attendees, "you wouldn't have had to pay." Ah, the glories of the press pass. I pick mine up quickly and hurry off, eager to get an early look at the Emerging Technologies hall before it's opened to the general public.

11:50 A.M. As I step into the E-Tech exhibition, I‘m greeted by three ballerinas wearing red leotards, dark sunglasses, and clear plastic tutus with speakers embedded in their construction. The girl closest to me beckons me over, the movements forcing loud (and, I should note, none too inviting) squawks from her speaker-tutu. One simply cannot turn down an invitation from a speaker-tutu-wearing ballerina dancer with granny-sized sunglasses, so I scoot forward a step, only to be rebuffed as the dancer shoves her hands out and starts twirling. I stopped moving all too quickly as the sound peels away layers of my brain like a potato. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I just don't have a thing for music that has the tendency to flay one's mind, nor am I attracted to girls with wires covering every extremity. I admit, I could be the exception.

11:52 A.M. I spend the next couple of hours wandering the hall and taking notes, fiddling with installation art and admiring amazing new technology and not-so-amazing new technology. I'll cover a lot of it over the next week, so pardon me if I scoot passed talking about what I saw. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

1:51 P.M. My morning predictions were correct: my feet are absolutely killing me. I manage to find my way back to the Media Lounge (can you say "Free drinks and cookies"?) and proceed to transcribe some of my observations for later use. There's a younger gentleman sitting on the floor beside me with a Mac in his lap and the oddest shoes I have ever seen in my life on his feet. From what I can discern, he hasn't taken a shower since he was born. He also has the tendency to be somewhat nosey, such as right now, when I'm quite sure he's in fact reading my screen through the corner of his eye. Yes, gentleman beside me, I'm talking about you. You stink. Please leave.

3:01 P.M. I scoot back down to the BCEC's lower level, where the Art Gallery and Emerging Technology exhibits are, and start standing around. Supposedly, there's to be a reception of some sort for the early attendees here at 3:00, but it's just past 3:00, and no one important has shown a wisp of stubble, much less a face. Having already gotten my fill of the E-Tech exhibition for the day (and being eager to get at the promised food that's already been set out but that remains, for now, covered), I stand around and wait. Really, it can't be that long until the reception starts, can it?

3:47 P.M. Oh Khronos, god of time, how you mock me. The speeches are just getting underway now, but everyone in the crowd knows that the only reason they're paying any attention is the promise of food at the end. I quickly turn on my voice recorder, for though I doubt anything important will be said, it certainly helps to be prepared in case something pops out that's interesting. I record about ten minutes of boorish spiel on what's being shown throughout the hall (really, Mrs. Speaker-Person, it would have helped if you had told us this earlier in the day rather than after everyone has already seen exactly what you're introducing) before I flip the recorder back off in an effort to conserve power.

3:51 P.M. I just as quickly flip it back on as the Mayor of Boston steps up to the podium. I don't expect much, but I do hope for it -- you would think that Mayors have important things to say. Alas. If you can imagine Mayor Shinn from The Music Man, standing up on stage in front of River City, Iowa, desperately attempting to spew lines from Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, then perhaps you will be able to understand the depths of the content (or, more appropriately, the lack thereof) the Mayor is delivering to his famished audience. Afterwards, you can come over and sit down next to me, and we can shudder together at the prospect of this gentleman exerting political power.

3:58 P.M. The reception is suddenly and unexpectedly worth its long wait. After a few more speeches of thanks and general interest, the original speaker hops back up on the podium to give out thank-you gifts to a few delighted honorees. The ceremony is short but unexpectedly sweet: an administrative assistant is given a precious parcel for her unwavering efforts on the givers' behalf; a floor manager from the exhibition receives a similarly wrapped package; Charles Csuri, the primary contributor to the Art Gallery, is awarded with a carved and engraved commemorative plaque; and, to my utter joy, a final gift is bestowed upon the Mayor of Boston. The gent graciously approaches the podium, a warm smile on his face, and receives -- to the delight of every person in the audience -- a SIGGRAPH 2006 poster. Thank you, Mayor Menino, for your kindness and generosity in hosting our conference and speaking to our attendees. Here. Have a poster.

4:05 P.M. The food starts to look less and less inviting as the speaker-tutu ballerinas are called upon to perform in front of the waiting audience. The servers refuse to provide us our long-awaited nourishment until the performance is over, and I just can't wait that long. I have nothing against dancers, having studied their art for five years, but I just can't stand the noise, and the food has become less and less appealing.

4:20 P.M. It is time to move on. Tomorrow is a new day, with lots to do in my schedule and lots to prepare for before-hand, and my blue-speckled dress shoes (you hadn't forgotten, had you?) are starting to wear the soles of my feet quite thin. The road home is long, and today's attractions have been seen. I pack up and head out of the Boston Convention and Exhibition Center.

6:38 P.M. I'm back on the train, headed home. It's been a good day, but it was only a primer for what's to come. I have several interviews and product demos set up for tomorrow, and Tuesday marks the opening of the real treat at SIGGRAPH 2006: the main exhibition floor, with all its wonders still waiting to be seen.

Over the coming week, I hope to provide you with a glimpse of the technologies and advances that are being showcased at the conference, along with some other gems I hope to have polished and ready in time. Until then, go grab a cookie, and perhaps some milk if you're into that sort of thing, and enjoy the rest of your day. Thanks for listening, ladies and gents; I'll see you tomorrow.

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ACM SIGGRAPH 2006 Coverage:

• Tomorrow's Treasures, Day 1
• Tomorrow's Treasures, Day 2
• Tomorrow's Treasures, Day 3
• Tomorrow's Treasures, Day 4 
• Tomorrow's Treasures, Day 5