Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Sometimes I Love My Job


Especially when it entails covering the grand press opening of a swanky new casino hotel/resort just down the road from Moi. You writers out there will know what I'm talking about. You get the press release via email the week before the event, during which time you manage to skip over all pertinent information except the words FREE FOOD, and immediately mark the day on your calendar in red. This is all you think about for the next five days because, well, you write for a living and thus are easily amused.

Morning of event, you put on your big girl clothing and shoes, hop in the car, hit the trip mileage calculator button thingee on the speedometer ('cause you may bill the client for the time, but you bill Uncle Sam for the wear and tear) and head out.

Arrive. Sign in at front desk. Slap on name tag. Stand around nodding importantly to fellow members of the press while at the same time making smart comments about the decor and taking mental notes about the fact that your city's number one news anchor looks like she just had her boobs done and what in the name of all that is holy is she wearing on her feet?

Take the 1.5 bazillion hour tour of the facilities, led by a way overdressed PR rep who looks like they just graduated Junior High School, and who proceeds to drone on and on about distinctive use of native materials blah blah blah and innovative incorporation of green build concepts yackety yack yack yack and renewed dedication to economic development for tribal members yada yada yada. Scramble frantically through brain for an intelligent sounding question that isn't already answered on the press release, fail, and then sigh with relief as number one news anchor in the city does your job for you. This is why, despite the horrific shoes and balloon boobs, she is on television and you are, well, not. Scribble your pen against your notepad, nod thoughtfully for the 10 gazillionth time and mentally wonder when in the heck you get to eat.

Because, really, outside of the schwag? Food is the true blue reason why any of us bother to show up for these events at all.

Which, in my case always raises a pertinent question: Just how much deep fried Panko/coconut shrimp Proscuitto wrapped pan seared scallops Bruschetta dusted with apricot glaze and topped with Gorgonzola and diced pear in a port reduction sauce oysters on the half shell king crab legs prime rib with ancho chile horseradish sauce strawberry cheesecake pistachio dusted chocolate mouse bombs Can I eat at one sitting?

You'd be surprised.

Now, excuse ay Moi while I roll myself over to the sofa for a Fresca. And check out my schweet schwag.

17 comments:

she said...

what was on her feet? couldnt you have gotten a sneak photo with your phone? maybe they confiscated the phones when you arrive. the menu sounds better than i thought it was going to be. i rarely get in a good schwag scenario anymore. dammit! ive burned them all. the bridges i mean.

grrrherhahahaha moi!

Anonymous Boxer said...

I only get invited to things that require large donations so any swag is usually quite costly.... food swag sounds MUCHO better.

And I vote for more cell phone camera shots.

ThursdayNext said...

I am so hungry right now for coconut shrimp...thanks for giving me the munchies, Moi!

Wow, that was awkward said...

I work with a lot of PR folks and absolutley loved reading your side of the story! Thanks for the grins.

You also just made me very jealous. My two slices of snauh-sadges (pronounce with Chicaaaaago accent please) don't quite compare to the press party spread.

moi said...

She: You would have been rolling on the ground in an epileptic fit. The feet wore flip flops. Not even high stylin' flip flops, oh no. Those scummy ass $1.99 shower flip flops you can buy at a Shell station near you. Yew.

AB: I'm a techno dummy, so I can take the camera phone shots, but I don't know how to transfer them to my computer. I did have a professional photographer along with – the publisher of the travel magazine I write for. Yes, folks, we're budget but we're game.

Thursday: That's okay, I ate enough of the coconut shrimp for you and all your friends.

WowAwkward: Thanks for the compliment. I like to think my pain = the universe's grins and giggles. As for the spread, I'm still regretting I never made it to the guacamole, tequila braised ribs, and Tres Leches cake. Sniff.

The Troll said...

You should do a return visit in a few weeks and write about how hellishly different the experience of ordinary guests is compared to what travel writers see and eat.

moi said...

Troll: Dat's the plan. Thanks in mostly large part to schwag giftee certificate.

she said...

i knew it! the hated super thin prison style flip flops. Christ what is it? how did this happen? why cant we drill when the world has gone to shyt anyway?

know what *else* i hate? when you are out to dinner? and theres a person seated nearby who has let the flip flop flop away from their foot? and you get to see the dirt impression of their foot on the surface of the rubber. isnt that lovely? i like that the same way i like to see the grooves of peoples teeth scraped out on spent artichoke leaves in a bowl at a table or buffet. but, you know, i hate buffets too.

im a hater! grrrrrrrrherherhahahaha

Anonymous Boxer said...

flip flops and buffets seem to go hand-in-hand. Bah!

"no REAL shoes, no service"!

moi said...

She/AB: Put the three of us together and we could do some Charlie's Angel-style damage to foot offending eaters everywhere, for sure.

Wow, that was awkward said...

Cool idea about the three of you. Can you make it a soft porn movie since I'm sure the three of you blow away the TV and Movie gals in supreme hotness?!

moi said...

Yawn. Soft core porn is soooooo yesterday. But we will certainly make a point of wearing fabulous outfits and shoes and out fabulous-ing at least 10.67 percent of the other gals out there.

NYD said...

All I really need from a buffet is spam. Spam and eggs, spam and onions, spam and herring, spam and lox, spam and spam and more spam.

It goes well with flip flops.

Spam,spam,spam,spam,spam,spam,
spam,spam,spam,spam,spam,spam,spam.

Pass the catsup, please

the Dread Pirate Rackham said...

ohhh....such luxury! didja save me any?

moi said...

NYD: It just occurred to me, you may be the first person in the blobbing universe to use spam and flip flops in the same sentence.

PIRATE!: Where you been, girl? Running/biking/swimming your butt off I believe? In which case, I shoulda saved you some. I am sorta running/biking/swimming, too, only on a pinky finger level. Regardless, I ate the whole thing all by myself. Sorry.

czar said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
czar said...

related note: friends of mine used to work in the Georgia State Senate. their main source of nourishment for four months out of the year was bourbon and eggrolls, the two main staples of the lobbyists' gigs.

mi esposa, when we were courting, was a meeting planner, which enabled her the great perk of "fam trips" (familiarization trips). One midnight we arrive in Fernandina Beach FL four hours too late after a night of dangerous chemicals with her cousins in Savannah. Show up at Amelia Island Plantation in a scene out of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and they inform us that the room they'd saved for us was allotted elsewhere. Would we mind an oceanfront 3-bedroom condo for the weekend to make up for the problem? uh, no. Nice to be treated like that when someone wants your business. And they got it.