salty balls, held for only the slightest of pleasure

originally posted August 8, 2007


I went to a Statistician's Ball. Well, not really a ball. It was more of a workshop. A workshop led by a man named Hadley. Hadley was from New Zealand, and had a pierced eyebrow with one of those bar things through it. I wasn't expecting this sort of thing from a statistician. I mean, I don't even know what to call the thing that was in his eyebrow, and I like to think of myself as one of your cooler statistical sorts. Note, though, that I do not refer to myself as a statistician. People who do what I do and call themselves statisticians are big posers (or poseurs if you prefer, you big wanker) and should not be trusted with your data. That said, I'm not sure what to call the bar in his eyebrow. If you know, keep it to yourself, you hipster assface.

The workshop was co-led by a woman called Di, who may have also been from New Zealand, and seemed to also be a statistician, although it was clear she was the type that is not particularly proficient with numbers, because when lunch time rolled around she ordered two pizzas to feed eleven people (or 11.1, give or take), most of whom were men and one of whom was German. Maybe it's just that she's not good with things that approximate parties, especially the type that are profoundly lame. In any case, I was hungry.

The Statistician's Ball kicked off on Saturday morning with a rendezvous at the Little America Hotel in Salt Lake City, Utah. For those of you not in the know, this is the hotel that the cast of High School Musical stayed at when filming High School Musical. I won't even bother explaining what this is, but it elicited a starstuck Ooooooh from my ten-year-old daughter when I mentioned it, and she requested a picture of it, because THAT IS WHERE THE CAST OF HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL SLEPT, and we for some reason care about this.

Upon arriving at the hotel, we were met by the others, a colorful assortment of people eager to maul their statistical wangs, most (or all) of whom were not even aware that they were SITTING IN THE LOBBY OF THE HOTEL WHERE THE CAST OF HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL SLEPT. Before long we were herded into a large black vehicle that was to provide our 'VIP Transportation' to the Workshop locale. This was fun, because it was a big, snazzy, black SUV that made it seem like we were an entourage or a posse or someone's peeps or something, instead of a group of people off to explore the quimtastic world of dynamic regression plots.

Once we were dropped off at the building in which the workshop was to be held and the driver had departed, it became clear that we were not in the right place. We were looking for a facility with computers and such, but all that could be found were offices that were gutted and empty, and one office that housed a title company. Hadley and Di were baffled, and expressed so in charming accents. The rest of us were baffled, too, and expressed so in less charming accents. The address matched the address Hadley had. What the devil was going on? Hadley and some of the more motivated others rode the elevators up and down the three floors of the building, looking for something that might be the facility they'd reserved for us. When nothing resembling this was found, the geekiest among us whipped out ePhones and iThings and locating devices and such, and stood about trying to figure out where the fuck we were (Salt Lake City, U-Should-Have-Double-Checked-The-Fucking-Location-Tah), and where the fuck we ought to be (Salt Lake City, U-Have-No-Fucking-Clue-Tah). I took part in none of this, opting instead to subtly fashion a Hadley effigy out of an aspirin bottle and some trail mix, so that I might have a means of inflicting a wee bit of pain on him for not bothering to check out the facility the day before. I abandoned this effort in favor of a Di effigy made out of a tampon and some lint after she merrily made the suggestion that we troop down the street to a Starbucks she saw and conduct our eight hour workshop there. Great idea.

As it turned out, three of the attendees had shown up on their own and thus had cars with them, and one of the attendees had a place of employment on the other side of town. We piled into the cars, formed a pitiful, directionally challenged caravan, and made our way to a pharmaceutical company in the middle of nowhere. Great geekery ensued. I almost threw a handful of raisins at the time-wasting, question-asking, more-than-his-share-of-pizza-eating blowhard across the table from me. Some of us were hungry. At least one of us was queasy. We all learned a little something.

Oh, how I love balls.

I mean workshops.