From WTOC Savannah, here are some cyber dudes getting media airtime on the old school airwaves:
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. . -> “It’s Not My Place in the 9 to 5 World.” <- . . At the blogging un-conference, hosted by blogsavannah
“a good time was had by all”.
And what a start to what a day!
First, a stimulating networking opportunity to meet face to face with some sharp minds at this conference. Got confirmation, validation, was challenged, asked and answered.
In the evening, donned black & white for a magazine anniversary party at the glam venue of an art museum.
Theorem: put on a tuxedo and you’ll always have a grin and some new tales the next day.
Finger food crab cakes, live cool jazz, formally dressed beautiful people – all so dapper and well behaved.
While on the main pavilion, chatting with one of the female beauties, her photo shoot came up among the twenty-foot images being projected on the wall. A brush with fame! And a warm glowing association with a charmer. No wonder the camera loves her.
Post-event goings on included episodes that Keith Richards would have smiled, sighed, and strained to keep up with.
Crystal stem glasses were “ching-ed” like tuning forks, car keys and valuables were tossed into bushes (for safe keeping), shoes were lost and feet were bare beneath gowns. Several hours and multiple venues later, an extreme booth wrestling exhibit commenced in a dimly primitive institution, chairs were stacked, rugs were rolled-up or dragged to the street, clothes got ripped for souvenirs (a la Hard Days Night), and no night is complete until a Wurlitzer juke box gets a good dominating session from audiobonton, the maestro of music curators.
-> We want the airwaves, AIRWAVES! <- The Bose speakers exploded - blame the Rolling Stones "Shattered": "Love and hope and sex and dreams Are still surviving on the street Look at me! I'm in tatters!" Pride and joy and greed and sex That's what makes our town the best Pride and joy and dirty dreams are still surviving on the street. Look at Me! What a mess, this town's in tatters. I've been shattered. Sha-doobie, my brains been battered. My friends they come around, they Flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter, flatter Pile it up! Pile it high on a platter!'' . . . After sunrise, a dramatic 'Triple Lindy" style great escape (as demo'd by Rodney Dangerfield) was staged from level three of a closed parking garage. Security guards were distracted, tires squealed, and the 36 hour Friday was capped with just one more thing that "just needed to be done". Then, after a few morning hours spent clipping thorns off long-stem roses, and it was time for a Saturday nap, but it was hardly the sleep of the righteous, just the slumber of the spent. Well spent.