I'm not sure how I failed to get around to describing the presentation done last week, but I suppose other things got in the way. This was the one I had to cancel class for, to class's relief. The boss wanted me to meet him at his home, which saved a little time on the commute to the clients and also meant he wouldn't have to drive in to work. For me it was just about as long a drive, although I was expected a half-hour later than I'd be expected in the office.
Google Maps put the trip to the client at about 90 minutes, so it will not suprise you that the boss made it in about 60, giving us the chance to lounge around a gas station and snack before meeting. The meeting itself amounted to me showing off the stuff I've done, right up to the pretty picture part failing (I blame the Mi-Fi device here, as it was held in almost as complete a cell phone black hole as my parents' home is in), and everybody else seems to have come out with a good idea of what we were doing and why.
Afterward we tried to go to a nearby diner with one of the people who didn't have to be in a specific office at a specific time. However, we managed to miss the U-turn and get thrown into an impossibly complex web of twisty passages, all alike, and it took about twenty minutes to complete the turnaround. Going back home we also managed to miss the turn onto the Turnpike, and so ended up drifting past New Giants Stadium where we passed through a flurry of confetti. This would be the first time I've kind of touched part of a championship celebration.
Still, driving back, the boss's general condition started looking worse and worse. He looked ready to pass out and we swapped places, so that I drove home slower than he might but much more safely. I left him off about 3 pm, and he looked rather like he looked at 8:30 am, which he characterized as a horrible thing to say but also true.
Trivia: In 1795, George Washington borrowed money from New York Governor George Clinton to buy about three thousand acres in the Mohawk Valley, and resold it quickly, earning a profit of six thousand dollars. Source: The Fabric Of America: How Our Borders And Boundaries Shaped The Country And Forged Our National Identity, Andro Linklater.
Currently Reading: From Those Wonderful Folks Who Brought You Pearl Harbor: Front-Line Dispatches From The Advertising War, Jerry Della Femina, Charles Sopkin. It's interesting looking back on the days when advertising executives were the high-stress high-money grey-men-in-suits vaguely publicly admired for some reason, before bond traders took that position in an unwelcome buyout. However, I can't work up sympathy for Della Femina's alarm that the meddling government is going to destroy advertising with stuff like requiring that something sold as ``cherry pie'' have a specified minimum amount of cherry in it, when there's no reason customers wouldn't be satisfied with an extruded food product which someone has stared at while intently thinking about cherries. I come down on the ``cherry pie must contain at least some cherries'' side.