Conference Day 3 (Last day)

Today was, as the title of the blog makes clear, the last day of the conference. I feel like I should earn a medal for surviving something but I am not sure what. This has been a surreal experience, that is for sure. These 30 people--barring the woman from Benin who strongly disapproves of all conceptual analysis and only accepts empirical data collections as representations of REALITY--are an impossibly chummy collection of people. Throughout the talks, most of the people were snapping pictures of people, like we were on holiday together. Today, after lunch, a few of us got back to the conference room a bit early and while we were waiting for the rest to come back (probably most of them were in line waiting to use the women's toilet), they were snapping pictures of the room we were in. I couldn't see the point of it all and said, "What the hell are you doing? What are you going to do with all these pictures when you get home?" They all started protesting, "Show our family! Show my boyfriend!" I said, "They don't care about any of us! They don't know who we are! You're being ridiculous!" But they insisted that these photos were priceless keeepsakes, treasures to be saved forever and ever!" BAH! I say. The organizers even made us stand in front of the college door for a mass photo (actually, about 20 mass photos because everyone kept passing around their cameras). When I groaned about having to put up with all this, one woman said, "Ah, come on, get on a bit of lippy and smile!" After the party broke up, my Aussie pal, Nycole, (who I could reduce to giggle fits when things got quiet--that was my party trick) got all weepy and hugged me goodbye, telling me we will meet again. I asked, "Is that a promise or a threat?" which just got her laughing helplessly all over again. Sheesh, these people.
According to one conference mate, an American named Frank, this street is named after the famous Plato scholar, Jowett, who translated his works so well. (I have his translations.) Now, if that story isn't true, blame Frank.

After I managed to pry myself loose from the weepy women (another weeper, Liz, works at the University of Northern British Columbia, CA and invited me up ANYTIME--it's a 10 hour drive north of Vancouver (!!); can you imagine those Januaries?!?), I set off to buy various goods for The Boys. First to Blackwells because I was told to go there. Here it is, just as everyone said it would be.

Thomas requested a present, something "that better be good" and Peter suggested that I might have a chance of finding such a thing at the History of Science museum, which is here:

Once on the steps, if I turn the other way, I see this:

Or, I see this:

I DID find such a thing. But the cashier was not there and the person standing there near the cash register would not take my cash. I asked what time the museum opened tomorrow, and he said noon. I said, "SHIT!" very loudly, as I need to be on the bus by 10. I tried not to glare but he obviously felt ridiculous. "Where," I asked, "IS the cashier?" He didn't know. It seems that there were two issues: he didn't know how to work the cash drawer to get change and he didn't know where to find the item I wanted to buy. Finally, he couldn't take the stress anymore. So, he gave me change from his pocket, promising me he would restore the drawer the next day. I assured him I didn't care one way or the other what he did. "Let your conscience be your guide" was what I said. He then took the item I wanted from the display shelf because he didn't have the key to unlock the under-cabinet to get a sale item. He also promised to restore a new display item tomorrow. "If that helps you sleep at night," I said. He was clearly racked with guilt about breaking the rules, but also visibly relieved when I left. Exhausted from being up until about 2:30 last night, I then headed back to my hotel (it's about a 45 minute walk) and to eat there. I was very much hoping to have the place to myself, since it wasn't very late and I know most people in this part of the world eat later, but a massive gaggle of old men in dog's collars came in to the restaurant--about 30 of them. What the hell? Then they started singing in German!--German priests!! I didn't even think there WERE German priests anymore! They were really rowdy, too, guffawing during the whole meal. I wonder if they are going to some sort of conference in town.