Belligerent Rejectamenta

I’ve been back home for a few days now, though my luggage only recently returned, and figured I’d follow up on the NextFest trip. Unfortunately, the second convention was much less entertaining than Wired’s shindig, and did not, at any point, feature several hours worth of open bar with the nation’s foremost futurists. More’s the pity. Instead, I spent several hours each day talking to schoolkids, which was not bad, but had a significant whiskey deficit compared to the Wired festivities.

What it lacked in wicked robots, fully immersive VR video games, and creepy androids, Long Beach made up in surroundings. The city was infinitely more pleasant to hang out in than downtown L.A., and coupled with breezy autumn weather, it made afternoon strolls through the city very find indeed. The area of Long Beach where I was staying is very pedestrian-friendly, with lots of open-air cafes, bars, art galleries, and weird little shops crammed in to an area about 10 blocks by 10 blocks square. Since the schoolkids at the convention had to be back in time to catch their buses home, I was free and clear most days by 2:30, and passed the afternoons wandering around town.

In celebration of a colleague’s anniversary, we dined at Chelsea, on the illustrious Queen Mary, which has both the best seafood paella I can imagine, and the worst liquor selection of any high-class eatery in which I’ve dined. Here’s a tip, aspiring restauranteurs: If your entrees start in the mid-$20 range, then your liquor selection should be likewise elevated — otherwise, it looks like you’re not actually going out of your way to cater to the patrons’ desires, which is bad for business.

After running through a list of a half-dozen of the most widely distributed small batch American whiskeys (and a couple of good scotches, for good measure) without a single nod of recognition from the waiter, I gave up. The West Coast is apparently entirely antithetical to my drinking habits. I have it on good authority from my colleague that their wine selection (as well as the waiter’s ability to match a wine to requested flavor criteria) was also quite disappointing. Despite that, a lovely dinner was had by all, and I snapped a few pics of the ship and the nearby Soviet submarine (alas closed before I got there for dinner). The Jazz Age atmospherics were notably enhanced by the cast of extras shooting a scene for a forthcoming episode of Cold Case, all in period costume walking around the dining deck.

Over the remainder of the trip, I continued to frustrate myself by trying to find a bar with a decent whiskey selection. Maker’s Mark is about as high-end as most places seem to go in Long Beach, which was a bit of a disappointment. It’s hard to burn a per diem if you can’t find your preferred poison anywhere. I was finally saved by the recommendation of the lovely bartender at the hotel on my final night in Long Beach, when she suggested the House of Hayden, just down the street. Excellent bar, excellent staff, excellent juke box. And what to my wondering eyes should appear as soon as I sat down but a bottle of J.D. Special Reserve. It absolutely sucked to find the place on my last night in town rather than earlier, but I was able to at last get the drink I’d been looking for since I got to LB.

Long Beach photos

Long Beach, Sept 2007