Digi-Scene

Yesterday there was a conference session given by a couple of guys from the New York Times. The session had something to do with multi-channel data integration or some such thing and it had some really good ideas.

Here's the important thing, though. The presenter was movie-star handsome.

I don't mean cute, cuddly teen-girl crush handsome. I'm talking for an adult woman, drop-dead, drop your panties handsome. Patrick-Dempsey-with-a-sprinkle-of-gray-in-the hair-and-beard, handsome

After the presentation, I joined the crush of female groupies, er attendees, pushing and shoving their way to give the man their business card. Only in a setting like this can a woman remotely get away with a "here's my number, we need to talk again SOON", and not look like a total slut.

In actuality what I wanted was a copy of the man's presentation so can I sound as smart as he is. When it was my turn to introduce myself, I swear to you this actually occured.

Me: "Hi there, my name is Kim Howard and I'm with Geary Interactive, an interactive advertising agency in San Diego and I'd love to get a copy of your presentation. Here's my business card."

GHONYTML (Gorgeous Hunk of New York Times Man Love), looking deeply into my eyes as he takes the card: "You look really familiar. Have we met before?"

Me (in my head): "You don't remember? The hot, steamy summer on the Cape? The cool, crisp autumn days in New York? I'm crushed you don't remember me!"

Me (out loud): "Um, no I'm sure I would remember if we had met before. I just have one of those faces that looks like your roommates best friend from college. You know what I mean?"

GHONYTML (laughing gently): "Yes, I know what you mean, but I feel like we've met before. I think the presentations from the entire conference will be made available online afterwards, but I'll be sure to send you a copy."

Me: "Thank you, I'd really appreciate it."

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As I drift off to sleep last night, I'm rewriting that conversation a million different ways in my head. Too bad I don't think as quickly on my feet as I do on the verge of sleep. Cie la vie.