Not Exactly Stellar

Well my weekend in Stellarton did not live up to its town's name. Not even the Heather could provide some kitschy relief. The conference was thoroughly disappointing. (For all of you waiting with bated breathe to hear the bush-whacking score, I'll say only this: I have never seen so many unattractive people assembled in one room.)

But worse, the conference organizers seemed not to know what they were doing. Sessions were thrown together in a haphazard fashion, seemingly based on what someone might have experienced at a conference elsewhere, but never really with a particular goal. Further, all sessions were held in the basement of the "motor hotel," leaving me feeling very much like a vampire who never got exposed to the sunlight.

This is not to say that the people at the conference were not interesting. It's just that we never really got to hear much of the interesting stuff. I do have some observations to make about stuff like the class politics of smoking and the cult-like status of breast cancer as the women's issue par excellence. But I'll spare you those details for tonight and save them for future blogs.

I will, however, share the not-so-concealed secret of the Heather: the sign lies. It boasts fabulous food. There is none. And the service is awful--a disgrace to small town, friendly service everywhere. But once you check in, you can't escape exposure to either: they do make you walk through the dining room to get to your room. Now how weird is that?