2006 New Frontiers Symposium Diary - Arrival Day

Since everyone and his brother have been posting blogs for the last decade, I am dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Actually, it's just laziness, so don't expect daily posts!

Here's a diary of last weekend, when I was in Canada for the 2nd time in a year, and the 2nd time in my life.

The reason for this was that I was invited to speak at the 2006 New Frontiers Symposium. If we're not caught in some sort of post-apocalyptic nightmare in the next year, the organizers have assured the public that there will be more. It was one of the best conferences I've ever had the pleasure to contribute to and experience. The speakers all gave talks that were zero B.S., information rich, and thought provoking. The next one will be even better, I wager. I'll be at the 50th one too. The super secret, life-prolonging miracle drugs should be out of the hands of the ruling elite by the time I need them.

Arrival was on the evening of Friday the 13th (thanks to Paul Kimball, the host) but fortunately, I am not a superstitious person. Air Canada seems to be no-frills, no problems. No complaints. The point is to get there, right? Also, what terrorist in his right mind would want to blow up a plane from CANADA, fercrissake? Very bad P.R.

Wandering around the Halifax airport, I met up with my good friend Nick Redfern, (another speaker that weekend) oufitted in his usual habillement: black leather jacket, jeans and Converse high-tops--the standard uniform of his heroes, the Ramones. Paul showed up moments later and drove us into town.

Waiting in the lobby of our opulent hotel was legendary Ufologist Stanton Friedman. He introduced me to his wife and then promptly forgot my name. Gesturing at me, he was smooth: "What are they calling you these days?" Replying with "Your Lordship" would not have been polite, but it would have been damned funny. Have to use that next time. I'm not a UFO bigwig, and I don't know if I want to be one. Maybe just enough to sell books and get invited to conferences to see friends and spurt my weird ideas. I forgave Stan, though. He knows me by name, but not by sight.

Paul had an interview with the "X-Zone" radio show scheduled in a couple of hours, but he lost the key to his office sometime earlier in the day. We went over to the house and he found it in his girlfriend's purse. The last meal I had was a roast beef and brie sandwich at the Montreal airport--strange, but not unpleasant, and Paul handed me a few Canadian dollars to get myself a pizza slice from across the street. When I returned to the office, I had to stifle the desire to shout rude corrections and obscenities in the background during the balance of his phone interview.

Tomorrow: Day 2.