I'm in Lake Placid

Some observations:

1. It's not easy to get from Boone, NC to Lake Placid, NY. First, you gotta do a two hour car ride from Boone to Greensboro (PTI). This ride is usually helped along by some groovy tunes. This day, it's Ass Ponys, Scott Miller and Neko Case. Next, PTI to Boston (there is absolutely no connecting terminal info on my boarding pass or widescreen airport TVs. I get in line at the service desk. I'm first in line but none of the service desk employees, 4 of them, even look at me for 10 minutes. At some point I'm noticed [just like high school] and I'm directed to terminal C. It is, truly, a rat's maze from terminal A to C in the Logan airport. Truly, I say, cheese is served at terminal C.) Logan to Saranac Lake airport and then a 30 minute cab ride to Lake Placid.
2. I check into the Hilton and walk another rat's maze to my room. I enter the room and turn on the lights. On the table is a growler (1 quart) of Saranac Pale Ale. This would never happen at an econ conference. Never. Well, maybe Jim Heckman gets a growler at the ASSAs. Or Barro.
3. This part is just sad. I'm wondering what I'm going to do with the growler of Saranac Pale Ale. Actually, I'm wondering when I'll be able to walk around my room in my underwear and drink the whole damn thing by myself because the GD drapes to my room won't shut and only a thin gauzy curtain separates me from the courtyard and everyone can see me in my underwear if my lights are on at night. Suddenly, I find the solution! I'll turn off the lights and drink the growler in my underwear. Tomorrow night. GD-it.
4. After a walk downtown and a couple of egg rolls, I head back for some much deserved rest. Then I hear it. A live band in the hotel bar. Great band: covers of Stevie Ray Vaughn, Allman Bros, that Irish guy who sings brown eyed girl, Mustang Sally (is that the band or the song?) and other oldies designed to get people who shouldn't dance in public to dance in public. And, I'm thinking, its great to see people doing the best that they can do.
5. The band: I think their name is "Older than most." A bunch of gray hairs who announce that they have a CD coming out (it took 6 years, they say). Dave Wannstedt is on lead guiter and a Whitney Houston-ish lead singer can sing but can't dance, just like Whitney. They're really fun, honest, but take a break at 12. The bar emptys except me and then, embarrassed, I leave too. No one is there and I'm in my room typing, fully clothed because of the thin gauze, when I hear the steady bass and screaming guitar of a lounge band ... I'm going to see if they are playing by themselves ...
6. ... nope, an audience of four. I get the inside scoop from the bartenders. The band loves their job. So much so, that in order to subvert the bar's (Dancing Bears Lounge) policy of rotating the bands, they'll book themselves under different names on subsequent weekends. Actually, the different bands/names have slightly different lineups. Maybe that is why the lead singer doesn't know the bass player's name (she had to ask the band leader for the poor guy's name when she intro'd his solo). Or, again from the bartender, we're not sure that she only tinkles the bathroom on her breaks. wink. wink.