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Memory - Atlantic CIty
Dec. 27th, 2024 11:53 pmIn 2005 I attended the IEEE Milcom conference to present a paper.
Unfortunately for me, the conference was held in Atlantic City, the second-most popular American gambling resort after Las Vegas.
To get to Atlantic City, I flew into Philadelphia and took a train from 30th Street Station. That station is something special; art deco architecture and statues of angels. It's a taste of heaven. The train powered the fifty miles to Atlantic City as dusk fell, and I could soon see the signs on top of the towers and casinos looming over the horizon. TRUMP was seared into my consciousness, in red neon, in the night. It was a journey from heaven into hell.
If you're not a fan of casinos and their attractions, Atlantic City isn't much to write home about. There's the boardwalk and local history, but many local shops have shuttered, and anything that remains is casino-owned. I recall eating at an Indian restaurant, ordering several dishes as you would in the UK. But all the dishes were supersized, and I had to leave a lot.
Getting taxi receipts to expense the trips was a challenge; people come to a casino town to spend money, not to keep track of it, and I wound up with a variety of scribbled doodles. On the way out of town, the lone taxi operator that answered the phone refused to believe that I was where I said I was, until I managed to convince her that I had been in a motel that was recently built. GPS adoption and the wide availability of mapping has changed that, for the better.
I've passed through Reno, too, and gambling is big in Sydney. But I remain uncomfortable in casinos; I know that they're places that are carefully designed to be not to my benefit, and that the house always wins.
Unfortunately for me, the conference was held in Atlantic City, the second-most popular American gambling resort after Las Vegas.
To get to Atlantic City, I flew into Philadelphia and took a train from 30th Street Station. That station is something special; art deco architecture and statues of angels. It's a taste of heaven. The train powered the fifty miles to Atlantic City as dusk fell, and I could soon see the signs on top of the towers and casinos looming over the horizon. TRUMP was seared into my consciousness, in red neon, in the night. It was a journey from heaven into hell.
If you're not a fan of casinos and their attractions, Atlantic City isn't much to write home about. There's the boardwalk and local history, but many local shops have shuttered, and anything that remains is casino-owned. I recall eating at an Indian restaurant, ordering several dishes as you would in the UK. But all the dishes were supersized, and I had to leave a lot.
Getting taxi receipts to expense the trips was a challenge; people come to a casino town to spend money, not to keep track of it, and I wound up with a variety of scribbled doodles. On the way out of town, the lone taxi operator that answered the phone refused to believe that I was where I said I was, until I managed to convince her that I had been in a motel that was recently built. GPS adoption and the wide availability of mapping has changed that, for the better.
I've passed through Reno, too, and gambling is big in Sydney. But I remain uncomfortable in casinos; I know that they're places that are carefully designed to be not to my benefit, and that the house always wins.
