I am sitting in my faintly cigarette-smoke-smelling room on the 36th floor of the Marriott Marquis on Broadway. Futurama is on Cartoon Network. Looking out and up from my window, I can see fog/smog drifting lazily around the skyscrapers, the sky has gone murky milky brown, and super-bright glittery lights from the theaters on Broadway are strangely hypnotic. Communication has been turned on its head this week, and the housekeeping people think that giving me a bar of chocolate is supposed to make up for the smoke smell in my room (ironically, this is supposed to be a non-smoking hotel; I tried to get a different room, but it's booked solid for the conference). I'd get something munchy and comforting from the mini-bar, if there was one. Fortunately, I bought protein bars and water at the train station. People who know about my bad travel karma will not be surprised at the above-named irritants.
My co-worker and I have already decided on the revolving hotel restaurant and a thai place as two of our dinner options this week. Other suggestions?
Now to bed. I'm facing four days of non-stop oncology presentations, eight hours a day, a new presentation every 10 minutes. Anyone have questions about cancer, I'm your girl.
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