Field Theory by Hadyn Green

365 days without something happening that changes your life would be a rare thing. A fairly disappointing thing too. It's been almost 365 days since I had three life-changing experiences in one month: I got an iPhone, I turned 30, and I went to Webstock.

I had been to conferences before. Ones where all I did was try look interested, ones where I was speaking and was trying to remember the funny bits I had prepared, even some great ones where I got to talk to interesting people like David Bellamy ("wind turbines are evil"), Bill English (he was eating baked beans and bacon for breakfast and his real first name is Simon) and Helen Clark (she was in the middle of some ‘scandal' and I was too nervous to actually talk much, no it wasn't awkward).

I had seen amazing presentations where data, research and insight had been blasted at me in various formats. I remember one that even had a 3D representation of student reading-comprehension achievement data that we all had to wear the red/green glasses to see.

And yet I have never been more amazed by a gathering of minds set towards one task than I have at Webstock. I still have the trading cards decorating my cubicle.

From the opening speaker (Jane McGonigal) there were instantly 1,000s of ideas streaming from the audience into cyberspace. Discussions on everything from user interaction to whether a Star Destroyer could beat the Enterprise. If you squinted and turned your head to the right angle, the air sparkled with electrons.

I talked tattoos with Heather Champ and Derek Powazek. I managed to keep a cool exterior as I talked to Ze Frank about The Remnants despite an incredible urge to giggle the whole time.

Bruce Sterling's talk caused so much fuming and grumpiness that he had to put the transcript up on Wired.com and his description:

Web 2.0 guys: they've got their laptops with whimsical stickers, the tattoos, the startup T-shirts, the brainy-glasses — you can tell them from the general population at a glance.

caused us to start a game where we had to find that exact person. In the meantime Jane McGonigal had started a dancing contest.

At Webstock the presenters are reacting agents. They are a dirty big lump of sodium thrown into a pool of gleefully-watching water. Sodium by itself is a silvery lump, water by it self is wet… but together…

Other conferences the speakers are there to show how smart they are, you are there to applaud then take those ideas away. And fair enough in many cases. At Webstock you interact. And not always with the speakers.

The conversation over drinks is thick with the evolution of ideas. Each primordial idea branching and diverging (or converging) to suit each attendee's ecological niche. Or (as I continue to mix my scientific-discipline metaphors), think of Webstock as a Big Bang size event; the speakers are the initial expansion and the concurrent and subsequent discussion is the cooling and coalescing of planets and solar systems and galaxies of ideas.

But I don't want to build it up too much.

Webstock does seem to need that audience atmosphere to really get rolling. This is despite the usual New Zealand audience reaction of sitting politely and quietly during the talks (something that freaks out international speakers). And with many companies tightening their belts for conference attendance there was a concern this year.

Webstock is one the most sought after tickets on the conference calendar. But it does come with a high price tag. Personally I believe it's worth it, but I'm not running finances for a company. Thankfully those crafty Webstock organisers have a guide for a great business case.

And why not, this year's line up is as strong as ever. Personally on the top of my list is Rives and Kevin Rose and Shelley Bernstein (who I missed last time she was here). But I'm bound to be broadsided by a speaker I wasn't expecting or currently know nothing about.

I wanted to write more about the presenters this year, but I realised that I don't really know about them. And that their talks are usually only vaguely related to the title. For example, I have no idea what will be in Toby Segaran's talk "Beautiful Data". I know what I'd like it to be, but then again, if I knew what he was going to say why bother going?

Because that's how Webstock rolls. Fast and with a lot of mass, but nobody jumps out of the way.

Once again Mike took spectacular photos of the action on and off the field. But yesterday, while posting from a pub wth spotty wi-fi at best and a dying laptop battery (thanks Matt for putting up yesterday's post!) I couldn't add them in. So here are a few of his best.

The full galleries are here.

These next two photos show exactly how much teams love this event. Both Argentinians and French lost but both went around the stadium and showed their appreciation to the fans.

The Argentinians lifted a performer onto their shoulders while he was trying to win an "idol" competition. While the French did their own crowd-surfing twice through the team and each time with the surfer dancing or generally involving the crowd. Including the guy who lost his shorts.

The Sevens: Part 1

There is definitely a strange surrealism to the Sevens. I looked up to see a man stroll past the doors to our office building in a pink belly-dancers outfit. His rough five o'clock shadow covering the same nonchalant expression as the other business folk walking along the road.

Later I saw a caveman jump on the back of a pirate. Historical inaccuracy abounds. A Roman centurian uses a cell phone. Storm troopers walk happily with wookies. A very skinny Spiderman makes out with a decidedly adult version of Miss Muffet. Two girls dressed as zebras wear tshirts that say "America, f*ck yeah!"

Next year I hope somebody comes as a lobster telephone.

Just inside the gates in the outdoor portion the mood is light. There are games, dancing and a climbing wall. There is a kissing booth where hired girls exchange beads for a peck. They are admirably un-smeared with face paint.

One shirtless man walks out of the concourse with blood running down his face and chest. I think I can see someone's hair and flesh on his knuckles. We head in.

I don't see anything before I'm hit with a physical wall of sound. It feels like we've stepped into a fast flowing river. Everyone is heading somewhere and the ones that aren't are providing solid physical barriers like rocks that you try to avoid. A canoe costume would be incredibly apt.

I had expected a Cagligulian orgy of lycra, leather, skin and paint. I expected legs, chests and buttocks to be on display with a floor slick with vomit and beer and sweat. I expected a writhing horde of drunk, tanned youth to be fucking each other while leering older men in Hawaiian shirts looked on, hoping their wives wouldn't find out.

I was partly disappointed.

Lines for the beer were deep. Lines for the water didn't exist. People walking into you actually said sorry. To be honest I've seen more feral people on a fairground ride at a Big Day Out. Because this is what might surprise those who haven't been to the Sevens, the munters have fun. The whole thing begins to feel like a wine festival with fireworks, body paint and terrible wine.

The stadium is split in two. The sunny side and the shady side (east and west). In the heat you drink more. This makes it the feral side. If you made it through the tunnel entrance you might be lucky. It helps to be drunk over there.

Girls in short skirts, guy with no shirts, furry animal costumes. It's a great combination.

But even there it's still high spirits. Every time the music comes on there's dancing. The shittiest pop song with a good beat is still something you can dance to. And nobody tires of it. Team allegiances are selected at random. Australia plays South Africa and both teams are booed and cheered in equal amounts.

The noise and the sweat and the laughing and dancing and the drinking and the cheering and the sport... I'm actually having fun! Sure the munters are munters but they're having a great time. And it's more like a usual night out, you avoid the idiots and move with the crowds.

It's the easiest way to be a chameleon: get drunk and smile a lot. But as much as the munters are not as bad as I thought, there is still vomit, blood and sleeping drunks being hosed off the pavement the next morning.

The Sevens: Part 2

If the party gets dull you can watch the rugby. That is large fallacy.

The game is interesting. And as I mentioned before, you'll randomly find yourself attached to one of the teams. We were cheering for Fiji in the final simply because we were surrounded by Fijians.

And it's a game designed for cheering. It's all scoring and kicking and running. And the players love it. I spoke to South African coach and he said that New Zealand was one of the best venues on the Sevens circuit because no matter how much of a party it is the fans still know about rugby.

We are "the" rugby nation after all. Hong Kong, Dubai etc, they are fun tournaments, but to be able to walk the streets and have intelligent conversations about rugby with fans on the street and be able to talk to other coaches about coaching is what the athletes and coaching staff love.

Will it, should it, move away from Wellington? No! No! No! We have the geography and the stadium placement to make the event something for the entire city. I just can't see how it would work in either Auckland or Dunedin. It seems the organisers don't think much of the idea to move either.

Party Zone is Courtenay Pl, it doesn't matter if you're a drunk looking to score or just after a nice martini you go to the same place. Where is that in Auckland?

Mike and I climbed the stairs to the private function room. At the top we were greeted by the media liaison.

We exchanged names and hellos and she asked "Are you bloggers?" I'm not sure what gave it away but I agreed with her guess, Mike is of course a photographer and hence of higher standing.

"Who do you write for?"

"Public Address"

"Oh I love Public Address!"

"Really? Cool"

"Yes, I own both of David Haywood's books".

I walked off to get a drink.

It was called a "Tongan Tackler" and while nice had less power than the name suggested. Among the team-themed drinks and shots was a "New Zealand Fritter" which seemed to be Red Bull and vodka, very traditional. At this time the speeches strarted.

Martin Snedden got up to speak at one point. I took notes in which I spelled his name wrong, despite putting it past Mike. This is why the press is dying, inadequate spelling skills and fewer pendants.

A drunk and rambling Martin Snedden was not the rousing speaker you'd expect. In fact he was far less entertaining than the drunk fellow who had blagged his way in pretending to be with ZM. Snedden did say something that I liked though:

People around the world are talking about us [on Facebook] and if you're not on Facebook… GET ON IT!

You can't say that he isn't up with trends.

Later that evening we saw Murray Mexted in Hooch. It was one of those celebrity sightings that make you think something special is in the air.

Today is the first day of the Sevens and I have already seen numerous small herds of costumes. None of the meta- or self-referential style though, sadly. I picked up my media pass at the NZRU briefing this morning. First on the agenda for journos: don't get drunk. And if you do, don't be the first person thrown out, like last year.

I'll see what I can do.

I can't believe I'm going to say this but, where's the cricket?

Yes, sure, this hasn't been the most summery of summers but an entire January without international cricket seems… wrong. The whole "don't play rugby during cricket season" rather implies that cricket is played during cricket season.

For too long we had to put up with Australia and Pakistan playing an incredibly long series. And in the same uniforms.

Thankfully Bangladesh has now arrived to ease our woes. Because even rained-off cricket is better than no cricket. Rained off domestic cricket though, that's just sad. Worse still if you've decided to wear pink.

And thankfully the first match was on free to air TV (well the 20/20 was). Bloody well done Sky and Prime!