Instead of OR, it should probably be called Oz. It's a fantasy, a whirl of gear and product and sniggly little pockets with handwarmer linings.
But beneath the green footprints and paper-thin carpet (our version of the yellow brick OzDOT repaving project), it's just cement. And above it, the cataclysmic eruption of gear is primarily just a concoction of some fiery imagination.
A favorite showtime conversation starter of mine is posing the question: how much of the gear on display at OR will actually ever make it into the hands of Joe Sixpack? There's definitely a healthy percentage that never makes it into stores, and a healthy percentage of that never gets bought, so what's the whimsical percentage? Fifty percent? Sixty? Whatever it is, it's a good check on whatever reality it is that you're currently smoking.
The same can be said for conversations during the show. What is the discount on vaportalk? How many of those intense business meetings were just time fillers and courtesy? How much is real, after all?
Every show, it takes a few days before the candy-coated shell of a trade show crackles and peels off. Before the temporary high of business fantasy is supplanted by the tangible reality of walking to the office, of picking some fresh corn, of listening to "High School Musical" with the daughter. It's like taking your shoes off for the first time in weeks, and remembering what it's like to feel the grass and dirt beneath your feet. It feels good to be dirty. To be real. To be a part of the world again.
Of course, being barefoot again has it's own challenges ...like learning that a friend's husband just died while rock climbing in South America. Or finding out that another friend will hit the operating table for pancreatic cancer next month.
It's a short fall from Oz back the farm. Yet as much as I love the outdoor world and the drunken optimism it provides, there's no doubt that the dirt is where we're all needed and where we all can make our greatest impact.
Outdoor Retailer, A to Z
A is for the guy I met with the Arbowear tattoo on his chest. He has no affiliation with the company other than a love for the brand. No joke.
B is for the Blogger’s Ball, the bi-annual opportunity to get together and see how much tanner the outdoor industry bloggers are than the guys who went the Yearly Kos. Btw, Eric Steele’s table swim was heroic.
C is for the Carlton Hotel, aka the Vermont ghetto. Somewhere between The Shining and Newhart lives this super stony shelter where no two rooms are the same, you can keep your key till next year, and the Japanese Maple in the basement looks an awful lot like the Vermont state flower.
D is for that Dude who I see every show hanging around the Patagonia booth. His name is Casey and he claims to be the company president. Yeah, right.
E is for energy bars, those tasty treats that are sliced into tiny pieces and put out at the front of just about every aisle. Every show I think it’s a good idea to eat them, and every show I end up with the same thing.
F is for Flatulence. See above.
G is for Green. As easy as it would be to get jaded and cynical about over-promotion of eco-sensitive materials, the reality was that the OR show was incredibly pensive and appropriate about the whole thing. Yes, there were more green products than ever before. But the majority vibe was not “we’re green and you’re not.” Instead it was one of shared responsibility and some mutual appreciation for how hard it is to change.
H is for the fortified hot chocolate energy drink concocted by Clif Bar. The also have an energized apple cider. It’s supposed to be for XC skiers and the like. But once the Schnapps comes out, I see drunk people.
I is for Ibex, who hosted a hell of a punk rock party. Not a real punk rock party, but a metaphorical one. An unpretentious gathering of like-minded people who just happened to be away from their kids for a couple days and have access to a film projector. Mexican food in aluminum trays, Herradura in Dixie cups, and some of the best short films I’ve seen in years from that Hansi guy. Maybe the good guys can win after all.
J is for John Waterman, who gave an intense and rousing speech on Arctic Warming at the Conservation Alliance breakfast … an event that remains the best part of the Outdoor Retailer show every year.
K is for Kevin Garnett. He wasn’t at the show. But he will be playing for the Celtics this year.
L is for OBG editor Dennis Lewon, whose watch was 6 hours and 32 minutes off, yet he still made every appointment. All hail the human computer...
M is for Mark Anders who is NOT on steroids, and Michael Collin who probably should be.
… to be continued…
A sea of green
"I'd like to see a rain jacket with umbrellas that pop out of the shoulders; a tent with hard wood floors, a kitchen, and a bathrroom so you dont have to go outside; sunglasses with pictures all over the lenses but you can see through; and a sleeping bag that feeds you food when you're sick."
So says my seven-year-old daughter. Even she wants to see more innovation at this week's Outdoor Retailer show.
My own daydreams are less creative, unfortunately. A recurring image is a long Kubrickian hallway that leads up to an elevator, fronted by a pair of twins holding hands and giving me that day-three stare. The doors open slowly, ominously, and a hundred thousand gallons of green paint washes past the dual creepsters to bathe the aisles of the Salt Palace convention center in a new hue.
Certainly, the prevalance of green marketing won't be that over-the-top at ORSM.
But it's going to be close.