Photos from ACSM's 2017 National Conference:

Alexis drove us to Jessica's family home. Jessica's mom drove us to the Bart. We took the Bart to SFO. And this is the view from my seat on the Bart:

Zoom in on the lucky winner's face. That is not a man I would hire as a babysitter. Yes, in real life, I'm sure he's adorable. He remembers his anniversary, plays catch with his son, cheers proudly during silent, inappropriate moments of his daughter's ballet recitals. Fine. But this picture does not communicate that. It looks like he's on a casting call for The Shining.

Five feet away from the above poster was the below poster:

I have several problems with the slogan. First: the grammar. The missing preposition makes it feel like a bad knock knock joke ("bad" seems unnecessary in that sentence; it's kind of implied by "knock knock"). Knock knock. Who's there? Ask forgiveness. Ask forgiveness who? Ask forgiveness later! Ask for forgiveness you mean? Or seek forgiveness maybe? One does not "ask forgiveness." Second: it sounds like something a date rapist would say (not a very articulate date rapist). "Do first. Ask forgiveness later." I'd be careful with that philosophy. Imagine if the other poster -- the one of the middle-aged man smiling like a psychopath -- had this caption. Beneath a smiling psychopath's face in big, bold, caps-lock letters: ASK FORGIVENESS LATER! (The exclamation point was a bit of dramatic license on my part. The second sentence -- unlike the first -- had no punctuation to quote, so I added the mark I thought most fitting.)

I was done. Our plane was very delayed. I didn't want to sit or stand anymore. So I took a nap. And my students -- being assholes, of course (lovable ones, but still stinky, oily assholes) -- took this picture. And I love and appreciate them more for doing so. When I saw it, for a moment, I thought I had grown a big gut. Not since I was a newborn had anyone taken a picture of me sleeping. Maybe something magical happens to my stomach during slumber. Like I eat a bunch of magic. And magic has a lot of calories... so I get fat. (It does look like it, doesn't it?) Or maybe I eat my arms (it took me a second to realize my forearms were missing). I like the magical explanation better.

Nick was the first to present. He looks well rested because he was. He came in on a different flight, arrived earlier in the day, and went to bed at a reasonable hour. He should look lonely because the rest of us did not come in on that flight. We got to the house after 3am, figured out the sleeping situation, and made it to bed around 5am. Nick set up his poster at 7am. And none of us came (which is why I said he should look lonely). But I only heard positive feedback about his presentation. He seems to have done a great job.

A bunch of us on the front porch of the house we rented. Alexis found it, secured it, and took care of all communication with the Airbnb people. I would have done none of those things. This was after we slept in. Nick had already presented. The rest of us were just starting the day.

The no-shows from the previous porch picture (p-cubed).

Haylee and Ify were the next two presenters. They were directly across from each other. Here's H. Betty #1:

Here's H. Betty #2:

And here's H. Betty #3, explaining things like a Haylee. She's serious. So listen up.

Right across from Haylee was Ify. Here's the two of them being the two of them:

Sort of uncharacteristic of both of them, actually. Ify is seldom surprised. And Haylee seems to be seducing the cameraman. Or camerawoman. (Not sure who took this picture.)

And here's Ify looking professional:

Here's Ify barely less professional:

Here's Ify considerably less professional:

Here's Ify communicating science by way of a puppet show, using her bare hands as puppets:

Here's Ify explaining to her admirer that he needs to cool it. Cool your sorry ass down, Ify admirer:

Later in the day, Jessica and Alexis presented. They weren't right across from each other. Here's Jessica:

And here's Jessica in action:

And J-Lo in action again (possibly giving herself a round of applause):

And still more action (any questions?):

And here's Alexis at her poster:

Alexis delivering a bold gesture:

Alexis delivering a bolder gesture, which appears to be "why the hell would you ask me such a thing?":

The first day of presentations was done, so Haylee and Nick went out to play:

Haylee continued to play...

... while everyone else went home to recover:

The following day, it was Francisco, Voon Chi, and Angie. First up was Francisco, with a beautiful set of suspenders:

And Francisco (aka, Fernando) with a beautiful handshake (gripping the hand of a CFS researcher of an earlier generation):

Halyee's selfie of us at Francisco's poster:

Voon Chi and Angie presenting their poster:

Angie doing a bit of explaining:

Voon Chi doing a bit of explaining:

And back to Angie:

Halyee's selfie of us at VC and Angie's poster:

On the last day, Jeremy's poster:

Jeremy in Action:

And Jeremy doing some very necessary, purposeful pointing:

At the end of ACSM, after everyone had presented, we celebrated:

Continuing to celebrate (the ladies, Nick, and Francisco G. Ferdinando):

The following morning, we cleaned up our mess while Haylee recovered on the porch:

Haylee recovering on the porch with her biscuit #2:

Then we left. Off to Denver International Airport, where this happened:

Never once have I gone through that full body x-ray scanning machine and not had my crotch light up. I'm like 50 for 50. I know I'll soon be 51 for 51, and then 52 for 52, and so on. So at this point, I just ask for a pat down. Because they're going to do it anyway. "Sorry sir, we don't have anyone available at this time; we need you to go through the scanner." "Fine." I do. As soon as I get through, "Sorry, sir, we're going to have to pat you down." Obviously. It ends with that every time. That's why I asked to begin there. "Sir! I need you to stand right here!", they shout as I ask the person stealing my computer to not do that. "You can have your belongings when we're done!", I'm told. "Yeah, I'm not making a run for it; I'm making sure my belongings still exist when we're done with this nonsense." Then they start the speech. The exact same one they give me every time (about using the backs of their gloved hands). "I know, I know... just do whatever", I always interrupt. And they always act like what they're saying is the equivalent of the Miranda rights. Their speech is a big, important deal. And my interruption is a clear obstruction of justice (or whatever). "Sir, I understand you want to move along, but I have to get through my whole speech before I can touch you." "I know... can we just... could we be quite quick about it?" They don't speed things up at all, of course. But they do eventually get through all that gloved hand stuff. I go for my computer again. And again, I'm sternly instructed not to. They have to test the swabs of my palms for explosive particles before I'm free to go. I always roll my eyes here. While my eyes were mid-roll, the machine went off. My hands tested positive for... something. They wouldn't tell me what. "Sir we need to do a full search of your body and belongings." This is when Alexis pulled out her phone and started taking the video. And this picture is a still frame from that video. The only other thing I'll say (the only thing that isn't communicated by our facial expressions) is that, while doing a "full search of my belongings", they swabbed my bread. That doesn't say beard; it says bread. I had a loaf of gluten-free bread in my bag. Maybe six pieces left. All of them were in the bread bag, which is where bread belongs. They took out each individual slice, swabbed it, and then threw it back in my backpack. Loose. Not back in the bread bag (again, where bread belongs). When I got my stuff back, my backpack had six loose pieces of bread in it... in different pouches. And in another pouch, an empty bread bag. I wasn't happy about that. I still ate it, but unhappily. My stomach was a little bit upset after doing so. Not because of bacteria, but because of hatred. Fucking TSA. Those are some oily assholes.

-Courtney (Wednesday, June 7, 2017)