I'm always disappointed when I order orange juice on Florida. This morning's was weak, warm and pulpless. Each time I believe it will be different and that I'll receive a glass of juice that is TV commercial-perfect - bright orange, chilled to within one degree of becoming solid, and tasting as if it's been pumped directly from an orange grove. And every time I'm disappointed.

In contrast the orange juice (poor segue, I know), my day was spent at a meeting in a room where the temperature was approximately 35 degrees. The sessions were only moderately interesting, although the one which contained 10 haikus about computer security was amusing.

Last night I had my dinner at a place that tries to look like a 50s style soda shop, in a creepy sort of Pleasantville way. They have wonderful greasy food and a dessert called the kitchen sink - 8 scoops of ice cream, an entire can of whipped cream, and every topping in the house. There were two ordered in the 45 minutes or so that I was there. A stunning testimony to American excess.

Exercise: Walking along the concrete pathways from one hotel to another to register for the conference. Michael Graves may have designed a couple of these hotels, but he did a lousy job of getting people between hotels.