Oh, CES. We can always tally on you to showcase humanity's sum surplus -- together with all those small, poignant, personal moments that uncover human at his many vulnerable.
In a counter you'll find blinding video screens and bone-shaking bass. It's AV as opening art, and CES at its many indulgent. Turn a couple of corners and you'll find a made philharmonic so improper and ungainly -- maybe a human being shaved, or paid actors sanctimonious to eat breakfast -- you'll attain is to sani-wipe in your pocket, if usually as a rote gesticulate to erase the stage from memory.
Attendees themselves broach opening art, too. Everyone looks rather mislaid and ungainly at CES, but attendees never look reduction seemly than when reaching for cellphone cameras to take photos that will never, ever be looked at again.
Many manufacturers arrived at CES ready to dispute the box that 3-D is not deceased . To uncover off its one after another investment in the hot-for-a-minute technology, Panasonic set up a counterfeit 3-D film fire inside its counter on the expo floor.
Two actors sat at a list in the tiny set ready to go up to look similar to the median American eat-in kitchen. The twin lenses of a 3-D camcorder gazed at them, and the 3-D picture of the couple was displayed in real-time on a 3-D radio next to it.
So what did the couple do? The woman, a flattering blonde ready to go similar to she had just advance from the yoga college of music and the hair reception room (in that order), flipped by a publication and sipped tea with the forced grin of an busy flight attendant. The husband, a 50-ish center executive in Haggar slacks, munched on finger food and futzed with his laptop. They didn't speak, they didn't interact, they didn't even look at any other. They just ... sat there. It was similar to bad opening art. Or a Samuel Beckett play.
Passersby were invited to trip on a few eyeglasses and stare in awe at this manifestation of suburban ennui. Ooh, but look at the shade depth! " Michael Calore
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