Once you get to my stage of life at a major research university, academic progress gets measured like this: "So what have you published lately?"

Actually, in my field, it's rephrased. "So where have you presented lately?"

Academics from other fields consider this a little odd. Normally conference presentations get filed under "well, that's nice" compared to "Ooh, you're so professorial, let me shower you with money and tenure" for journal articles. In my discipline, it's the other way around.

As may be, this means: if you want to do research in my field, you have to go to conferences. A lot. Expensively. (Sigh.)

I've been to two so far this year. April's conference in Boston was an 3500-attendee, week-long exhausting affair that was, oddly, one of the most lonely professional experiences I've ever had. Useful, and fun, but when you don't know most of the people there, it's easy to get lost.

I envied the "old heads" who couldn't move down the hallway without being hailed by someone they knew. "Yeah, I never go to the sessions any more," said one mentor of mine. "I can read the research notes later. I just meet up with people I know." Lucky man.

Last week's conference at Google's main headquarters (motto: EVEN OUR BUILDINGS ARE IN BETA TESTING) was about 150 people. We could all fit into one conference room. By day 2, everyone knew everyone else, at least by sight. Much more congenial.

If everything goes to plan, I'll be presenting my first solo paper at a conference in October in the great metropolis of Bloomington, Indiana. I haven't been to this one before. I'll be interested to see where it falls on the size-and-insanity scale. I'm also taking bets on how many people show up for my talk. I'm betting on about five people.