The conference was held at Fordham University, possibly the most surreal place I've ever visited. Outside is the Bronx. I walked down the high street from the subway, and each time I thought I'd left America. I was a minority, most people spoke Spanish, stores sold shiny sneakers and t-shirts with slogans like "Love God" and "Wanna make out?"

I counted three separate games of 3 card Monte on the sidewalk, and I saw the set-up guy, the one who convinces the crowd it's on the up-and-up, put down $100 and win it back. I kept thinking of Homer saying to Marge, "These streets are dangerous places for us upper lower-middle class types - hey look, a card game!" It was amazing: people everywhere, cheap electronics, fried snack food carts, mango vendors, a totally different aesthetic and culture.

Inside the gated, guard-patrolled Fordham campus, 19th century buildings sat on gently landscaped hills. This being a Jesuit university, statues of Mary and various benefactors stood in "Martyr's Corner" and other similarly-named venues. Smooth paths traversed beautiful lawns without a blade of grass out of place. No one sat on the grass, though. At one point I took a nap on it and woke up to find a security jeep parked opposite. There were lots of security jeeps, the only vehicles allowed on campus.

The students were almost all white. They glowed unnaturally, the girls blonde and with a healthy fullness, the boys corn-fed and unblemished, like they'd all just come in from playing in the plantation meadows. The girls walked in pairs along the paths (never on the grass) with tasteful knee-high blue skirts and white shirts; the boys played baseball on the diamond. I felt like I'd stepped into the prep school for the Stepford Wives.