"It's like an entire country run by Jeffrey Katzenberg," the producer had
said, "under the motto 'Be happy or I'll kill you.'" We were sitting in an
office a block from Rodeo Drive, on large black furniture leased with
Japanese venture capital.

Now that I'm actually here, the Disneyland metaphor is proving impossible
to shake. For that matter, Rodeo Drive comes frequently to mind, though
the local equivalent feels more like 30 or 40 Beverly Centers put end to
end.


Was it Laurie Anderson who said that VR would never look real until they
learned how to put some dirt in it? Singapore's airport, the Changi
Airtropolis, seemed to possess no more resolution than some early VPL
world. There was no dirt whatsoever; no muss, no furred fractal edge to
things. Outside, the organic, florid as ever in the tropics, had been
gardened into brilliant green, and all-too-perfect examples of itself.
Only the clouds were feathered with chaos - weird columnar structures
towering above the Strait of China.

The cab driver warned me about littering. He asked where I was from.

He asked if it was clean there. "Singapore very clean city." One of those
annoying Japanese-style mechanical bells cut in as he exceeded the speed
limit, just to remind us both that he was doing it. There seemed to be
golf courses on either side of the freeway. . . .