I promised some pictures of the live jazz I sat in on, at .
In an effort not to annoy the CNN TV crew that were there, I disabled the camera's flash. Consequently, a little Photoshopping was needed to brighten things, and some of the images aren't as sharp as they could be.
Here's a handful of the pics I took:
Charlie Burrell and Mitch Handelsman
Diane Reeves
Dualling Basses
JC and MeThis last picture feature's KUVO's JC - "The Senior Citizen of the Airwaves". What a great T-shirt!
I fucking hate most sports, especially ones that the great unwashed masses seem to feel the need to join in some group hysteria over.
Add to that, the fact that whilst I live in the US, I'm not an American, and therefore didn't grow up in a culture where sports, and caring about them was rammed down my throat from an early age, and you'll have some idea of just how much of a toss I give about the Superbowl.
Imagine my delight then, when I read Jodi's piece entitled, Just So You Know.
Deep joy.
I popped down to the station today, to get feedback on my debut show from "the boss" - Carlos the Programme Director. Apparently, I did good.
However, my ulterior motive was to be there at 3pm, for a live, invitation-only performance by Diane Reeves, a Denver-based jazz singer, with an international reputation, and an amazing voice.
CNN were there, to do a piece on Charlie Burrell - a bass player, who was one of the first ever African-Americans to play in a symphony orchestra, and has had a very distinguished career both in classical and jazz music.
The band played for an hour or so. Diane sang a couple of songs, and these were interspersed with some instrumentals. I still am in awe of such talented people, especially when they're performing six feet from the chair I'm sat in.
I snapped away with my camera, and will post some pics tomorrow.
Well, I survived my debut solo radio broadcast.
I'm not going to tell you about how wonderful my performance was, because that's a matter of opinion, and an entirely subjective thing.
What I can tell you is the cold hard facts.
On the way into the station, I realised that, being the weekend, there would be no-one but the DJ who was on before me there. Of course, once my show had got going, I'd be the only person at the station. What if there was some sort of technical failure? Yikes! I dismissed the thought, as I had plenty of other things to worry about before that.
As I started the show, I was almost physically shaking, I was so wound up with nerves, but somehow managed to get the legal IDs out of the way and introduce myself. My opening song was "Miles", from the album Milestones, by Miles Davis.
The first half an hour was nerve-wracking, and I found myself going through a lot of the mechanics of presenting a show, without putting too much of my personality into it.
After that I relaxed a little, found my pace, and got slightly more chatty, whilst keeping an iron grip on timing and stuff that needed doing.
I played a wide variety of jazz throughout the two hours, which consisted of:
1) Stuff I like
2) A few jazz organ tracks
3) A few latin jazz tracks
4) Stuff from the playlist
I included a track by British jazz drummer Tommy Chase, from a CD (Groove Merchant I've had since the early nineties, and that seemed to go down well with the folks at home.
I also included a track from the superb, Basie Meets Bond, where Count Basie and his orchestra jazz up some of the Bond Movie themes. I played Goldfinger, which - frankly - rocked!
The phone never stopped ringing. I'm not obliged to answer it, if I don't have time, but of the 10 or so calls I answered four were for information on a concert going on that night, and six were to tell me I was doing a good job.
That was so nice. Listeners actually took the time to call in and let me know they were enjoying the show, and loving my choice of music.
Don't worry, I'm not about to get big-headed about the whole thing. It wasn't a perfect performance, but I think I did OK for the first time out on my own.
I've not heard back from the Powers That Be at the station, yet. It's the weekend, and I dare say I'll get feedback on Monday.
The evening was spent at Little India, for a celebratory meal.
In an inspired Indian-Western US crossover, the chefs there have created an appetizer called "Tandoori Wings", which sees the Western US fare of buffalo wings, put through a Tandoor, and served sizzling hot on a bed of onion, cilantro and green peppers. It's inspired genius!
This was followed by their Chicken Madras. This evening's Madras has to have been the hottest Indian food I've had this side of the Atlantic. It was more Vindaloo strength than Madras. It was also damn tasty, with one of the richest sauces I've ever had for a Madras curry.
Most Indian restaurants in Denver, tend towards toning the heat down in their curries. I don't know why, because Coloradans eat enough fiery-hot Mexican food that it's not like they'd not be used to a "botty-burner" meal.
I strongly suspect that they upped the ante on the heat of my Madras, because I'm a regular there, and towards the end, the head waiter, Simran, came over, and with a slightly evil glint in his eye, asked how it was going.
As if by way of apology, the Indian ice cream (kulfi) I ordered afterwards, (to calm things down in my lava pit of a stomach), was on the house.
So, whilst I didn't die of nerves from the radio broadcast, there's still a chance that the Madras might get me.
Time to pop the toilet paper in the fridge I think.
In about an hour and three quarters, I start my first solo radio show. What the Hell was I thinking agreeing to do this?
As far as the mechanics of the thing go, I'm fine, I can operate all the equipment, and even re-program the desk if needed.
Believe it or not, it's the talking part of the job I'm worried about.
Those of you who've met me in real life will probably be rolling around on the floor clutching your sides with laughter at that last sentence. It has been noted that if talking ever beomes an Olympic sport, I'll probably get picked for the British team.
One friend, who will remain nameless, said to someone, "He does know that he's not supposed to talk for the whole two hours, doesn't he?", which will give you an idea of what my so-called friends think of me! ;-)
Oh well, it's fast approaching the time when I need to head off to the station. I'm getting there a whole hour ahead of time, in order to get all the CDs out of the library beforehand, and get a jump on what trailers I have to play and what announcements I have to read out.
You can listen online, here.
I probably won't say much in the first 15 minutes apart from introducing myself and the show. That'll give me time to settle in and get my shit together. I just hope to God I can curtail the infamous Turner wit, once I relax!
If I don't die of nerves in the ensuing two hours, I'll catch you all later.
If you live in Colorado, you will have heard by now of the plane crash that occurred this afternoon.
Two small planes hit each other in mid-air, and the resultant wreckage landed on a house, setting it ablaze.
I was in the offices of KUVO, preparing for my first solo radio show. I was at a desk where I had disconnected the PC's network cable, and plugged my iBook into the network.
Suddenly, from the speakers of this un-networked PC, came a distorted voice, frantically talking, fading in and then abruptly back out. Everyone in the building heard it on speakers in radios and/or computers.
20 minutes later, we heard of the crash.
That voice, was obviously one of the two pilots, and his last words.
To say I was shaken would be an understatement. Even as I write, an hour later, I'm still unsettled by the whole thing.
More information can be found here - although as this is breaking news, the URL could change.
As yet there is no news of any survivors or the number of people involved.
You don't need me to tell you that there's a lot of trash on TV in the US these days.
Many people, with far more patience than me, have watched and written about such awful shows as The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Fear Factor, Survivor, and Joe Millionaire.
But lately, it's as if the network executives had said to themselves, "Y'know, our output has been just waaay too high-brow lately. Let's take it down a couple of notches."
The latest offerings include, Meet My Parents, based on that mediocre Ben Stiller film, where a number of (limelight-seeking) young women have to meet and be interrogated by, the parents of a male contestant, including use of a lie-detector.
But that's not what prompted this article. No, today I saw a trailer that said, and I swear I'm not making this up, "Who can pull an airliner better? An elephant or 50 dwarfs?"
Yes, Fox, those doyens of high-quality television, have struck again with a series called Man vs. Beast.
Of course the obvious man vs beast test would be, "Who can produce higher-quality television? A bunch of Fox network executives or six dung beetles?"
I'd rant more on this subject, but I'm off to the pub. Maybe after a few Guinnesses I'll find further inspiration?
Update
The Guinnesses were lovely, but they didn't provide more inspiration, and even after several of them, I didn't feel the urge to tune in an watch the dwarves.
I did, however, manage to miss The Office - an award-winning comedy from the BBC.
OK, I just got off the phone with KUVO's Programme Director. He called to ask me if I was ready to do a show on my own, and if I was available on Saturday.
So, it looks like I'll be making my broadcasting debut on Saturday, 3-5pm MST.
The current mood is now "good, excited, but nervous".
I'm substituting for L.C. I asked if there was any particular kind of jazz that I need to play for that show's audience, and apart from, "a few jazz organ tracks, and keep it up-beat" it's all down to me.
Unlike commercial radio, KUVO doesn't pre-program their music. It's all set up live by the DJ's, and if people call in and request a track, provided we have it in the music library, we can usually play it for them.
I'm required to record my show onto tape, but if I can, I'll use a MiniDisc instead, as it's a much more useful medium. I promise I won't subject you to mp3's of it!
This morning, I have to go down there, and record a promotion for the station. I guess I'll start thinking of a playlist whilst I'm there.
Back in the early Nineties I used to have a friend who, whilst clever enough to do a (drama) degree at college, wasn't the brightest of people, when it came to everyday life.
This wouldn't have mattered, if she didn't have a habit of professing herself to be very knowledgeable about things which she clearly knew nothing about.
Two humourous examples, which I swear I'm not making up:
Whilst playing a stock-market board game:
P: I'm going to buy Saatchi & Saatchi stock, because they make great televisions.
US Readers note: Saatchi & Saatchi are a famous UK-based advertising agency, and she was thinking of Hitachi who do make consumer electronics.
Whilst discussing movies:
Me: I saw Bram Stoker's Dracula last night
P: Oh yeah I know that one. He's such a good director, isn't he?
I popped into the station today, to see if Apple had returned my iBook from their repair centre. They had.
A couple of days ago, there was a near coronary-inducing phone call between myself and Apple that went something like this:
Me: What's the status of my repair, your site's not showing it
Apple: It's on hold. We need authorisation, as some of the repair isn't covered by AppleCare. The 'screen brace' bracket thingy is broken, and it's not a hardware failure, it's been wrenched.
Me: I didn't wrench it. Any plans on asking for my authorisation?
Apple: Oh wait! I've found some other notes on your case. We are going to cover the screen-brace-bracket-thingamabob after all. Sorry to have scared you.
Me: Scare me?
Apple: Yeah, that bracket alone is $700.
Me: Ouchie!
So anyway, I have my little iBook back, and it feels like a new machine :)
OK, so maybe you don't care, but it's my main writing machine, that goes with me everywhere, so it's important to me.
from the DMfM secret underground lair
Further to my note about Coffee Fascist Dictatorship's blocking of DMfM from their publicly available Internet workstations, I've managed to track down the name of the owners. They are Glanpark Limited (formerly Goodbean Coffee plc).
Tragically, they're now in liquidation, partly due to possible mismanagement, and partly due to a detachment of DMfM Stormtroopers torching their head office.
To quote Mark Hamill in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, "Don't fuck with the Jedi master!"
UK Readers Please Note
It has been brought to my attention, that the doomed-but-cool-looking chain of coffee shops in the UK, known as Coffee Republic are blocking access to Dial M for Maxwell.
After a recent visit to their Bath branch, senior DMfM European Operative, Tim, reported back that this site was blocked, when accessing the Internet on one of Coffee Fascist Junta's computers.
Last month, whilst I was in the UK, I tried and failed to find any corporate website for CR, nor did I find any online evidence of a parent company with a website relating to CR. Isn't that a bit odd for a company selling Internet access to its patrons?
Furthermore, whilst in the aforementioned Bath branch, I asked (eternal optimist that I am) the girl behind the counter, if she could tell me the URL of CR's corporate website.
Those of you who've experienced service in Britain, will already be shaking your heads and chuckling in disbelief, that I seriously thought she'd either have a clue, and/or be even remotely prepared to go and find out the information elsewhere, if she didn't. No surprise then, that she told me she didn't know, and made no offer to go find out.
So, British readers, here's the thing. we need to find out if there is a corporate website for them, and why they're blocking DMfM.
I'm not going to kid myself that there are enough UK readers of this drivel I put out, that if you all stopped going to CR, that they'd go bankrupt, and in any case, from what I've seen on the business news websites, they seem to be managing to go "tits-up" all by themselves.
Any information on them greatly received, especially a corporate URL!
Following yesterday's post about the bumper stickers, I mentioned to a couple of people, a site I found that sells not only bumpers stickers of that ilk, but also badges, pins and more.
The site is EvolveFISH and sells all that good stuff, that promotes free thought and freedom of expression.
I just spotted a badge I want:
... then again, maybe that's too subtle?
What they didn't tell me at the T-Mobile shop, and what I didn't read in the manual for my new mobile phone, was that if you hold down the '9' button on the phone for a few seconds, it automatically dials 911.
At some point during the morning, I'd put the phone in my jeans pocket, without locking the keypad, and then carried on with my morning.
The next thing I know, the phone rings. It's the Denver Police Dept. calling, to let me know that, "when you lean on your phone's '9' button, it dials 911.". Oops.
I'm just thankful that all I was doing, whilst they were listening in, was unloading and reloading the dishwasher!
p.s. The Guinness phone (mentioned in the footnote above) looks like this:
Click image to enlarge
This afternoon I got texted by Imelda, on her way from the s of TechTV where she had been at tapings of two of their shows; Call For Help and The Screensavers.
The news was good. She had got the job as an intern on Call For Help.
Well done Imelda! I'm so happy for you, and somewhat envious!
Better yet, she had also got Leo Laporte's autograph.
She has already promised to get me into a taping of The Screensavers, next time I'm in San Francisco. My next trip to S.F. is now scheduled for her second day working at TechTV. (OK.... just kidding Mel).
Actually, before I got to Stella's (see previous post), I was behind a minivan which was covered with bumper-stickers. Fearing the worst, I read on.
It was OK though. None of the stickers were of the corny variety. Highlights included:
"One Nation. Under Educated."
"Darwin loves you."
"If you want to live in a country run by religion, move to Iran"
I've seen the last one, available on the Internet, but it's nice to see someone with the balls to put it on their vehicle, given Colorado's preponderance towards the "Moral Minority" of scary right-wing so-called Christian groups.
Did you know that Focus On The Family has it's headquarters near Colorado Springs? Scary huh?
And you know, the trouble with religious extremists, is that they've no sense of humour.
UPDATE
I know I've talked about my hatred of those, "My child is a member of the master-race at XYZ High School" stickers before, (p.s. go see Connie Vandelay's comment in the comments for this article. Nice one 'Connie'!), but what I didn't tell you was about the bumper sticker I've seen at the laundromut I take Miles to (Stinky Dog No More on 6th Ave). It reads:
...and as soon as they get more of that sticker in stock, and I remember to go there, I'm putting one on my truck's bumper.
p.s. They have other dog-related ones with other breeds mentioned, if any of you Denver dog-owners are interested.
On the way to the dog park this afternoon with Miles and Saoirse, I stopped off to get a Latté and a pastry, at Stella's.
I parked in the same spot that a certain brainless had spent far too long shufling back and forth in, the other day.
As I rounded the corner, walking to the front of Stella's a couple of schoolkids were on the pavement, and looked up. One said, "Hey Mister! Will you make her give me a chocolate chip?"
I replied that they'd have to sort it out amongst themselves, and carried on my way.
Afterwards it occured to me, that that was the first time, I've ever been referred to as "Mister". Obviously, I've been referred to, by adults, as "Mr Turner", but this was different. This was... odd.
The use of the term "Mister" in that context, is (I think) uniquely American, and given that I've only spent 3.5 out of 36 years in the US, statistically, it's hardly a surprise that it's the first time I've been called it. It's not disrespectful, or rude, but like I say, it was odd to be called it.
It made me sound old. Worse yet, it made me sound, .... like a grown-up.
I went to a CoLoggers meet tonight, at My Brother's Bar.
All the usual suspects were there, including Danelle and Mary
Mark (a fellow former subject of Her Most Britannic Majesty) and I spent a lot of the evening rambling on about various things about "the old country", mainly about Spitting Image.
There was some geeky, website-related talk, mainly about MoveableType, and how damn perplexing it is to configure.
The majority of the talk, however, was of a more light-hearted nature.
Quote of the night, whilst discussing transvestites (I can't remember why we were discussing them):
Mary: But where do they put their 'Bert and Ernies'?
Just to warn you, if you're emailing me in the next few days, starting tomorrow, my main e-mail machine will be out of action for a few days.
At the moment, I can't guarantee I'll be getting one of my other computers online, and so email response may be slower than usual.
You can always send a text to my mobile, or even call! Also the mobile has AOL Instant Messenger built-into it, and I'll leave that signed in. You can instant message me via that. My AOL screenname is "maxbritishguy".
Obviously if I'm not online much there won't be much in the way of updates to DMfM. We'll have to see. If I can get a phoneline down to my desktop Mac, I'll report from there!
Just a quick note. I'm going to be on Mid-morning Jazz on KUVO tomorrow.
Susan, host of the show, and a friend, will be doing her usual show, but with me operating all the equipment, and no doubt at some point, being on-air, probably reading the weather or something.
The show is on at 9am-12pm MST, which is 4-7pm GMT (or 5-8pm CET).
This is to be my last go as a 'board-op' (read: sidekick), and the next time I'm on air, it'll be doing my own show!
This afternoon, I went hiking in the mountains. It's something I've enjoyed doing ever since I moved to Colorado, and way more interesting than hiking in, say, Britain.
Not far from Evergreen, CO, is a place you can hike, with your dog off-leash. The place is called Maxwell Falls. There's a small waterfall there. I know I'll have mentioned it before, as I've been there many times.
The hike was great. It was strenuous work as we started from the Lower Trail Head (at an altitude of a mere 8,000 feet), which involved a steep climb, made all the harder by snow and ice covering the narrow path, the lack of air, and being out of practice.
But true to my mountain goat-like stamina when it comes to such hikes (and yes, co-incidentally I am a Capricorn), I made it up without too much of a problem.
It was coming back down that the trouble started.
My boots, the tread on which had become packed with ice, were rapidly losing their grip, and on one particularly steep and slippery slope, I fell flat on my arse, and then, just to add to the fun, found myself travelling down the rest of the slope, as a sort of human toboggan.
All of which just goes to show why they named the place... Maxwell Falls.
WARNING: This product contains rants
Notice To Skinny Bimbo Near The Corner Of Florida and Pearl Streets
- Saturday Afternoon
If you're shit at parallel parking, put the fucking cell phone down whilst you're attempting to park. Clearly you need to put all five of your brain cells to the task of turning the steering wheel in the right direction, so it doesn't take you fifty-four back and forth moves to park in a space the size of a football pitch.
Furthermore, when your vehicle comes to a stop next to the curb, after the fifty-four back and forth moves, and all the lights on your vehicle go out, I'm inclined to think that you've finally finished fart-arseing around, and have parked. So, when I park my truck behind you (in one move, I might add), don't then start reversing into the front of my truck, because you're too busy flapping your fucking gums on the cell phone, and too fucking dumb to manage to do that and look in your Goddamn rear view mirror at the same time.
Last night, I found myself at The Esquire, one of Denver's Landmark cinemas. Landmark cinemas, for those who don't know, are all of the off-beat/art-house variety.
Whilst there, I saw Real Women Have Curves.
What a superb film. The story is an oft-told one of a young girl, battling against family traditions, and wanting to go to college rather than work in the family factory.
Yeah, it sounds like something we've all seen before, and are probably tired off, but it's such a well-made film, that's so well-cast and amusing that it's well-worth a look.
The Plot
Ana (America Ferrara) is a Latina from a working class family who, through her brains, made it into the elite Beverly Hills High School, and is graduating as the film starts. Her favourite teacher urges not only that she attend college but that she apply to Columbia University. Whilst her family is poor, there are scholarships available, so her parents' resistance isn't about money, it's about Ana moving on, and getting an education instead of bringing another wage into the house.
Yes, it's that old clichéd storyline, but so well done.
Ana is pressured by her mother to work in her older sister's dress assembly factory. A lot of the movie takes place there, where her mother also works, along with other Latina women who enjoy a ribald and close friendship.
She is what some would describe as curvaceous. Not that heavy, just curvy. However her mother, Carmen (Lupe Ontineros), herself a rather large lady, repeatedly berates her daughter about her weight and other shortcomings, mostly imagined, often in public, and always crudely. "If you could just lose the weight, you could get a man!"
The film follows Ana's summer, working in the factory, getting a boyfriend, and trying to get to college, against her mother's wishes.
I won't tell you how the film ends, but suffice it to say a lot of clichés are avoided
It's a funny and touching film, that could so easily be labelled a "chick flick", but is worth being seen by anyone.
Today I had a meeting at KUVO to play the Programme Director my demo disc.
The demo disk is a minidisc I'd made up, in the secondary at the station, of me doing a mock radio show. The middle bits of each record are faded out and back in again, so the Programme Director - Carlos - doesn't have to listen to the whole track.
My demo lasted about five and half minutes and demonstrated my technical and on-air abilities, plus my jazz knowledge. There's more to it than just introducing records, in case you were wondering.
Carlos gave me very constructive feedback, and said that he's going to get me on air as soon as possible. To say I'm excited would be an understatement!
Then there was nothing to do but trundle over to Pete's Kitchen for a celebratory brunch. Susan - my DJ mentor - came along too.
So, watch out for an announcement of when I do my first show. It'll most likely be an evening gig, 7-10pm mountain time.
Don't say you weren't warned.
As I travelled from California to Colorado on Monday, this site turned one year old.
Yes a whole year of observation, ranting, humour and appeals for sanity.
2002 was, without doubt a pretty awful year for me, what with unemployment, immigration issues and various other traumas. Throughout it, I tried darn hard to keep at least a couple of you entertained.
2003 is looking like it might be a whole lot better, but don't go thinking that I'm going to turn all "fluffy-bunny" about the world. You can take the git out of misery, but you can't take the misery out of the git.
As I write, Rutger, the self-appointed Senior Vice-President Of Pets has leapt up on the chair, and is currently sat next to me, supervising this article.
He's suggesting that DMfM has more articles of interest to him. So far his suggestions include:
"How to Sleep 18 Hours A Day"
"Catnip As A Way To Enlightenment"
"Rub My Belly Now, Puny Human"
"How to Let Them Know You're Annoyed Through The Medium Of Urine"
Anyone who's ever moved house with a cat, will relate to the last one.
As promised, at some point, I'll be expanding the pages here, to include various useful and/or entertaining new sections. One of these is a guide, another might be an image gallery.
And don't go thinking that the switch to Moveable Type isn't going to happen. I'm just struggling with getting some of it configured.
Anyway, that's the plan. I think you're still getting value for money, so quit whining.
Do all keep in touch. I love to get feedback either via comments or via the "webmaster_AT_dialmformax.com" address.
(hint: replace "_AT_" with an @).
Despite being out of IT for over a year now, I'm still finding delight in things geeky.
For those of you who write sites and use the same (or similar) Javascript footnotes, I've found a handy little page on backslash-escaped characters.
It's here.
You may have noticed that in "Dis(c)abled Television" post, I used such characters in my footnote explaining, "slamming" by phone companies.
Since I moved to the US, I've had my television service provided by The Dish Network. It's been a reliable service, with a good range of channels and cheaper than any cable deal that includes BBC America.
Upon relocating DMfM to its new secret underground lair, I've ended up with AT&T digital cable.
Let's cut to the chase here, AT&T are a bunch of bastards, and their cable TV service sucks the big one.
It costs between $10 and $20 a month more than Dish, has only a handful of digital channels (all Dish channels are 100% digital), and the menu guide system is slow and crap.
Oh yes, and it's operated by those corporate bastards, AT&T.
Why do I hate AT&T? Well, let me tell you...
Back in the other house, in Washington Park, the long-distance phone service was supplied by MCI. My roommate and I were perfectly happy with it.
However, AT&T "slammed" us. We caught them out, when the phone bill included a $200 charge for one call to Ireland. We contested their charges, got them to remove them, and had MCI reinstated as our long-distance provider.
Then about a month later, they slammed us again. Unbelievable.
After another struggle all AT&T charges were removed, again.
Despite our asking for them to remove us from their call list (something they're required to do by law if we ask them), they still had the gall to keep calling us, and asking us to switch our long-distance service to AT&T.
On one occasion, my roommate went off on one with them, saying that there was no way she'd switch to AT&T after they'd slammed us twice.
The response from the AT&T sales guy, was a very patronising, "Oh doubt that happened. We'd never do that."
So effectively, he was calling her a liar, whilst trying to sell her a long-distance service, that was the cause of a so much grief in the past.
Guess how much more inclined to switch to AT&T she was after that?
Anyway, the happy conclusion to this story is that we've decided that we need the Dish Network back in our lives.
This means the following key channels are restored to us:
Bravo
Food Network
IFC
Tech TV
Nick-At-Nite
Nick-At-Nite2
Plus better reception, and best of all.... No AT&T in our lives.
On Saturday I finally met fellow blogger Imelda.
We've been reading each other's sites and chatting online for a while, and since she's at college in San Francisco, we thought we'd hook up for coffee whilst I was in town.
The biggest problem was finding my way to the rendezvous point, not far from SFSU. Due to the labyrinthine design of the California highway system, and the road signs just plain running out a couple of blocks from my highway exit, I managed to lose track of where I was a mile from the 280. I'm quite good at working out where I am, but in the end, I had to resort to using The Force to find where I should be.
No, seriously. I put the map down, and let my feelings guide me. It was eerie. Before I knew it, I'd found the arse-end of the mall in question. I made it to the predetermined rendezvous point just about on time, which if you know me, makes the whole Force idea all the more credible.
Imelda was just like I'd expected, very sweet, and a lots of fun to chat to. We spent the next few hours, sampling the delights of several s, and talking non-stop about San Francisco, California, Denver, website design, and broadcasting (she's studying it, and I'm about to start a career in it).
It was really nice to meet her, and if we're ever in the same town again, we'll be hooking up for more coffee and chats.
Yesterday, January 3rd, was my birthday. I had a leisurely start, eventually ending the morning in Polk St Station - a misleadingly named diner, not a railway station. Apart from the numerous model trains everywhere, and a small model train track suspended from the ceiling, it was a fairly standard-issue American diner. The food was very standard American breakfast stuff, but tasty all the same.
I then went and rented a car. This is my third visit to San Francisco, and the first time I've every felt the need to rent a car.
As-per-sodding-usual, the car rental weasels tried to talk me into an upgrade, claiming that they did have the economy model I wanted but that it was so bereft of features that I'd be better off pulling a rickshaw.
As is often the case with such people, I let them ramble on, before bringing them firmly back to the fact that I didn't want to spend any more on a rental car than the economy level, as I wasn't planning any long journeys. Eventually, they relented, and gave me a brand new '03 Camry for a little more than the economy car rate. Apparently, the Camry has the advantage of an engine, instead of the Ant-Hill Mob style "hole in the floor" propulsion system that they alluded to the economy car having.
Of course, it's just possible they had been lying.
I drove out to Ocean Beach, on the western edge of the San Francisco peninsula. This is somewhere I'd not been to since my first visit to San Francisco, back in 1996.
During that fateful first visit, Ocean Beach was the venue for what may have become known as The Soggy Yorkshireman Incident - had I had a website such as this, in those days.
My friend John and I were sat on the beach, soaking up the rays, and chatting to nice Californian student lass. We were all of us, watching the waves come up the beach towards us, each of them stopping about 15 feet short of where we were sat.
Each of them, that is, except one wave. This one wave came up the beach about 20 feet more than all the other waves.
Those of you who have a grasp of Maths will realise that this is five feet too much as far as the three of us were concerned.
I leapt to my feet, grabbing my camera, and bag of belongings. The Californian lass managed to stand up in time, but as she'd had pieces of paper with an essay she was writing, scattered around her, didn't manage to retrieve them all in time.
John, not being quite so quick on his feet as me, was still sitting, clutching his camera, as the wave hit him full-on. Sea water shot up his trouser legs, and around him. He was showered in salt water, from about his stomach downwards. I don't recall his exact words, but I suspect they my have cast aspersions upon the marital status of the sea's parents.
As you can probably imagine, I was very supportive of John in his time of trial, just as soon as I managed to stop laughing.
Yesterday, I found that nothing much had changed with the beach. It was still as uncommercialised as ever, with just a single café, and a camera obscura, as the only businesses to be found. Sadly, the camera obscura was closed for the winter.
The rest of the day was spent driving south, in an attempt to find - using the car hire company's very unhelpful maps - the Redwoods State Park, home of some Giant Redwood trees.
Let's gloss over the latter half of the afternoon. Suffice it to say, I did find the park, but it was so badly signposted that I ended up driving to the next town on Highway 1, in order to buy a map to confirm that I hadn't just imagined the tiny sign, pointing out this great State Park.
Buying a map, turned into, "buying a map and having a small meal, and several coffees", and so it was very late in the afternoon before I returned to the park entrance, to find that:
a) You couldn't drive into the park, you had to walk
b) The Giant Redwoods were a good 2-5 miles into the park
c) There was less than an hour or so of daylight left
My conclusion, to use that hackneyed British phrase, was, "Sod this for a game of soldiers.", and so I wandered across the highway, to go walk on the beach a bit, before getting back into the car, and heading back to San Francisco.
In what can only be described as "wide-eyed optimism", I decided not to go all the way back on Highway 1, but to take a side road, that would lead to a whole different highway (Highway 280), and thus provide me with a change of scene.
What the map didn't tell me was that to get to this highway, involved driving along the most winding, twisting, turning and narrow roads I've ever come across in the US. With the light fading, the fog closing in, and the trees leaning ever more menacingly over a road that seemed to be going nowhere, I found myself feeling like was in an episode of Scooby Doo, driving the Mystery Machine down a deserted road, to an abandoned fairground, or whatever.
Eventually, I found a main road, spent the next hour of driving slowly behind someone in a Jeep who'd clearly never seen a sharp bend in a road before, and therefore had no-sodding-clue-whatsoever how to drive round them without jamming his breaks on to come to an almost complete stop at every curve.
Finally Highway 280 hoved into view, and I was able to motor along at a good pace, back towards San Francisco.
That evening, I dined on some of the best Indian food I've had this side of the Atlantic. As I entered the restaurant, the cheerful head waiter greeted me thus (and I swear I'm not making this up):
Waiter: Good evening sir. Would you like The Fantasy Room?
Me: The what?!
Waiter: The Fantasy Room sir.
Me: Err... This is an Indian restaurant isn't it?
Waiter: Yes sir.
Me: Great. I'll just have a curry then.
As I said, the food was very good, and the staff very friendly. The head waiter later explained about the Fantasy Room (it's a secluded area with booths surrounded by curtains, and absolutely no S&M gear).
By that stage though, I'd had a goodly amound of Kingfisher lager, and enough Indian food, that if I had used the Fantasy Room, for even a waifer-thin mint, I'd have been doing an impression of Monsieur Creosote. Not something that's advisable... at my age.
Yesterday, I journeyed from Denver, to San Francisco. It was New Year's Day, so things were quiet on the roads, even heading up to Denver International Airport (DIA).
As-per-sodding-usual, my decision to carry something more technologically advanced than a quill pen and parchment, caused DIA's crack team of Government-sponsored loafers... err.. security personnel, to leap into action and dissect the entire contents of my hand luggage, and scan individual bits of it. Clearly they'd not seen a laptop computer before.
The flights (the bargain price of the trip meant that I flew via Salt Lake City) were uneventful. On the second leg, I was sat in front of a couple of kids and their mum. Junior found he liked slamming his tray table up and down a lot, but the moment I turned around, his mum spotted it, and gave him what for. It's so nice to see parents that pay attention to their offspring affecting others.
Above The Law
There is a certain type of person, who whilst travelling by air, seems to think that the rules don't apply to them. They probably act the same way, throughout all aspects of life.
In airports and aeroplanes, they:
1. Board before their row is called
2. Take excessive amounts of carry-on baggage
3. Hog the overhead lockers
4. Get up before the "fasten seatbelts" sign is turned off, either during the flight or after landing
5. Sit in your (better) seat, then suggest you have their seat rather than make a big fuss (this is a very rare one)
A saw all but the last one, yesterday. I'm just waiting for the day when one of these jerks decides to waltz about the cabin when they're supposed to be sat down, and the plane drops 100 in one go, and the jerk gets squished into the ceiling of the aircraft.
San Francisco
I took a minibus shuttle to the hotel. The driver bore a striking resemblance to "Bob The Killer" in Twin Peaks. You know, that long-grey-haired psycho from another dimension. Judging by the speed at which he drove the minibus, and the way he swerved around traffic, at speed, on the highway, I think he actually was Killer Bob.
He had the radio tuned to a station playing Ambient music. My assumption at first was that it was a CD playing, but then after five minutes of soothing sythetic sound, a DJ came on. I didn't catch the station's call letters, but I imagine their slogan is something like, "All-ambient, All the time!" or ""Puttting SoMa in a CoMa"
In the evening, I had an early meal (a day of airline snacks and lousy airport food, doesn't suffice as sustenance), at a Thai restaurant, and kicked back in front of the TV.
I went out later on, and sample the midnight streets and coffee joints of the Civic Center area. It's all a bit more "colourful" than the Financial District that I've stayed in twice before. I stopped just short of hanging a sign around my neck that said something like, "Driver carries no more than $5. Does not have access to safe."
Despite the Thai meal, by midnight I was hungry again, and so popped into a sandwich bar. The nice man there made me a ham sandwich by chopping the legs and head off a dead pig, and sliding it between two slices of bread. Well, that's my guess, judging by the size of the sandwich. It was like one of those sandwiches that Shaggy and Scooby used to make. When I came to leave, he called two of his friends over to help me carry the sandwich back to my hotel.
