It's been written about many times before, by both sides of the argument, but right now I feel the need to vent.

When my totalitarian regime sweeps into power, smokers will long for the day when all they were forced to do was take their filthy habit outside.

When I'm in power, Philip Morris et al will be run out of town, and smoking will only be permitted in specially constructed air-tight pods. Hey, at least that way the wretches will get the full benefit of their . First and second-hand smoke, all in one go!

Of course I'm generalising about all smokers. Obviously there are considerate and inconsiderate smokers, but that sort of concern for accuracy doesn't sell newspapers web page hits.

I have friends who smoke, and every one of them is as considerate as it's possible to be, but as with any group in society, it's the jerks that grab the attention.

So, anyway, it's a perfect, warm, sunny day, the neighbourhood looks as cute as ever, and Miles and I have hied ourselves the short walk to Stella's Coffee Haus. We're sat on the porch there, as I write, and everything is perfect, except for one thing.

The occupant on the next table is smoking, and said smoke is drifting (as you'd expect) in our direction.

Of course there are plenty of smokers out there who will now chime in with the traditional refrains, along the lines of, "Quit whining, there's no proof second-hand smoke is harmful" (Hint), or, "Hey, I don't have a problem with you drinking. Smoking is MY vice, leave me alone."

Well you know what? If you want to smoke yourself into an early grave, that's just fine and dandy with me. We'll be down one more walking ashtray, big whoop. However the difference between your smoking and my drinking, is that when I drink alcohol, the only person who's affected by it is me.

I don't get violent or abusive when drunk, I don't drive when I've been drinking, and I don't get loud and disturb the neighbourhood peace either. As I said, the only person whom I affect is me. Not so with smokers.

Of course the smokers reading this will cite alcoholics and drunk drivers as harming society, but these are people who take alcohol to excess. Smokers start polluting the lives of others even when they do it in moderation.

And as for the, "Well, I'm outside so why shouldn't I smoke?" thing, if it's still invading my lungs and eyes then it's still rude and inconsiderate. Yes, you can't help which way the wind blows, but you can help the fact that you're smoking around other people. You could just try refraining from your vile habit for five fucking minutes. Of course I realise that would require some sort of will-power, and indeed giving a shit about anyone but yourself, but hey, why not give it a try?

I mean, I try to be considerate about the rights, needs and wishes of my fellow man, but really, I don't think this has to apply to smoking. It is a disgusting, unnecessary and dangerous habit, that harms not only the person doing it, but those around them. Not only that, but it smells bad.

You may say, "well if you outlaw it, then the price will go up and so will crime.", but I think on the whole a lot of law-abiding folks might use it as the impetus to finally quit. Besides, if I get my wallet snatched by a smoker, the foot-chase should be fairly easy for me. I'm guessing they'll need to stop for a sit-down before I do.

I know this is a controversial topic, but I'll stop bitching about it, the day smokers take a break for the sake of others. And no, I'm not talking about a cigarette break.

Memo To Loud Corvette Driver

Maybe you're insecure about your masculinity, or maybe you're having a mid-life crisis. I don't care. I also don't care that you own a Corvette. I'm certainly not jealous of you.

But, if you must drive down my street with the top down, and your music blaring, don't you think you ought to have something a little better than this in the CD player?

I mean, that was all well and good in the late 1980's, but really, with the obvious, "Hey look at me!" factor of the Corvette, shouldn't you be subjecting us to something from the Bush Jnr era, rather than Bush Snr?

Having packed my DSL modem, in a box, somewhere in my storage facility, I now find I need it, in order to re-establish the DMfM network, in it's current temporary location (an incredibly cool neighbourhood of Denver).

So, in an effort to maximise the possible earnings potential for my endeavours, this weekend, I'm going to have a reality TV film crew follow me, as I attempt to work out which of the 4502 boxes I packed the modem in, and retrieve it, without having much of the furniture stacked there, fall on me.

Given how I've crammed so much furniture and so many boxes in there, and the precarious way in which they're all positioned, the resultant TV show, will be called, "Extreme Kerplunk!".

So yesterday, I started moving out of the house I've been living in, since my previous not-leaving-the-US debacle of last year. I'd arranged some storage for my stuff, whilst I sort out somewhere to live for the next wee while. I'd also arranged a 17ft U-Haul truck.

Both these bookings were done over the Internet, and it was only later that I found out that the surly and unfriendly staff at U-Haul couldn't get me a truck until 2pm, instead of 9am, as I'd wanted.

So after a morning of packing things into boxes, and general exclamations of, "How the hell did I end up with so much crap?", I finally got the truck at 2pm.

A friend came over and helped me load the truck. This is the same friend who's helped me move before. He's a strong guy, with the patience of a saint. I know this patience to be a fact, as after about four hours of loading the truck, I realised that I'd lost the keys to the padlock on the storage unit, somewhere in the house. My friend didn't bat an eyelid, but started the search for the keys. I found them after a short while.

Oh, and the temperature that afternoon was 100ºF (38ºC) and somewhat humid, just to make things good and uncomfortable.

Eventually, as the truck was fairly full, I looked at the time. It was 8.20pm, and the storage facility closes at 9pm. There was a brief look at each other, and then a general consensus that, "We can do it!"

Yes, after an entire day of lifting furniture and packing, we reckoned we could unload a truck that had taken five hours to fill, in less than 30 minutes. It's the kind of insane optimism that you can only really generate, when you're that close to total exhaustion.

We got to the storage place, leapt from the truck and unpacked that thing like our lives depended upon it. At 9.15pm the gates go into "lock-down" mode and there would be no way to get out of the facility until the next morning. We started unpacking, and 34 minutes later, got back into the truck with minutes to spare before lock-down.

After my friend had left, my temporary-landlady-to-be came round with food. The woman needs a halo. Then about 11pm, the guy to whom I'd sold a king-size bed, and my entire teak dining table and six chairs, arrived and we loaded the bed and dining set into the U-Haul and took it to his loft apartment.

As the word "loft" suggests, this apartment wasn't on the ground floor. No, it was on the 12th floor. When I'm running myself into an early grave, I don't like to do half the job. After an hour or so of almost Clouseau-esque adventures with the building's elevators and our large heavy furniture, including the elevator trying to constantly take me to random floors of the building, we were done.

I crawled into my put-me-up bed and decided to check my email. After falling asleep, repeatedly, at the keyboard, I awoke at 7am this morning, with square indentations and the word QWERTY on my face. A bad case of keyboarditis.

I then immediately fell back asleep, instead of getting up, until I was woken at 8.30am by a phone call.

It was 8.30am and the truck was due back at U-Haul by 9.00am, or I'd have to pay for another day's rental. I grabbed some clothes and hit the road. I then went back to the house, and put the clothes on.

The U-haul office is at least 20mins drive away, so I drove that truck like maniac (is there really any other way?). I distinctly remember over-taking a Porsche at one point.

As I'm driving, I look down at the clock on it, five minutes from the house, and see it says it's 8.47am! Where the heck did the time go?

Somehow, (mainly doing 60mph in a 30) I got the truck there on time, including stopping for gas (well, diesel).

I got out of the truck and found the U-haul office was closed.

It was only then, that i looked at my mobile phone, and saw that the truck's clock was in fact, 13 minutes fast!

To add insult to injury, even when it was 9am, the manager didn't show up. Eventually at about 9.10 he sauntered in. Whilst he was very helpful, the conversation was somewhat strained, as I was exhausted, and he had the diction and enunciation of Boomhauer from King Of The Hill.

So now, I'm back home, and the clear-up operation goes into effect. At some point I'm hoping to find that I didn't pack Miles into a box, now at the storage facility.

I don't often do restaurant reviews, but I feel compelled to share news of my visit to Hanson's Grill and Tavern.

I've been there a number of times before. When it first opened, it was nice. Interesting, good quality food, a nice atmosphere, and good service.

The last several visits, however, have seen things go downhill. Last night was the final straw.

The beer was good (Guinness, so not made by Hanson's), but my Roast Chicken was rancid. Seriously, it reeked. The fact that they'd smothered it in herbs, didn't matter, the stench from the rotten meat won through.

I called my (slow, sullen) waitress over. I thrust the plate under her nose. She recoiled from the smell.

I was offered my pick of the menu in replacement of this vile plate of filth. I ordered the rib-eye steak. It, whilst not rotten, was mediocre, and very fatty. Nothing like the steak I had there when the place first opened.

When the bill came, I was charged for the original dish.

You'd think, any restaurant that'd narrowly avoided poisoning one of it's customers, would have had the manners to waive the entire bill, but apparently, not Hanson's. No, apparently they're above caring about their customers.

They're also above providing cheerful, or indeed, responsive service. During the last several visits, I've ended up having to search the restaurant for our waitress, when my table needed cutlery, or indeed part of the meal we'd ordered.

I'm not a tough customer at restaurants. As long as I get what I ordered, and it's fit to eat, I'm charm personified. No, really I am. But I won't be walked over by surly staff and uncaring management.

When we left, the tip was below 10% (a hint to the waitress to wake up) and the verdict was unanimous; we (a regular dining friend was with me) will not be going back there. Had we seen any evidence of a manager on site, I'd have complained, but apparently, Hanson's don't see the need to have a responsible adult present, whilst trying to poison members of the public.

If Hanson's had a website (they don't seem to) I'd link to it, to see if anyone working there spots this article.

First off, thanks to all of you who volunteered opinions either via comments, email or phonecalls, as to whether I should stay in the US and work on this new job, or go back to Europe.

For now, at least, I'm going to give the new job a go. Part of my reticence is that the money is not great. I'm not talking "not enough for a new Porsche", I'm talking, "2/3 of what I was earning in my last job".

However, I'm looking upon this new job thusly:

• it's 100% more money than being unemployed
• It's in an area of IT that I'm really interested in
• I get the ultra-flexibility and lack of administrivia that comes with a small company
• I'm effectively getting paid to study new areas of IT
• It's way more creative than any other IT job I've ever had
• It's an all-Mac office

But it gets even better.

Dog Days
Miles - handsome Golden Retriever At Large - is allowed to come to work with me. He was instantly adopted as the company mascot, and now spends his days, either sleeping by my works' PowerMac, or rushing to the front of the office to great visitors and clients. Luckily, this hasn't annoyed any clients so far. In fact, the general consensus is that he's adorable. I think he needs to be put on commission.

The reason his coming to work with me is important, is that right now, he's seeing some changes in lifestyle. Without wanting to go too deeply into my private life, as of yesterday, Miles and I find ourselves living alone. I didn't want him being left in an un-airconditioned house all on his own, at least this close to losing his doggie sister's company.

So, he gets to spend the day with me (which of course he loves doing), and he gets to snooze in an air-conditioned office (temps have been around 100ºF / 38ºC every day this week), and he gets to either go to City Park during our lunch break, or our favourite Englewood off-leash park, after work.

The Job
My new job as a web designer/developer/tea boy/cat wrangler is shaping up nicely. I've been thrown in at the deep end, and we're working out butts off to meet deadlines. I have to say, after so long unemployed, I'm really enjoying the mayhem.

I seem to learn a little something new about web design tools every day, and I'm going to get into Flash animation at some point. Don't worry. I'm not about to turn DMfM into an animation-heavy-fuck-you-if-you-don't-have-broadband site, but I might just share some of the more crazy results with you on a separate page.

OK, so it's 11pm, still insanely hot (temps over 100ºF most of this week), and I need to pack my entire house up. Frankly, after the intense race against time at work, I feel like sleeping for a week, but it's not to be. I'm moving out of the house, so I need to pack. Deep joy.

If I'm still alive by the end of the weekend, I'll let you know.

I'm sick and tired of these tossers who drive around with "Native" stickers on their vehicles, accessories and/or clothing.

I was pleased recently, to see someone with a "transplant" sticker in the exact same style as the "native" one

To explain for the uninitiated, Colorado, or rather the greater metro Denver area, has seen a lot of people move here, from all over the US, and other countries, but mostly, from Texas and California. Consequently, people who've lived here all their (sad, untravelled) lives have taken umbridge, and like to go around reminding everyone of how they're a Colorado native.

Of course the more intelligent among you, or perhaps just those of you with even the vaguest grasp of American history, will have spotted the slight flaw in these people's argument.

Almost none of them are Native Americans.

Yes, the same hick dickwads who'll tell you they're "native", will also tell you how they're "Irish" on or around March 17th, or Scottish, once they learn you're British.

However, 99% of them will not be able to tell you that they're members of the Southern Ute, or Ute Mountain Ute (tribes native to Colorado). Aren't these the true natives?

So it's just possible, that these jerks with their "Native" stickers, should get the fuck over people moving to Colorado. Chances are, it was only a generation or two since their families moved there, and in any case, the more people living in Colorado, the more things facilities there will be, the more things there will be to do, and the lower prices will be.

Even bumper sticker prices.

Yet again, thanks to Senior DMfM European Correspondent Tim for sending in the following report:

Now then,

http://images.google.com/images?q=aging+wrestlers

This has to mean something.

Cheers,
timM

I'm still waiting to see a tag-team match, pitting her against Donny and Marie Osmond.

Unbeknownst to most of you, I've been facing the prospect of leaving the United States, and looking for work in Europe.

It's not been an easy decision, because as you know, I do love living here in Denver.

I did my "farewell" radio show on Tuesday, from 1-4pm. True to his usual style, a certain program director didn't call me until about 80 minutes before the show. Not a problem. I was born ready!

OK, that's a blatant lie, but where radio is concerned, I'm always ready for more!

It was a good show, and having announced it'd be my last show for a while, I was deluged with phone calls. Every one of them was to tell me that people would miss hearing me on the radio, and that they loved my choice of music, and would be sad to see me go.

However, just as my future is starting to look like it might have a distinctly European flavour, the tables has been turned on me again.

I've been offered a job as a website designer (I'm assuming that's the correct title) by a local firm, here in Denver. Chivalry prevents me from naming them.

It all came about yesterday. I popped in for an interview today, and within an hour was working for them. They're a bit rushed to get stuff done ATM.

So, having psyched myself up to leave, I'm now presented with the chance to stay.

I won't say too much about the job here, as you never know who reads this site, but whilst on the one hand, doing professional website design and development is something I really want to get into, there are one or two concerns for me about this job.

I know what I'm like though, if I stay, then I'll give it my all. It sure beats writing code for ungrateful travel agents.

What do you think readers? Take the only decent IT job (in a field I'm interested in) I've been offered since getting laid-off? Or chance my arm at earning more in Europe?

If you live in Colorado, despite it being a tad land-locked, chances are, that you, like me, have been bitten by a mosquito. Those of you, perhaps outside the US, who've not been bitten by a mosquito, could liken it to the biggest ever gnat bite you've had, and then some.

It itches like a gnat bite, it's sore, and you get a bump on your skin. However, everything is magnified over the size of gnat-bite symptoms.

So the other day, I was bitten, on the finger.

There's something odd about mosquito bites on the finger. At least on me.

During the course of today, my finger has swollen, which is to be expected. However, what I didn't expect, was the whole back of my hand to balloon!

Yes, as I write, one hand looks normal, and the other look like it's doing an impression of a VW Beetle, such is is hunch-backed curvyness.

I just hope it doesn't swell any more, because the last thing I need is people shrieking, flinching, or just running away, when I offer them a handshake.

OK, I've been a little quiet recently. There are good reasons. I 've been busy.

I'm writing stuff alright, but not ready to publish. Just as I was about to give you a full update on WTF is going on with me (big changes), things might be about to go in a different direction.

Confused? Intrigued? Yeah, me too. I'm dying to know how this ends, probably more than you.

Anyway, suffice it to say, don't give up on DMfM. Whatever happens to me, DMfM will continue, in the same style, bringing you news, information, opinion, laughs and rants, whether you like it or not.

Expect some sort of announcement in the next couple of days.

Whatever happens, normal service will be resumed in the next week or so!

In the meantime, if you want something to amuse you, go to Google and type in "weapons of mass destruction", and hit the "I'm feeling lucky button" which automatically takes you to the first result returned by Google.

Read the page. It looks like an IE error, but is quite amusing. Well, OK, a bit amusing.

Living in the Creek area of Denver, as I do, this weekend has seen the place overrun with people visiting the Cherry Creek Arts Festival.

If you've not been to it before, and frankly I don't blame you if you haven't, it's an annual three-day festival, which seems to be celebrating the bringing together of cultures.

The two cultures brought together are; People Who Think They Can Make A Living Out Of Art, and People Who Have So Much Spare Money They Can Afford To Give It To Artists. I'm not quite sure who's the more deluded.

The only thing I've ever bought at the Festival, was a Festival T-Shirt, and that was way back in 1995, before I even lived here, when I was young and foolish, as opposed to now, when... well... I'm not so young.

The roads are blocked off from traffic along 2nd and 3rd Avenue, between Steele and Clayton streets. Frankly, it's a much needed bit of traffic calming for the area. However, this being America, it'd never be made permanent, because God forbid people would be expected to walk places.

There are a couple of live music stages, but it's mostly, temporary little stalls, selling over-priced paintings, photographs and sculptures.

The side-streets are filled with stalls operated by local restaurants, and local carbonated-urine vendors, Coors have a few stands, hawking their wares, and claiming it's beer.

I can't say I've ever spent more than a brief amount of time at the festival, as it has little or nothing of interest to me. Well, beyond people-watching, and frankly, there's only so many over-tanned 50 year-olds wearing inappropriate shorts, in which one can find humour.

Happy Independence Day to you all!

Yes, here in the US, Americans are celebrating gaining their independence from their former colonial masters, the British.

And by way of return, us Britons are celebrating, getting rid of a colony where they can't even make tea properly ;-)

Seriously though, I hope you all have a great day, wherever you are in the world.

I have a packed day ahead of me.

First off, I'm going to my first ever American 4th of July party/barbecue/pot luck.

In previous years in the US, I've always gone to a party of fellow Europeans. However, this always turned into a "Let's Bash Americans" event as the evening progressed, and frankly, made me ashamed to be British.

No, really, I can't stand people doing down an entire nation in one sweeping generalisation, especially when the people concerned are living in that nation's country!

So instead, this year I'm going to this friends and family do, hosted by a major KUVO volunteer. Should be fun.

I'll be leaving the party early, however, to go and host Rockin' In Rhythm - KUVO's jazz/blues crossover show. This is the second time I'll have hosted it, and knowing little or nothing about the blues, I'll have my work cut out for me. It's on at 7-9pm mountain time, tonight.

I've never written an essay on the standard of tea, and tea-making, here in Denver, and I'm not going to go on at length about it now.

If any British readers have ever had Lipton tea, you'll know just how shite it is, and how, like a lot of tea in the US, it's geared towards making good iced-tea, rather than good hot tea.

Of course, finding a restaurant in the US, that actually uses boiling water to make tea, rather than just hot, is a bit like trying to find the Pope's mother-in-law's phone number. Americans (for the most part) just don't get it. They don't have to have boiling water to make good coffee, and so they don't see why it has to be boiling for tea. Try explaining why to them, and sit back and watch the confused looks you'll get.

Anyway, it seems appropriate that on the eve of the Fourth of July, where we celebrate getting rid of all those loud, pushy, badly-dressed puritans, that DMfM should bring you some tea-related craziness.

Oh, and FYI America, it was the puritans who persecuted the rest of the British and the Irish, and not they who were persecuted. It's just possible that given that your history books were written by your nation's forefathers (puritans) that they might have twisted the story a bit.

One of DMfM's senior UK operatives has brought nicecupofteaandasitdown.com to our attention. It's cutting-edge tea-centric information for the on-the-go tea-drinker. No, go look anyway, it's got a good sense of humour.

Talking of Lipton and their dire tea, visit Lipton's Hong Kong website if only for the intro movie, showing what happens when you make Britons drink that Americanised Lipton shite.

This weekend I had my first foray into another institution of American life; suing people when bad stuff happens gun ownership the Yard Sale.

Like most men, I've accumulated just way to much crap over the years. I've always been loathed to ever get rid of any of it, because, according to the well-known bloke mantra, "It might come in handy one day.". This is why many men have sheds (in the UK), and workshops/garages (in the US). You've got to have somewhere to pile that stuff up. Anyway, it was time to thin the herd.

So, an advert was placed in the paper, and Miles and I spent some time driving around the 'hood, putting up signs in conspicuous places, on the busier roads that surround our part of Cherry Creek.

Note To Passing Motorists
If, gentlemen (and it's always men), you're going to heckle me, as I'm putting signs up, why not slow down, so I've got time to actually hear your heckle? I mean, seriously, the impact of your wit is lost on me if I can't make out what the heck you're shouting. Mind you, given that the main perpetrator was yet another CJD, I daresay that Wildean ferocity of wit was lacking somewhat.

On the upside, I spent a good several minutes, replaying what I thought i heard, over and over, to see if I could figure out WTF you were saying. It passed the time, I suppose.

Meanwhile Back At The Yard...
I'd been warned by friends of all the types of yard sale characters to expect. I wasn't disappointed. They pretty much all showed up.

Despite the advertising stating that the sale started at 10am, the hard-core yard sale stormtroopers started turning up at 8.20am, just as I was carrying stuff out, and putting up shelves.

They were like a small swarm of badly-dressed locusts. Some looked like they'd spent a lot on their apparel, others looked like they'd just finished work at a building site. All of them, however, were clutching coffees like their lives depended upon them, their eyes darting back and forth across the housewares.

Just as I'd been warned by friends, there were a number of them, who marched up to me, demanding to see any jewellery, clocks or watches I had, and marched away again. They seemed to be arriving in groups of four shock troops at a time, and I'm sure I saw on or two of them carrying gas masks and tear gas.

The majority of punters were friendly, and keen to find out about the stuff for sale, where I was from, how long had I been in the US, and what hat size I took. OK, I lied about the last bit, but you get the idea.

There was this one guy, however, who arrived in a Lexus, stepped out of it, with his cell phone jammed up against his ear, bellowing loudly into it.

You know the sort of person I mean. Due to moving to the US just as cell phones were really taking off here, I've had to go through the whole mobile phone phenomenon twice (having gone through it in Europe a few years earlier). Hmmm. I can see a whole article on the Lifecycle of Mobile Phone Adoption, brewing in my tiny mind. I'll make it funny, I promise!

Anyway, my point here, is that some people, are incapable of having a quiet mobile phone conversation. They carry out every call, at full, bellowing volume, as if they're actually using tin can and string device, rather than some sophisticated electronics. Not only are they loud, but they are almost sociopathically oblivious to the effect of their fog-horn-like output upon other people.

Fashionwise, he was wearing a look I can best describe as Yacht-owner Wannabe. Consisting of, what looked like a pair of $200 baggy shorts, and white polo shirt, that I'm fairly certain, had never seen action in a game of polo. Oh, and facially, he looked a bit like a low-budget Joe Isuzu.

Bellowing inanity into his cell phone, he marched across the street, into the yard sale, and around my worldly goods. All the time, his phone never left his ear, and he treated the other customers to one half of a conversation that seemed to be about how he'd conned some old lady out of a family heirloom. To add to my loathing of him, he mispronounced "chaise" (as in "Chaise Longue"). The 'ch' is pronounced like 'sh" BTW.

He ended his visit by abruptly snapping his cell phone shut, and commenting to my co-conspirator, that, "Well, there's nothing I can't live without.". Sadly, I wasn't there for that bit. Had I been, I might have suggested, that he'd have a hard time living without a steady supply of oxygen, and if he didn't fuck off pronto, I'd see what I could do about proving that point. Rude bastard.

It was a long long day, not helped by the fact that it was damn hot and sunny. I managed not to spontaneously burst into flames, however. At the end of day one, we'd made a fair few dollars. Day two was much quieter, and less sodding hot, which gave me time to do a bunch of stuff online. As you may have spotted, that did not include writing for DMfM.