I never know what music to listen to. So I've had an idea. iTunes, which came with my (lovely) iPod, says that on my hard disk, I have 14 days and 11 hours worth of music.
I thought about putting it on random play, but I kind of disapprove of that. On the cover of LouReed's album New York it says (something like) "This CD is designed to be listened to all the way through, in order. Like a film or a book." It's kind of pompous, but I sort of agree.
So I've decided to listen to it all. All the way through. In alphabetical order (artist/album). If I listen for 8 hours a day (which is probably an overestimate), that will take 43.5 days. Or almost 9 weeks. I got through A today - Alice Cooper's greatest hits was much better than I remembered. There's going to be some tricky bits though. Leonard Cohen is going to take a day or two to get through, and there's 192 songs by Frank Zappa, and some of them are long. Shut up and play yer guitar has three CDs, but only 18 tracks. That's going to be half a day on its own. Luckily the alphabetical order (rather than thematic) rule, means that there's going to be a decent gap between that and Guitar. (If you didn't know, these are albums of FZ playing [accompanied] guitar solos. None of that verse chorus verse nonsense. Or even any singing. Or gaps.)
There's going to be embarrassing moments too. Luckily no one came in during Let Go ("Ooh" I can hear them say "I didn't have you down as a teeny bopper").
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Story ... in foreign
Tonight the boys wanted me to read a German book, that Oma had read to them a couple of times. I said I couldn't, 'cos it was German, but they grovelled, so I did.
It was a surreal experience. I was reading the words, and not understanding most of it. And they were laughing and saying "Nein! Nein!". Occasionally they would translate a bit for me "She's saying POO!", for example, or "She's picking her nose!" It seemed to have a lot of that sort of thing in, and it might have had a plot, but I couldn't tell.
It was a surreal experience. I was reading the words, and not understanding most of it. And they were laughing and saying "Nein! Nein!". Occasionally they would translate a bit for me "She's saying POO!", for example, or "She's picking her nose!" It seemed to have a lot of that sort of thing in, and it might have had a plot, but I couldn't tell.
Excursion - part 2
To complete the tale of our adventure away. In the morning, the only thing provided by the motel was coffee. You had to go to reception to get it, so Opa and I set off to reception, to get polystyrene cups which we filled with coffee from Thermos flasks, and non-dairy creamer for those that wanted it. Opa was upset that there was no tea.
We went to Casa Martinez (truck stop and 24 hour cafe) for breakfast - that being the only choice. Oma had a breakfast burrito, which was satisfactory. I was a little nervous that Opa wouldn't find anything to his satisfaction (he usually has tea - made in a saucepan by boiling some teabags, and then putting enormous quantities of sugar in, toast, with a lot of jam, and boiled eggs). He ordered an omelette (with normal toast), and was only slightly disturbed that it came with hash browns. "Potatoes? For breakfast?? Huh." A and D had pancakes and french toast, which they ignored. There was jelly in little tubs, which caused debate with Opa. "What is jelly?" I told him. "No, that is jam. Marmalade". (Confusingly, marmalade is German for jam). It was the cheapest, most disgusting jam I've ever seen. The ingredients to the grape jelly were Glucose Syrup, Sugar, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Grape Juice, Pectin, Beetroot color. Opa took them home anyway. (The mixed fruit jam was the same, but with apple juice too).
We had another one of those incidents where I debate with Opa the precise meaning of a word in English. You'd think that I could pull rank and trump him at the same time, what with being a native, and all that. But Opa went to the till and said "I want cash". They didn't understand (which is good, I would have thought I was being robbed). He repeated this. I went to the rescue, and they were successfully paid. We had our debate about the meaning of cash. "Cash means pay". "No, cash means money. Geld. Geld is cash." "Cash is pay. Bezahlen." "Why didn't they understand you?" "I don't know. Cash is pay." I gave up. You have to pick your battles.
We drove in our two car convoy into the National Park. There was a ranger station, with a shop and toilets, where you could buy maps and things, and bottles of water, but no food. (I was kind of expecting them to sell something - but they didn't, so I made a big bag of peanuts last all day.) We paid $15 per car, and set off. If we hadn't needed to go to the toilet, we might not have stopped, and might not have bought our tickets, which might have meant all kinds of trouble.
They gave us maps, and we read about where to see the Joshua trees. And how to distiunguish between the joshua trees and the yuccas, which a lot of people think are joshua trees, but aren't. I wondered how that would damage the experience of having seen a joshua tree. If I thought I'd seen a joshua tree, then I'd be happy, surely? The fact I hadn't wouldn't really be a problem. And were people only interested in the joshua trees because it was called the Joshua Tree National Park? If it was called the Yucca Tree (or plant) National Park (and if U2 had made an album called The Yucca Tree) would people then say "Don't mistake those joshua trees for Yuccas. You want to make sure that you see the genuine Yuccas, not those Joshua imitations." (I just read on Wikipedia that Joshua trees only grown in (and around) Joshua tree national park. Maybe that's why.
The park was big, as you'd expect (even the Peak District National Park is a fair size, and that doesn't have the vastness of America to spread into), and had a 35 or 40 mph speed limit, so we drove with cruise control on, which was quite strange. But it meant you could look around. Our cruise controls in the 2 cars never quite got to the same speed, so after a while we'd be a long way apart.
We stopped at various points to look at interesting stuff. There were an awful lot of interesting places to look at and potter about. There was a cactus garden - I wasn't sure if they cacti had been deliberately planted or not. There was a pond, created by a dam (called Barker Dam) - it seemed quite surprising to me that it had water in it still, but it did. There were lots of big, round granite boulders, created by volcanoes. When a volcano finished erupting, the granite in the spout bit would set solid, and then the volcano (which wasn't as hard) would erode from around it, leaving a heap of round granite rocks.
When we got out of the park, S wanted to go and visit Black Rock Canyon, but we couldn't find it. Well, we sort of found it but it didn't seem to have a canyon, or any black rocks. We might have had to go more than a few feet from the car, but it was late and very nearly dark, so we went home.
We went to Casa Martinez (truck stop and 24 hour cafe) for breakfast - that being the only choice. Oma had a breakfast burrito, which was satisfactory. I was a little nervous that Opa wouldn't find anything to his satisfaction (he usually has tea - made in a saucepan by boiling some teabags, and then putting enormous quantities of sugar in, toast, with a lot of jam, and boiled eggs). He ordered an omelette (with normal toast), and was only slightly disturbed that it came with hash browns. "Potatoes? For breakfast?? Huh." A and D had pancakes and french toast, which they ignored. There was jelly in little tubs, which caused debate with Opa. "What is jelly?" I told him. "No, that is jam. Marmalade". (Confusingly, marmalade is German for jam). It was the cheapest, most disgusting jam I've ever seen. The ingredients to the grape jelly were Glucose Syrup, Sugar, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Grape Juice, Pectin, Beetroot color. Opa took them home anyway. (The mixed fruit jam was the same, but with apple juice too).
We had another one of those incidents where I debate with Opa the precise meaning of a word in English. You'd think that I could pull rank and trump him at the same time, what with being a native, and all that. But Opa went to the till and said "I want cash". They didn't understand (which is good, I would have thought I was being robbed). He repeated this. I went to the rescue, and they were successfully paid. We had our debate about the meaning of cash. "Cash means pay". "No, cash means money. Geld. Geld is cash." "Cash is pay. Bezahlen." "Why didn't they understand you?" "I don't know. Cash is pay." I gave up. You have to pick your battles.
We drove in our two car convoy into the National Park. There was a ranger station, with a shop and toilets, where you could buy maps and things, and bottles of water, but no food. (I was kind of expecting them to sell something - but they didn't, so I made a big bag of peanuts last all day.) We paid $15 per car, and set off. If we hadn't needed to go to the toilet, we might not have stopped, and might not have bought our tickets, which might have meant all kinds of trouble.
They gave us maps, and we read about where to see the Joshua trees. And how to distiunguish between the joshua trees and the yuccas, which a lot of people think are joshua trees, but aren't. I wondered how that would damage the experience of having seen a joshua tree. If I thought I'd seen a joshua tree, then I'd be happy, surely? The fact I hadn't wouldn't really be a problem. And were people only interested in the joshua trees because it was called the Joshua Tree National Park? If it was called the Yucca Tree (or plant) National Park (and if U2 had made an album called The Yucca Tree) would people then say "Don't mistake those joshua trees for Yuccas. You want to make sure that you see the genuine Yuccas, not those Joshua imitations." (I just read on Wikipedia that Joshua trees only grown in (and around) Joshua tree national park. Maybe that's why.
The park was big, as you'd expect (even the Peak District National Park is a fair size, and that doesn't have the vastness of America to spread into), and had a 35 or 40 mph speed limit, so we drove with cruise control on, which was quite strange. But it meant you could look around. Our cruise controls in the 2 cars never quite got to the same speed, so after a while we'd be a long way apart.
We stopped at various points to look at interesting stuff. There were an awful lot of interesting places to look at and potter about. There was a cactus garden - I wasn't sure if they cacti had been deliberately planted or not. There was a pond, created by a dam (called Barker Dam) - it seemed quite surprising to me that it had water in it still, but it did. There were lots of big, round granite boulders, created by volcanoes. When a volcano finished erupting, the granite in the spout bit would set solid, and then the volcano (which wasn't as hard) would erode from around it, leaving a heap of round granite rocks.
When we got out of the park, S wanted to go and visit Black Rock Canyon, but we couldn't find it. Well, we sort of found it but it didn't seem to have a canyon, or any black rocks. We might have had to go more than a few feet from the car, but it was late and very nearly dark, so we went home.
Rain
It rained last night, for the first time since we arrived. Proper rain, which leaves puddles (although it's often hard to tell whether it's rained in the morning, so ubiquitous is the use of sprinklers - when there are people walking on the bike path I try to ride through puddles left by sprinklers that are near them, to discourage them from walking on the bike path again).
It had stopped raining by the time I went to work, but the rain meant there were very few dog walkers and joggers and even other cyclists on the path, which meant it was quite clear. Trouble is, that when it doesn't rain often, there isn't much effort putting lots of drains in, so there were some pretty impressive puddles, and the odd place where so much sand was on the path that you almost couldn't tell where the path was.
It had stopped raining by the time I went to work, but the rain meant there were very few dog walkers and joggers and even other cyclists on the path, which meant it was quite clear. Trouble is, that when it doesn't rain often, there isn't much effort putting lots of drains in, so there were some pretty impressive puddles, and the odd place where so much sand was on the path that you almost couldn't tell where the path was.
Bike/Dog Interaction
First of all, I should say that it wasn't my dog. In case anyone was worried. It wasn't my bike either.
Now it's dark when I ride home, there's a tricky decision to be made about where to ride. The bike path is very dark, with sharp corners, and slippery sandy patches, which means you have to go pretty slow. The boardwalk is wide, and well lit, but it has additional hazards, like people, skateboarders (who are people too) and dogs (who aren't). There's also the road, which is shorter, and is well lit, and is hellish.
I took to riding on the boardwalk pretty slowly and carefully, but one day last week, there was a woman who worked at CoCE who was riding home at the same time as me. She rode on the boardwalk, and rode pretty quickly - much faster than I would have ridden. But she was in front of me, and clearing a path as it were. People saw her coming and jumped out of her way, and then they would be out of my way. If they didn't jump out of her way, then she would crash into them, and I wouldn't.
Which is pretty much what happened. Except it wasn't a person, it was a dog. She was in front of me, on a darkish bit of road, and a woman had a small dog on one of those long leads, who was talking on amobilecellphone. The bike hit the dog and the front wheel went right over it, at about shoulder level, and then the rider steered gently to the right, into a small grassy hill (a grassy knoll, perhaps?) and fell off (she was going very slowly by now - the dog had used up most of her speed). I had a sudden fear that the dog was dead, but it wasn't, it was yapping furiously, which was probably a good sign. The woman with the dog was screaming into her phone "Oh my gaaaad! A bike ran over your daaaag! Your daaag got run over by a bike!" She was so busy telling the owner about the dog and the bike that she didn't stop to investigate either the dog, or the cyclist. I felt split loyalties, but said "Are you OK" to the cyclist. She said she was, and so I rode over the grassy knoll onto the bike path, and rode off.
The other cyclist rode along the boardwalk (I guess) because she was in front of me next time we met, at some traffic lights. Interactions with other cyclists are strange, because you feel a sort of bond, as cyclists against the world, and I felt additionally bonded because we worked at the same place. But you can only talk to each other on the brief occasions that you are at traffic lights together, but then you are also slightly out of breath. We met at a set of traffic lights, and the dog incident felt like the proverbial 800lb gorilla. We both knew about it, but no one said anything.
"You going far?"
"Just over the creek, and left. And you?"
"Just over the creek, and right?"
[Green light.]
"You just ran over a dog!!!!" But it was too late.
Next traffic light.
"Nice weather for riding."
"Yes, quite warm. And I just ran over a dog!!!" Except that last bit didn't happen.
Where are paths split, we shouted "Bye". That was all the interaction we managed in about 5 miles. I haven't seen her since, and I ride on the bike path now. With two front lights. And slowly.
Now it's dark when I ride home, there's a tricky decision to be made about where to ride. The bike path is very dark, with sharp corners, and slippery sandy patches, which means you have to go pretty slow. The boardwalk is wide, and well lit, but it has additional hazards, like people, skateboarders (who are people too) and dogs (who aren't). There's also the road, which is shorter, and is well lit, and is hellish.
I took to riding on the boardwalk pretty slowly and carefully, but one day last week, there was a woman who worked at CoCE who was riding home at the same time as me. She rode on the boardwalk, and rode pretty quickly - much faster than I would have ridden. But she was in front of me, and clearing a path as it were. People saw her coming and jumped out of her way, and then they would be out of my way. If they didn't jump out of her way, then she would crash into them, and I wouldn't.
Which is pretty much what happened. Except it wasn't a person, it was a dog. She was in front of me, on a darkish bit of road, and a woman had a small dog on one of those long leads, who was talking on a
The other cyclist rode along the boardwalk (I guess) because she was in front of me next time we met, at some traffic lights. Interactions with other cyclists are strange, because you feel a sort of bond, as cyclists against the world, and I felt additionally bonded because we worked at the same place. But you can only talk to each other on the brief occasions that you are at traffic lights together, but then you are also slightly out of breath. We met at a set of traffic lights, and the dog incident felt like the proverbial 800lb gorilla. We both knew about it, but no one said anything.
"You going far?"
"Just over the creek, and left. And you?"
"Just over the creek, and right?"
[Green light.]
"You just ran over a dog!!!!" But it was too late.
Next traffic light.
"Nice weather for riding."
"Yes, quite warm. And I just ran over a dog!!!" Except that last bit didn't happen.
Where are paths split, we shouted "Bye". That was all the interaction we managed in about 5 miles. I haven't seen her since, and I ride on the bike path now. With two front lights. And slowly.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
CSI
As I think I've mentioned, there's a lot of CSI on the telly here. Now we've got a DVR, and it automatically records every episode. Then S tries to watch them. Which is worse than a full time job. The DVR can only record two channels simultaneously - new ones start at 10, but old ones at 9:30, so you have to make sure it records the right ones. (It tends to miss the new NY ones). Most nights there's some CSI, on Saturday night, it recorded 6 hours of CSI: Miami. I asked S if she was coming to the beach today, but she's got CSI to watch.
I also record new episodes of the Simpsons (you can tell it if you want everything, or just new ones), but I've never been allowed to watch them. And S has started deleting them, because she needs space for her CSI.
I also record new episodes of the Simpsons (you can tell it if you want everything, or just new ones), but I've never been allowed to watch them. And S has started deleting them, because she needs space for her CSI.
Thanksgiving
Today is Thanksgiving Day. I kind of knew about Thanksgiving Day before, but I never really understood how important it was to Americans. Lots of people I've spoken to said that they preferred thanksgiving to Christmas. At thanksgiving, you are supposed to sit around and eat and watch the TV. There's no faffing about having to give presents to people, and no one talks about the "true meaning of thanksgiving" because the true meaning of thanksgiving is to sit around and eat and watch TV. (Actually, the TV bit might be a more recent addition to the traditional thanksgiving.)
It seems to be a much more family-oriented thing than Christmas. On thanksgiving, one goes to be with one's family. This means that half the country tries to get to the house of the other half of the country. Which makes travel hell. There was an article on the news last night about queues at airports - and how airlines find it hard to deal with, because the people travelling are 'infrequent flyers' - they don't know what to do, where to go, and what not to take, so the queues take longer to process than normal. Roads are also hellish. Someone at work had a ticket to see the rolling stones play, on the other side of the city, and he thought that if he left 5 hours to get there, he might be OK.
Lots of people asked what we were doing for thanksgiving. We said that we didn't really know, 'cos we didn't know how to do it. I said it would be like trying to have a British Christmas, having read about it in a book. They said it was easy, you just sit around, eat, drink, and watch TV (ideally, you watch football on the TV, as in American football). I said we'd try, so we dutifully bought a Tofurky from Trader Joe's, and then realized that I don't know when we are supposed to eat it. Is it a lunchtime thing, like Christmas, or does one do it in the evening? I hope it's the evening, because it's 11 o'clock, and the Tofurky takes 1.5 hours to cook.
Also, we forgot to buy any potatoes, although we've some sweet potatoes in the fridge, so they'll have to do. (I don't know what Opa's going to think about sweet potatoes though. And he probably would have been disturbed by roast potatoes - he likes his potatoes boiled. And if you mash them, he gets upset.) There's probably a (in)convenience store open somewhere, where we can buy tinned (oops, have to say canned here) potatoes for some hideous sum of money.
Instead of worrying about all this, we're going to go to the beach. Well, S isn't, because she's got CSIs to watch, but everyone else is. I've been meaning to write abotu CSI. Maybe I'll do it now.
It seems to be a much more family-oriented thing than Christmas. On thanksgiving, one goes to be with one's family. This means that half the country tries to get to the house of the other half of the country. Which makes travel hell. There was an article on the news last night about queues at airports - and how airlines find it hard to deal with, because the people travelling are 'infrequent flyers' - they don't know what to do, where to go, and what not to take, so the queues take longer to process than normal. Roads are also hellish. Someone at work had a ticket to see the rolling stones play, on the other side of the city, and he thought that if he left 5 hours to get there, he might be OK.
Lots of people asked what we were doing for thanksgiving. We said that we didn't really know, 'cos we didn't know how to do it. I said it would be like trying to have a British Christmas, having read about it in a book. They said it was easy, you just sit around, eat, drink, and watch TV (ideally, you watch football on the TV, as in American football). I said we'd try, so we dutifully bought a Tofurky from Trader Joe's, and then realized that I don't know when we are supposed to eat it. Is it a lunchtime thing, like Christmas, or does one do it in the evening? I hope it's the evening, because it's 11 o'clock, and the Tofurky takes 1.5 hours to cook.
Also, we forgot to buy any potatoes, although we've some sweet potatoes in the fridge, so they'll have to do. (I don't know what Opa's going to think about sweet potatoes though. And he probably would have been disturbed by roast potatoes - he likes his potatoes boiled. And if you mash them, he gets upset.) There's probably a (in)convenience store open somewhere, where we can buy tinned (oops, have to say canned here) potatoes for some hideous sum of money.
Instead of worrying about all this, we're going to go to the beach. Well, S isn't, because she's got CSIs to watch, but everyone else is. I've been meaning to write abotu CSI. Maybe I'll do it now.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Excursion (part 1)
As we still have honored guests, we decided to take a trip out somewhere exciting at the weekend. We don't all fit in our car, and those nice people at Enterprise were doing a half price car hire deal at the weekend. So we hired a car, and had two cars.
The problem (I always have) with hiring a car is that you book your car on the phone or web or whatever, and then you go to the car hire place. They say that if you cough up only a small amount of money more, you can have a slightly nicer car. That seems like very little more, and worth it. But then they say, for only 5 dollars more, you can have a car that's slightly nicer than the one you've upgraded to. And so on, until you find yourself driving a Ferrari home. Actually, it wasn't that bad, but we did end up with a Dodge Charger.
We picked up the boys from German school, ran around looking for my camera for about an hour (unsuccessfully, hence no pictures here) and set off. We had booked a room at a Motel 6, which I had carefully selected as being somewhere close to where we wanted to be, in a place called Indio.
First stop though was Palm Springs, which we decided to go to because (a) we'd heard of it, and (b) it was on the way. We went to the Palm Springs Visitor Centre, and saw a leaflet for the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway ("World's largest 360 degree rotating cars). Which sounded interesting, so we went there.
Now to me, a tramway is a bit like a railway - it goes along a flat bit of ground for a while. So an aerial tramway would be like that, but lifted into the air. (Like the cable cars at Alton Towers). But they weren't. By the time we got to the place it was dark, but the trams were running.
We parked the car, and went in. Oma and Opa declined a ride on the aerial tramway, so I bought the 4 tickets. (Children under 4 were free, when they asked how old the boys were, A and D shouted "Four!" and held up 4 fingers, just to be clear, before I'd even considered lying.
It turns out that my definition of tramway was wrong (I had a brief debate with Opa about exactly what a cable car was - he claimed that it was a tram that runs along the street pulled by a cable. We have occasional debates about the meaning of English words, and he is always convinced he is right. It's usually easier to let him continue in that belief.) This was a cable car, which went up a mountain. A really, really big mountain. Oma and Opa were sent running back to the car to fetch jumpers while we waited for the next car. The cable car rises 2 miles, in about 11 minutes. That's high. And fast. And made your ears hurt. Poor A and D didn't know why their ears felt funny, and couldn't understand the concept of swallowing (or, on the way down, of holding their nose and blowing).
Their were 4 towers, from which the cables were suspended. S said it was lucky it was dark, because it was very, very high (the highest was 227 feet) and the car swung slightly alarmingly as it passed over the towers. The floor in the car rotated, so you had a view, but this confused A and D, who were trying to hold on to the rail on the wall (which didn't rotate). After falling over a couple of times, they got the hang of it though.
At the top was a large building (which got their by helicopter and cable car). Everything there has to come up by cable car - even the water to flush the toilets. There was a restaurant and a bar, a shop and a museum, and a mountain outside. Trouble was, we were coming to the desert, so weren't really dressed for going outside in 5 degree weather. It did look quite exciting - there were 54 miles of hiking trails up there, and other stuff to do. So we ate in the restaurant, bought two bags of magnets in the shop, and went back down, to where O and O were waiting. (When I got home, I read the Wikipedia entry which lists all the gruesome accidents that have happened there - glad I didn't do that before we went).
We got back in the cars, and went to find our Motel. Motel 6 is renowned as being the cheapest chain of hotels in the USA. We paid $60 per room for two rooms, each of which had two double beds and so could sleep 4 people (that's 32 pounds a room, or 8 pounds a person). Motel 6 is a bit like a Travelodge, only without all those luxurous frills you get in Travelodges. In traditional American style, it had a neon MOTEL sign, with the M flickering. (We did get towels, and soap, and there was a pool, and despite it being November, it was warm enough to swim). There were cigarette burns in the blankets, and an upside down ashtray with a no smoking sign on it. (I thought that they'd be better not putting the ashtray there, but S said at least there was an ashtray when people ignored the signs).
The room had cards to open the doors. Opa was very unhappy about this - he said he wanted a key. He couldn't work the card, and I had to help him the first few times. (It was typical that the next day his card really did stop working, thus confirming his prejudice.)
Opa thought it was very expensive. he kept trying to suggest that they had actually wanted us to buy the hotel. Hotels in Germany are MUCH cheaper than that, he said. However, he also said that they all have keys to open the door, so it's a while since he stayed in a hotel in Germany. S thought that they had room service, because there was a picture of a pizza on the card. But it just said "Phone Dominos to get a pizza".
We had to eat in shifts. so that someone stayed with A and D. Opa and Oma were going to go first, but S was worried about them, so I went too. The only place to eat anywhere nearby was "Casa Martinez 24 hour Mexican and American Restaurant / Truck Stop". Seventy five percent (I later learned) of the population of Indio is Latino / Hispanic, and so there's an awful lot of people with English as a second language. This made communication difficult for me, and close to impossible for Opa.
I asked what sort of beer they had, and the waitress asked if I wanted light beer, or dark beer. This is a common distinction in Germany - dark beer being more like bitter, light beer more like lager (of course in Germany, it's all lager). I asked what light beer they had, and they said Bud Light, Miller Light - this meaning of "Light" is low alcohol, and that wasn't any good. I didn't know what to say to get something like lager, so we got dark beer - called Negra Modelo. Opa asked (way too loudly for comfort) if that was "The beer for the black niggers".
Now Opa is quite conservative (I was recounting this story to someone here, and said "Conservative with a small c. " They, of course, didn't know what that meant, and by the time I'd explained, and then finished the story, they wished they hadn't asked what I'd done at the weekend.) He doesn't, for example, eat pizza. Not eating pizza is a challenge when we're out with A and D, because the only thing we can usually guarantee that they will eat is pizza. So eating in a Mexican-American restaurant, where a lot of the menu was in Spanish, presented a challenge. He ordered steak, which I thought was safe. It was, relatively, except it came with refried beans and rice.
It was S and my wedding anniversary, so we felt we should go out and celebrate in some way. We asked at reception if there were a bar somewhere, where we could get a drink. The two women at reception looked at each other nervously. Eventually they suggested we go to the Indian Casino down the road. We had the map lady, so we asked her instead, and then we realized why the receptionists looked nervous. The bars all looked a bit like that scene from The Blues Brothers where they turn up at Bob's Country Bunker, except that all the clientele was Hispanic.
We tried a couple, and gave up. We went back to Casa Martinez and had a drink there. Then we went back to the hotel, to sleep to the dulcet tones of freight trains going past the other side of the road. As I tried to explain to Opa in the morning, freight trains in America go very slowly, so it wasn't as bad as if they had gone fast. They also have really, really loud horns (I've learned).
We slept (as we always have to) with one twin and one parent in each bed. Which always the twins very happy - they wake up in the morning, and smile. But makes for unhappy parents, as they wriggle, kick (me, the wall), demand their blanket gets put back, shout and snore and sweat, all night long.
The problem (I always have) with hiring a car is that you book your car on the phone or web or whatever, and then you go to the car hire place. They say that if you cough up only a small amount of money more, you can have a slightly nicer car. That seems like very little more, and worth it. But then they say, for only 5 dollars more, you can have a car that's slightly nicer than the one you've upgraded to. And so on, until you find yourself driving a Ferrari home. Actually, it wasn't that bad, but we did end up with a Dodge Charger.
We picked up the boys from German school, ran around looking for my camera for about an hour (unsuccessfully, hence no pictures here) and set off. We had booked a room at a Motel 6, which I had carefully selected as being somewhere close to where we wanted to be, in a place called Indio.
First stop though was Palm Springs, which we decided to go to because (a) we'd heard of it, and (b) it was on the way. We went to the Palm Springs Visitor Centre, and saw a leaflet for the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway ("World's largest 360 degree rotating cars). Which sounded interesting, so we went there.
Now to me, a tramway is a bit like a railway - it goes along a flat bit of ground for a while. So an aerial tramway would be like that, but lifted into the air. (Like the cable cars at Alton Towers). But they weren't. By the time we got to the place it was dark, but the trams were running.
We parked the car, and went in. Oma and Opa declined a ride on the aerial tramway, so I bought the 4 tickets. (Children under 4 were free, when they asked how old the boys were, A and D shouted "Four!" and held up 4 fingers, just to be clear, before I'd even considered lying.
It turns out that my definition of tramway was wrong (I had a brief debate with Opa about exactly what a cable car was - he claimed that it was a tram that runs along the street pulled by a cable. We have occasional debates about the meaning of English words, and he is always convinced he is right. It's usually easier to let him continue in that belief.) This was a cable car, which went up a mountain. A really, really big mountain. Oma and Opa were sent running back to the car to fetch jumpers while we waited for the next car. The cable car rises 2 miles, in about 11 minutes. That's high. And fast. And made your ears hurt. Poor A and D didn't know why their ears felt funny, and couldn't understand the concept of swallowing (or, on the way down, of holding their nose and blowing).
Their were 4 towers, from which the cables were suspended. S said it was lucky it was dark, because it was very, very high (the highest was 227 feet) and the car swung slightly alarmingly as it passed over the towers. The floor in the car rotated, so you had a view, but this confused A and D, who were trying to hold on to the rail on the wall (which didn't rotate). After falling over a couple of times, they got the hang of it though.
At the top was a large building (which got their by helicopter and cable car). Everything there has to come up by cable car - even the water to flush the toilets. There was a restaurant and a bar, a shop and a museum, and a mountain outside. Trouble was, we were coming to the desert, so weren't really dressed for going outside in 5 degree weather. It did look quite exciting - there were 54 miles of hiking trails up there, and other stuff to do. So we ate in the restaurant, bought two bags of magnets in the shop, and went back down, to where O and O were waiting. (When I got home, I read the Wikipedia entry which lists all the gruesome accidents that have happened there - glad I didn't do that before we went).
We got back in the cars, and went to find our Motel. Motel 6 is renowned as being the cheapest chain of hotels in the USA. We paid $60 per room for two rooms, each of which had two double beds and so could sleep 4 people (that's 32 pounds a room, or 8 pounds a person). Motel 6 is a bit like a Travelodge, only without all those luxurous frills you get in Travelodges. In traditional American style, it had a neon MOTEL sign, with the M flickering. (We did get towels, and soap, and there was a pool, and despite it being November, it was warm enough to swim). There were cigarette burns in the blankets, and an upside down ashtray with a no smoking sign on it. (I thought that they'd be better not putting the ashtray there, but S said at least there was an ashtray when people ignored the signs).
The room had cards to open the doors. Opa was very unhappy about this - he said he wanted a key. He couldn't work the card, and I had to help him the first few times. (It was typical that the next day his card really did stop working, thus confirming his prejudice.)
Opa thought it was very expensive. he kept trying to suggest that they had actually wanted us to buy the hotel. Hotels in Germany are MUCH cheaper than that, he said. However, he also said that they all have keys to open the door, so it's a while since he stayed in a hotel in Germany. S thought that they had room service, because there was a picture of a pizza on the card. But it just said "Phone Dominos to get a pizza".
We had to eat in shifts. so that someone stayed with A and D. Opa and Oma were going to go first, but S was worried about them, so I went too. The only place to eat anywhere nearby was "Casa Martinez 24 hour Mexican and American Restaurant / Truck Stop". Seventy five percent (I later learned) of the population of Indio is Latino / Hispanic, and so there's an awful lot of people with English as a second language. This made communication difficult for me, and close to impossible for Opa.
I asked what sort of beer they had, and the waitress asked if I wanted light beer, or dark beer. This is a common distinction in Germany - dark beer being more like bitter, light beer more like lager (of course in Germany, it's all lager). I asked what light beer they had, and they said Bud Light, Miller Light - this meaning of "Light" is low alcohol, and that wasn't any good. I didn't know what to say to get something like lager, so we got dark beer - called Negra Modelo. Opa asked (way too loudly for comfort) if that was "The beer for the black niggers".
Now Opa is quite conservative (I was recounting this story to someone here, and said "Conservative with a small c. " They, of course, didn't know what that meant, and by the time I'd explained, and then finished the story, they wished they hadn't asked what I'd done at the weekend.) He doesn't, for example, eat pizza. Not eating pizza is a challenge when we're out with A and D, because the only thing we can usually guarantee that they will eat is pizza. So eating in a Mexican-American restaurant, where a lot of the menu was in Spanish, presented a challenge. He ordered steak, which I thought was safe. It was, relatively, except it came with refried beans and rice.
It was S and my wedding anniversary, so we felt we should go out and celebrate in some way. We asked at reception if there were a bar somewhere, where we could get a drink. The two women at reception looked at each other nervously. Eventually they suggested we go to the Indian Casino down the road. We had the map lady, so we asked her instead, and then we realized why the receptionists looked nervous. The bars all looked a bit like that scene from The Blues Brothers where they turn up at Bob's Country Bunker, except that all the clientele was Hispanic.
We tried a couple, and gave up. We went back to Casa Martinez and had a drink there. Then we went back to the hotel, to sleep to the dulcet tones of freight trains going past the other side of the road. As I tried to explain to Opa in the morning, freight trains in America go very slowly, so it wasn't as bad as if they had gone fast. They also have really, really loud horns (I've learned).
We slept (as we always have to) with one twin and one parent in each bed. Which always the twins very happy - they wake up in the morning, and smile. But makes for unhappy parents, as they wriggle, kick (me, the wall), demand their blanket gets put back, shout and snore and sweat, all night long.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Tales of the Inlaws
I can't recount every tale of the inlaws, because it would take so long that I wouldn't be around to see any more tales of the inlaws, so I'm only going to tell a couple.
Black tea: We were going shopping. Tea was on the shopping list. "Black tea" says Opa. "Tea means black tea", I reply. "Green tea, red tea, black tea. Must have black tea. Schwarztee" (that last bit was German).
I know it's called Black tea in German, but in English it's just tea. If you ask for black tea, people won't know what you mean. It's just called tea in English. I try to explain this carefully and slowly. He doesn't understand.
Black tea. Not green tea or red tea. Black tea. He says.
It's my fucking language (!) I know what to ask for when you want tea. Why doesn't he believe me!!! We have this every time we go shopping, or every time we are out and he wants tea. Arrrgggghhh!!!! (And now I've gone way over my exclamation mark quota).
Microwave: Our microwave has the best UI (geeky term - pronounced you-ee, stands for user interface) I've ever seen on a microwave (and I use to think our old one was good). Usually on a microwave, you want to cook something for 3 minutes or 2 minutes or something like that. Often you have to press power, and then the time (two, zero, zero) and then start - that's 6 buttons to press. But the microwave we have now is like an exercise in parsimonious control. You put the food in, and if you want it doing for two minutes, you press 2. Nothing else. It starts and goes for 2 minutes. For 1 minute you press 1. Nothing else. Just 1. For 5 minutes, you press 5. Etc. (There are lots of other clever things you can do, but really, how often do you need them?)
So Opa is confused by the microwave. He asks for help. I show him. He looks confused. I explain it to him slowly (there's hardly anything to explain). He wants to know where the rest of the buttons are. Or what the magical thing I did to control the microwave with the power of thought. Or something like that.
I explain it again. He shrugs and walks off - he thinks it's beyond him, and there's no point trying.
He's like one of those people who, when the computer says "Press any key to continue" phone up the helpline because they can't find the "any" key.
Black tea: We were going shopping. Tea was on the shopping list. "Black tea" says Opa. "Tea means black tea", I reply. "Green tea, red tea, black tea. Must have black tea. Schwarztee" (that last bit was German).
I know it's called Black tea in German, but in English it's just tea. If you ask for black tea, people won't know what you mean. It's just called tea in English. I try to explain this carefully and slowly. He doesn't understand.
Black tea. Not green tea or red tea. Black tea. He says.
It's my fucking language (!) I know what to ask for when you want tea. Why doesn't he believe me!!! We have this every time we go shopping, or every time we are out and he wants tea. Arrrgggghhh!!!! (And now I've gone way over my exclamation mark quota).
Microwave: Our microwave has the best UI (geeky term - pronounced you-ee, stands for user interface) I've ever seen on a microwave (and I use to think our old one was good). Usually on a microwave, you want to cook something for 3 minutes or 2 minutes or something like that. Often you have to press power, and then the time (two, zero, zero) and then start - that's 6 buttons to press. But the microwave we have now is like an exercise in parsimonious control. You put the food in, and if you want it doing for two minutes, you press 2. Nothing else. It starts and goes for 2 minutes. For 1 minute you press 1. Nothing else. Just 1. For 5 minutes, you press 5. Etc. (There are lots of other clever things you can do, but really, how often do you need them?)
So Opa is confused by the microwave. He asks for help. I show him. He looks confused. I explain it to him slowly (there's hardly anything to explain). He wants to know where the rest of the buttons are. Or what the magical thing I did to control the microwave with the power of thought. Or something like that.
I explain it again. He shrugs and walks off - he thinks it's beyond him, and there's no point trying.
He's like one of those people who, when the computer says "Press any key to continue" phone up the helpline because they can't find the "any" key.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Visitation
Oma and Opa are visiting, from Germany.
On Saturday we went to the farmer's market (I'm going to have to photograph the green stripy tomatoes before they all get eaten) and we bought, amongst other things, sugar snap peas.
Opa does suffer from the habit, common to many Germans, of being absolutely convinced he is correct. (Remember that I've Never Met a Nice South African song that Spitting Image did? One bit went "I've met a normal merman and a fairly modest German" (actually, type modest german into Google, and you get a deconstruction of the lyrics as the first link).
So Opa took the sugar snap peas, opened the pod, carefully extracted the peas and threw away the pod. I told him that you can eat the pod. He looked at me as if I were mad. I ate a pod. He looked worried. S ate a pod, he laughed and carried on eating peas, and discarding the pod.
He showed A and D to eat the peas and throw away the pod. I just ate discarded pods.
On Saturday we went to the farmer's market (I'm going to have to photograph the green stripy tomatoes before they all get eaten) and we bought, amongst other things, sugar snap peas.
Opa does suffer from the habit, common to many Germans, of being absolutely convinced he is correct. (Remember that I've Never Met a Nice South African song that Spitting Image did? One bit went "I've met a normal merman and a fairly modest German" (actually, type modest german into Google, and you get a deconstruction of the lyrics as the first link).
So Opa took the sugar snap peas, opened the pod, carefully extracted the peas and threw away the pod. I told him that you can eat the pod. He looked at me as if I were mad. I ate a pod. He looked worried. S ate a pod, he laughed and carried on eating peas, and discarding the pod.
He showed A and D to eat the peas and throw away the pod. I just ate discarded pods.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Trader Joe's
Our favorite supermarket is called Trader Joe's. It's reasonably wholesome - they don't sell anything with hydrogenated fats, or high fructose corn syrup.
Digression: I don't know what's wrong with high fructose corn syrup. Fructose is in lots of stuff that's good, but apparently it's bad. It's funny that people worry about different things here. All the milk (well, the milk we buy) says it's free from RGBST or BSRGT or something like that. I don't know if our British Farm Standard milk had it in, and we didn't care, or didn't have it in, because it wasn't allowed, or might have, or what. There seem to be lots of things like that. It's really hard to get a good kiddy's fruit yogurt that's not full of sugar and has no fruit in. No one seems to worry about that.
Anyway, Trader Joe's is nice to its staff, in that they get health insurance chucked in, and better pay and chances of promotion than a lot of places, and stuff like that, unlike a lot of other supermarkets. The staff are all quite different from most supermarkets - they're much nicer, in a 'We're being nice because we want to be, not because we have a list of stock phrases' sort of way. I chatted with the last checkout bloke about the Tofurkey sausages I'd bought - he said they were good.
There is a bizarre airport theme about the shops, which I don't understand. The entrance is called 'Arrivals' and the exit is called 'departures'. Above the tills there are toy wooden aeroplanes and balloons and helicopters hanging from the ceiling, with no theme to them. It's like someone was sent into town to buy 10 wooden aeroplane type things, all different. In the one near us, there are wheels and landing gear coming out of the ceiling, as if a plane was landing and then a shop was built. It's always hard to explain that to A and D.
It also has silly names on lots of it's stuff. The American stuff has the brand name Trader Joe's, but Italian stuff (pizza, tomato sauce) has the brand name Trader Giotto's, Chinese stuff is Trader Ming's, and Mexican is Trader Jose's. We bought a pack of sliced cheese of different kinds the other day, it was called 'A real crowd cheeser'.
Digression: I don't know what's wrong with high fructose corn syrup. Fructose is in lots of stuff that's good, but apparently it's bad. It's funny that people worry about different things here. All the milk (well, the milk we buy) says it's free from RGBST or BSRGT or something like that. I don't know if our British Farm Standard milk had it in, and we didn't care, or didn't have it in, because it wasn't allowed, or might have, or what. There seem to be lots of things like that. It's really hard to get a good kiddy's fruit yogurt that's not full of sugar and has no fruit in. No one seems to worry about that.
Anyway, Trader Joe's is nice to its staff, in that they get health insurance chucked in, and better pay and chances of promotion than a lot of places, and stuff like that, unlike a lot of other supermarkets. The staff are all quite different from most supermarkets - they're much nicer, in a 'We're being nice because we want to be, not because we have a list of stock phrases' sort of way. I chatted with the last checkout bloke about the Tofurkey sausages I'd bought - he said they were good.
There is a bizarre airport theme about the shops, which I don't understand. The entrance is called 'Arrivals' and the exit is called 'departures'. Above the tills there are toy wooden aeroplanes and balloons and helicopters hanging from the ceiling, with no theme to them. It's like someone was sent into town to buy 10 wooden aeroplane type things, all different. In the one near us, there are wheels and landing gear coming out of the ceiling, as if a plane was landing and then a shop was built. It's always hard to explain that to A and D.
It also has silly names on lots of it's stuff. The American stuff has the brand name Trader Joe's, but Italian stuff (pizza, tomato sauce) has the brand name Trader Giotto's, Chinese stuff is Trader Ming's, and Mexican is Trader Jose's. We bought a pack of sliced cheese of different kinds the other day, it was called 'A real crowd cheeser'.
More on toilets (and other stuff)
I know I said I wouldn't write about toilets much, but I'm driven to doing it again.
The flushing mechanism is incredibly simple - you pull the handle, and it lifts a sort of plug, so the water falls from the cistern into the toilet. Let go of the handle, and it stops. The system in the UK is much more sophisticated (and wasn't actually invented by Thomas Crapper) - which involves a syphon to suck the water up and drop it down again - you pull the handle to start the process, and then it's off on it's own. The advantage of the syphon system is that it flushes hard, even when there's only half a tankful of water. The plughole system (as I'm going to call it, 'cos I don't know another name) means you have to hold the handle for as long as you want to flush for, and then you can stop when, ermm... , the need has passed. Which I guess saves water.
But the American toilets are clever at the other end. They have more water in them to start with (I used to see them occasionally at home - our neighbours had one when I was young , and they had a bidet too, ). When some water goes in, it increases the level enough to start water flowing out, and this creates a syphon which sucks all the errmmm, contents of the toilet away. Then some more water comes in to refill the toilet. This seems more sensible to me - UK toilets seem to work on the principle of massive dilution (a bit like homeopathy, eh?), which means that Domestos, and other stuff, can stay behind. US toilets empty themselves completely, and then refill with water.
However, to create the syphon, the hole at the back of the toilet, that the stuff goes down, has to be on the small side. And that's created a problem twice now, in one of our toilets. We almost got a house with only one toilet; now we realised that it's lucky we didn't.
While I'm on about domestic things, I'll continue.
We've lived in two places now, which both had a dishwasher. So I have an N = 2 from which to generalise, which I think gives me some authority. And both dishwashers (and by extension, American dishwashers) are rubbish.
Dishwashers, as I know them, have a squirty thing at the bottom, and a squirty thing half way up, under the top later. This way stuff at the bottom and stuff at the top, get washed. The squirty thing at the bottom usually squirts harder, so you put dirty pots and stuff at the bottom, and less dirty stuff at the top. It's occasionally a pain, because something too tall sticks up, or something thin falls down, and stops the top squirty thing spinning, which means that the stuff at the top doesn't get clean.
American dishwashers solve this problem by not having a thing at the top. The thing at the bottom just squirts really hard (and on our second one has a sort of showerhead that extends a bit from the centre). But this means that if you put dirty pots at the bottom, they completely block the spray to the top. Stuff at the top comes out almost dry. And if you put them at the top, they don't get clean, because it doesn't squirt very hard there.
I was going to talk about washing machines too, but I'll stop there.
The dishwashers here have a squr
The flushing mechanism is incredibly simple - you pull the handle, and it lifts a sort of plug, so the water falls from the cistern into the toilet. Let go of the handle, and it stops. The system in the UK is much more sophisticated (and wasn't actually invented by Thomas Crapper) - which involves a syphon to suck the water up and drop it down again - you pull the handle to start the process, and then it's off on it's own. The advantage of the syphon system is that it flushes hard, even when there's only half a tankful of water. The plughole system (as I'm going to call it, 'cos I don't know another name) means you have to hold the handle for as long as you want to flush for, and then you can stop when, ermm... , the need has passed. Which I guess saves water.
But the American toilets are clever at the other end. They have more water in them to start with (I used to see them occasionally at home - our neighbours had one when I was young , and they had a bidet too, ). When some water goes in, it increases the level enough to start water flowing out, and this creates a syphon which sucks all the errmmm, contents of the toilet away. Then some more water comes in to refill the toilet. This seems more sensible to me - UK toilets seem to work on the principle of massive dilution (a bit like homeopathy, eh?), which means that Domestos, and other stuff, can stay behind. US toilets empty themselves completely, and then refill with water.
However, to create the syphon, the hole at the back of the toilet, that the stuff goes down, has to be on the small side. And that's created a problem twice now, in one of our toilets. We almost got a house with only one toilet; now we realised that it's lucky we didn't.
While I'm on about domestic things, I'll continue.
We've lived in two places now, which both had a dishwasher. So I have an N = 2 from which to generalise, which I think gives me some authority. And both dishwashers (and by extension, American dishwashers) are rubbish.
Dishwashers, as I know them, have a squirty thing at the bottom, and a squirty thing half way up, under the top later. This way stuff at the bottom and stuff at the top, get washed. The squirty thing at the bottom usually squirts harder, so you put dirty pots and stuff at the bottom, and less dirty stuff at the top. It's occasionally a pain, because something too tall sticks up, or something thin falls down, and stops the top squirty thing spinning, which means that the stuff at the top doesn't get clean.
American dishwashers solve this problem by not having a thing at the top. The thing at the bottom just squirts really hard (and on our second one has a sort of showerhead that extends a bit from the centre). But this means that if you put dirty pots at the bottom, they completely block the spray to the top. Stuff at the top comes out almost dry. And if you put them at the top, they don't get clean, because it doesn't squirt very hard there.
I was going to talk about washing machines too, but I'll stop there.
The dishwashers here have a squr
Assistance
I've been assigned an administrative assistant, called A. I is so efficient, it scares me.
On Wednesday she asked me if I want a noticeboard and a whiteboard in my office. I said I did, and had a little chat with her about where to put them. On Thursday morning, before I arrived, they were fitted. She came to see them, but they were wrong. The noticeboard was in the wrong place, and the whiteboard wasn't level (she said). They were supposed to call her over to see them when they were fitted, but she hadn't been called.
I said it was OK, but for one of 'her researchers' it wasn't good enough.
At lunchtime they came to move the noticeboard, and get a spirit level out for the white board (which I told them I thought was OK, but I think that they were frightened of her). A came later, and saw that there were holes and some scratches were the noticeboard was (was for about 4 hours). A went to make phone calls, and someone came to see me later on and said that they would be filled and the wall repainted over the weekend. And would it be OK to just paint those parts, without painting the whole wall. A wasn't around, so I said yes.
On Wednesday she asked me if I want a noticeboard and a whiteboard in my office. I said I did, and had a little chat with her about where to put them. On Thursday morning, before I arrived, they were fitted. She came to see them, but they were wrong. The noticeboard was in the wrong place, and the whiteboard wasn't level (she said). They were supposed to call her over to see them when they were fitted, but she hadn't been called.
I said it was OK, but for one of 'her researchers' it wasn't good enough.
At lunchtime they came to move the noticeboard, and get a spirit level out for the white board (which I told them I thought was OK, but I think that they were frightened of her). A came later, and saw that there were holes and some scratches were the noticeboard was (was for about 4 hours). A went to make phone calls, and someone came to see me later on and said that they would be filled and the wall repainted over the weekend. And would it be OK to just paint those parts, without painting the whole wall. A wasn't around, so I said yes.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Ouch ouch ouch
Rode my bike for the first time from our new abode to CoCE. I got slightly lost on the way, partly because of my desire to avoid going up hills, but mostly because I wasn't really thinking about where I was going.
Did I mention that I'd had a cold recently? I thought I had, but the lack outpouring of sympathy from my loyal readers makes me think that maybe I didn't. Anyway, the fact that I'd had a cold recently, combined with having not ridden my bike for a while made it feel like really hard work.
I did the ride in 45 minutes, but if I hadn't gone the wrong way, I think that would have been about 5 minutes less. And my legs hurt when I arrived. Still, no pain, no gain.
Did I mention that I'd had a cold recently? I thought I had, but the lack outpouring of sympathy from my loyal readers makes me think that maybe I didn't. Anyway, the fact that I'd had a cold recently, combined with having not ridden my bike for a while made it feel like really hard work.
I did the ride in 45 minutes, but if I hadn't gone the wrong way, I think that would have been about 5 minutes less. And my legs hurt when I arrived. Still, no pain, no gain.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Moving house
We've moved house. It wasn't very exciting. Removal men came, with 180 items of 'stuff', and put it in the new apartment. We opened some of the boxes and put it away.
We've had a phone line installed - I bought two phones for $5 each from Craigslist, although one doesn't work. We went to the thrift shop and bought a TV ($30) and a toaster ($5). The toaster seems to work OK, but smells like a toaster that hasn't been used for a while when you turn it on (I've not actually tried putting bread in it yet). S bought some cups and a very, very large wineglass thing (so large I suspect it's ornamental, not actually for drinking from).
The people in the thrift shop are all peculiarly, well, peculiar. At the till, we were paying for the telly, the toaster, and the other bits and bobs. (Remember now that the telly was $30). They rang up the total on the till, and it came to $29. "That's not enough" I said. The woman looked at me like I was insulting her. It's a thrift shop, and the money goes to charity, and it was a big telly for $30. The telly is $30, it's less than that. This went on, and I won't bore you with it, but it took some time, and two attempts to fix it.
We then went to pick up the telly (there was a bit where you can drive in, to load it). I put the TV in the car, and asked the man about the remote. "Has it got a remote?" he asked? It said remitte #81 on the TV, so I showed this to him.
"Can I get it?"
"Oh yes, it's #81." He smiled.
"Where do I get the remote?"
"#81"
Lots of friendly smiling, but no progress getting the remote. Eventually I went back into the shop where I paid, and discovered that remotes are kept under the counter.
This happens a lot, that people misunderstand me in shops. I wonder to what extent this is because (a) I speak too fast (S says this is the case), (b) my accent (the most common guess from Americans is that I'm Australian, although someone guessed Scottish the other day, one of the removal men said "You're not from London, are you from the North", which was the most accurate guess from anyone here), (c) I don't use the right words.
I went to Subway to buy sandwiches for the removal men for lunch, it was a nightmare. Subways always try to serve you fast, 'cos there's a queue. But there are about 100 choices to be made, and I was trying to make simultaneous choices for 6 sandwiches at the same time, including D and A who wanted cheese, black olives, and nothing else, which kind of confused the chap serving. There are 5 kinds of bread (helpfully labeled), N kinds of cheese (I don't know what any of them are - sometimes they say "American cheese OK?". About 20 different sorts of salad things to put on, and I don't know the names of all of them (gherkins need to be called pickles, chilies need to be called jalapenos). There are all kinds of mysterious bottles of sauce - I know that mustard and mayonnaise are two of them, because they are the defaults. And I know that ketchup isn't one of them, because if you ask for that, they look blank, but I don't know what the rest are. There's salt and pepper, and two other pots that I don't know about, and they don't name them.
We've ordered $300 worth of bookshelves from Staples, and an inflatable mattress from Amazon (although we've nowhere to put the mattress until the bookshelves arrive and we can empty boxes onto them).
There are all sorts of rules in the complex we are in. There was a sign in the lift that said "I'm the new manager and the rules are going to be enforced now". Some people, it seems, were leaving toys on their balconies.
We have two parking spaces, and I had a cunning ploy - I thought we could buy a shed and put it in one of the spaces. But the rules have thought of that - you may only park a car in your parking space. Aha, I thought. I'll buy a knackered old van, park it there, and put stuff in it. But the rules have thought of that - read that first rule again, it's cars only. Not vans. As well as that, the rules say that the car has to have current insurance and have inflated tires.
Another of the rules is that if you have a shade on your balcony (like a blind, but outside) it has to be made of bamboo, so off we went to Home Depot to buy bamboo shades. Home Depot is like B and Q, except that it seems to have staff that are helpful and know what they are talking about. It also had more people that looked like they might do things to people's houses for a job, and fewer who looked like they'd watched "Changing Rooms" one time too often. And it had a McDonald's in it. And, when you buy more stuff than you can fit in your car, you can hire a van for an hour for $19, to get it home.
I also didn't have any electrical tools - there was no point bringing any, because the voltage would be wrong. And there was not much point in buying expensive tools, because one day we might return to the UK, and again, they won't work. And buying cheap tools is just an exercise in getting pissed off when they break after 5 minutes.
Quandary.
The solution was to buy rechargeable tools - then we just need a different voltage charger, and we're away. And if you're going to buy rechargeable tools, you might as well buy De Walt rechargeable tools, especially if, when you buy the combination of six tools, you get a free bag to carry them in, and a free hand Hoover thingy. So that's what I did, and it was very exciting. It also had an angle grinder - angle grinders are great. It's not often that you need an angle grinder, but when you do, you really need an angle grinder. You could put a screw in with a normal screwdriver, not an electric one. But for some jobs, it's an angle grinder, or it doesn't get done.
So I used my electric screwdriver to put up the blinds, and D and A used the vacuum and the light to make sure all the rechargeable batteries are flat so that none of the tools work next time. (The blinds, I should mention, are not just there to be blinds. They make leaning over the balcony and falling off much harder for both children and cats.)
Along with our phone line, we get a DSL line. But that takes longer to connect, and they have to post us stuff like a modem. "But J" (I hear you ask) "how are you typing this on the internet, when you have no connection?" One of the benefits of communal living is that a LOT of people around have wireless networks, and some of them don't password protect then. There are two with a pretty strong signal, and I alternate between them.
It's possible for someone to access some of what I'm sending over the internet if I use their network, but then someone who doesn't lock their network, and who hasn't changed the name of their network from "Linksys" probably doesn't know how to do that. (I feel that this is karma, as I never locked our network back in England. )
We've had a phone line installed - I bought two phones for $5 each from Craigslist, although one doesn't work. We went to the thrift shop and bought a TV ($30) and a toaster ($5). The toaster seems to work OK, but smells like a toaster that hasn't been used for a while when you turn it on (I've not actually tried putting bread in it yet). S bought some cups and a very, very large wineglass thing (so large I suspect it's ornamental, not actually for drinking from).
The people in the thrift shop are all peculiarly, well, peculiar. At the till, we were paying for the telly, the toaster, and the other bits and bobs. (Remember now that the telly was $30). They rang up the total on the till, and it came to $29. "That's not enough" I said. The woman looked at me like I was insulting her. It's a thrift shop, and the money goes to charity, and it was a big telly for $30. The telly is $30, it's less than that. This went on, and I won't bore you with it, but it took some time, and two attempts to fix it.
We then went to pick up the telly (there was a bit where you can drive in, to load it). I put the TV in the car, and asked the man about the remote. "Has it got a remote?" he asked? It said remitte #81 on the TV, so I showed this to him.
"Can I get it?"
"Oh yes, it's #81." He smiled.
"Where do I get the remote?"
"#81"
Lots of friendly smiling, but no progress getting the remote. Eventually I went back into the shop where I paid, and discovered that remotes are kept under the counter.
This happens a lot, that people misunderstand me in shops. I wonder to what extent this is because (a) I speak too fast (S says this is the case), (b) my accent (the most common guess from Americans is that I'm Australian, although someone guessed Scottish the other day, one of the removal men said "You're not from London, are you from the North", which was the most accurate guess from anyone here), (c) I don't use the right words.
I went to Subway to buy sandwiches for the removal men for lunch, it was a nightmare. Subways always try to serve you fast, 'cos there's a queue. But there are about 100 choices to be made, and I was trying to make simultaneous choices for 6 sandwiches at the same time, including D and A who wanted cheese, black olives, and nothing else, which kind of confused the chap serving. There are 5 kinds of bread (helpfully labeled), N kinds of cheese (I don't know what any of them are - sometimes they say "American cheese OK?". About 20 different sorts of salad things to put on, and I don't know the names of all of them (gherkins need to be called pickles, chilies need to be called jalapenos). There are all kinds of mysterious bottles of sauce - I know that mustard and mayonnaise are two of them, because they are the defaults. And I know that ketchup isn't one of them, because if you ask for that, they look blank, but I don't know what the rest are. There's salt and pepper, and two other pots that I don't know about, and they don't name them.
We've ordered $300 worth of bookshelves from Staples, and an inflatable mattress from Amazon (although we've nowhere to put the mattress until the bookshelves arrive and we can empty boxes onto them).
There are all sorts of rules in the complex we are in. There was a sign in the lift that said "I'm the new manager and the rules are going to be enforced now". Some people, it seems, were leaving toys on their balconies.
We have two parking spaces, and I had a cunning ploy - I thought we could buy a shed and put it in one of the spaces. But the rules have thought of that - you may only park a car in your parking space. Aha, I thought. I'll buy a knackered old van, park it there, and put stuff in it. But the rules have thought of that - read that first rule again, it's cars only. Not vans. As well as that, the rules say that the car has to have current insurance and have inflated tires.
Another of the rules is that if you have a shade on your balcony (like a blind, but outside) it has to be made of bamboo, so off we went to Home Depot to buy bamboo shades. Home Depot is like B and Q, except that it seems to have staff that are helpful and know what they are talking about. It also had more people that looked like they might do things to people's houses for a job, and fewer who looked like they'd watched "Changing Rooms" one time too often. And it had a McDonald's in it. And, when you buy more stuff than you can fit in your car, you can hire a van for an hour for $19, to get it home.
I also didn't have any electrical tools - there was no point bringing any, because the voltage would be wrong. And there was not much point in buying expensive tools, because one day we might return to the UK, and again, they won't work. And buying cheap tools is just an exercise in getting pissed off when they break after 5 minutes.
Quandary.
The solution was to buy rechargeable tools - then we just need a different voltage charger, and we're away. And if you're going to buy rechargeable tools, you might as well buy De Walt rechargeable tools, especially if, when you buy the combination of six tools, you get a free bag to carry them in, and a free hand Hoover thingy. So that's what I did, and it was very exciting. It also had an angle grinder - angle grinders are great. It's not often that you need an angle grinder, but when you do, you really need an angle grinder. You could put a screw in with a normal screwdriver, not an electric one. But for some jobs, it's an angle grinder, or it doesn't get done.
So I used my electric screwdriver to put up the blinds, and D and A used the vacuum and the light to make sure all the rechargeable batteries are flat so that none of the tools work next time. (The blinds, I should mention, are not just there to be blinds. They make leaning over the balcony and falling off much harder for both children and cats.)
Along with our phone line, we get a DSL line. But that takes longer to connect, and they have to post us stuff like a modem. "But J" (I hear you ask) "how are you typing this on the internet, when you have no connection?" One of the benefits of communal living is that a LOT of people around have wireless networks, and some of them don't password protect then. There are two with a pretty strong signal, and I alternate between them.
It's possible for someone to access some of what I'm sending over the internet if I use their network, but then someone who doesn't lock their network, and who hasn't changed the name of their network from "Linksys" probably doesn't know how to do that. (I feel that this is karma, as I never locked our network back in England. )
Monday, November 06, 2006
Visiting Tinseltown
On Friday I went to a conference at a hotel in West Hollywood. West Hollywood is a weird place - it's a city in it's own right, and it's completely surrounded by Los Angeles city. (It's next to Beverly Hills, which also surrounded by Los Angeles).
It's not as weird as North Hollywood. North London is the bit of London that's North of the rest of London. Northern England is the top half of England. North Hollywood decided to be called North Hollywood, because Hollywood was kind of cool, and it wanted to be cool too, even though it's not even attached to the rest of Hollywood (and isn't even part of Hollywood). You can see North Hollywood on this map, and you can see it's not really near to Hollywood.
I'm in America now, so I drove to the hotel. I drove into the entrance, thinking that there would be a car park. I stopped and a man gestured for me to get out of the car, and asked me for the keys. Oh no! This was going to be my first experience of valet parking.
He gave me a bit of yellow paper, and drove my car away. At the end of the day, I asked T (who also works at CoCE) if this piece of paper now was effectively my car. If someone stole this piece of paper, they could have my car? T said that that was theoretically correct, but given that every other car in the car park was a Porsche, a Mercedes, or (if they were slumming it) a Lexus, that it was unlikely anyone would be interested in mine.
It's not as weird as North Hollywood. North London is the bit of London that's North of the rest of London. Northern England is the top half of England. North Hollywood decided to be called North Hollywood, because Hollywood was kind of cool, and it wanted to be cool too, even though it's not even attached to the rest of Hollywood (and isn't even part of Hollywood). You can see North Hollywood on this map, and you can see it's not really near to Hollywood.
I'm in America now, so I drove to the hotel. I drove into the entrance, thinking that there would be a car park. I stopped and a man gestured for me to get out of the car, and asked me for the keys. Oh no! This was going to be my first experience of valet parking.
He gave me a bit of yellow paper, and drove my car away. At the end of the day, I asked T (who also works at CoCE) if this piece of paper now was effectively my car. If someone stole this piece of paper, they could have my car? T said that that was theoretically correct, but given that every other car in the car park was a Porsche, a Mercedes, or (if they were slumming it) a Lexus, that it was unlikely anyone would be interested in mine.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Driving Tests
We've had all kinds of exciting things happen in the last week or so, so I've not had time to sit down and write about them. It's a strange sort of contardiction. . When nothing happens, I've lots of time to write, and nothing to write about, and when something happens, it's the opposite.
As well as that, I've got a cold. It was approaching 30C today (that's 86F), and I've got a cold. I hate having a cold when it's hot, it just feels wrong. I don't like having a cold when it's cold, either. (Notice how I got a mention of the weather in there, without appearing to gloat).
Anyway, this week we've been taking driving tests. Mine was first, on Tuesday, which also happened to be Halloween. Most of the staff at the DMV were wearing fancy dress, and I saw some flyers on a desk that asked people to vote for whoever had the best costume. (I was going to ask for one and say I'd vote for them, in case that helped).
I'd asked G, from CoCE, to come with me, as it says very clearly on the instructions that you have to have someone with a valid California license with you, but he had no role to play, and left again.
I got my paperwork and was sent out to the car, to drive around to the driving test lane and wait. My test appointment was at 8:30, and I was in my place in the lane at about 8:25. But I waited until 9:oo for my test. For one thing, it meant I was bored enough not to be anxious, and for another, it meant that I could watch the initial procedure for the people in front of me. (I wondered if they would ask the arm signals in the same order - and they did).
When my turn came Phil (for that was his name) introduced himself, and then did various checks on the car, and me. They make sure that the car has things like brake lights, and they make sure that I know things like where the indicator is. Phil was wearing a flat checked cap, very baggy jeans (not in a young trendy way) and a cardboard Halloween tie. He told me that his boss had made him wear it, and that she was a witch. "What, really?" I wanted to ask, but I didn't know if jokes would go down well, so I didn't.
Anyway, we set off. I knew there was a standard route, so as well as concentrating on driving I tried to remember where we were (I never did manage to retrace it all). It was fairly straightforward - there was a moment when a pedestrian waved me across the road, and I don't know if Phil noticed that, and might have thought I was driving when I shouldn't.
That's one of the weird things about driving here, - pedestrians have right of way at every corner. Unlike in the UK, where a driver might wave a pedestrian across the road, pedestrians wave drivers. And no matter how long you take, drivers just sit there patiently. You only have to stand near a corner, and cars slow down or stop. It makes driving around very different, because you have to go around every corner slowly, because you might need to stop. A couple of times, before I realized this, I've almost got into trouble. When turning left on a traffic light (same as turning right in UK) you wait for a gap in the traffic, and then when you think there's a space that's big enough, you accelerate and get through it.
But you can't accelerate, because it's a corner, and you have to drive slowly. Because there is a little old lady shuffling across the road in front of you. When it's busy, it's not uncommon for only one car to make a left turn on each green light, because of this.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, you have to reverse the car. This is (relative to any other driving test I've taken) the easiest part, by a long way. You park the car at the side of the road (a nice clear bit, none of this reverse parking, or even parking. It's more like stop the car near the kerb (or curb, as I have to spell it now). Then reverse, in a straight line. Officially, one reverses 2-3 car lengths, but mine felt like a lot less.
We arrived back at the DMV, and parked the car in the car park (I found out later that driving through the car park is part of the test). Phil said "Well, you didn't frighten me too much, and that's good", and followed up with "How long have you been here?"
I said "Never mind that, tell me if I've passed the test!!" Actually, I didn't. I said "Almost two months".
"Have you had a chance to look around much?"
"Tell me if I've passed the fucking test", is what I wanted to say, but actually I said "Oh yes, we've been to a few places".
"You know there are some great art galleries. Really good art - masterpieces. Every one's a masterpiece. And gardens, they really look after their gardens."
My fingers grasped around Phil's throat, he gasped for breath. 'The fucking test you wanker. Tell me about the fucking test" is what happened in my imagination. But actually I smiled and said "Oh yes, my wife likes gardens".
We walked to the test centre (he still didn't tell me, in fact he never directly said it), gave me a bit of paper, and I went home. I made three minor faults. I couldn't work out what two of them were, but they seemed to be "traffic check". I'd also stopped too close to the car in front at things like traffic lights. You are allowed to make 15 minor faults, before you fail. (That sounds like a lot, and I guess it is, but it's easy to do - if you make the same mistake every time you turn right, then you'll make about 20 of the same fault, and fail).
On Friday was S's test. We'd spent a while trying to retrace the route of the test, but never found it all. I remembered turning left at an IHOP [that's an International House of Pancakes] and we found the route up to that point, I never found the place where I did the reverse. But S got a lot of practice at driving around in circles while we tried.
While S did her test, I sat at a Starbucks opposite (hiding behind some trees) and looked out. She got Phil as well (sans tie), and asked if he remembered me. He didn't; he didn't remember the yellow car either. S had one fault - stopping too close.
So now we are legal and stuff, and our lovely new driving licenses will come in the post.
As well as that, I've got a cold. It was approaching 30C today (that's 86F), and I've got a cold. I hate having a cold when it's hot, it just feels wrong. I don't like having a cold when it's cold, either. (Notice how I got a mention of the weather in there, without appearing to gloat).
Anyway, this week we've been taking driving tests. Mine was first, on Tuesday, which also happened to be Halloween. Most of the staff at the DMV were wearing fancy dress, and I saw some flyers on a desk that asked people to vote for whoever had the best costume. (I was going to ask for one and say I'd vote for them, in case that helped).
I'd asked G, from CoCE, to come with me, as it says very clearly on the instructions that you have to have someone with a valid California license with you, but he had no role to play, and left again.
I got my paperwork and was sent out to the car, to drive around to the driving test lane and wait. My test appointment was at 8:30, and I was in my place in the lane at about 8:25. But I waited until 9:oo for my test. For one thing, it meant I was bored enough not to be anxious, and for another, it meant that I could watch the initial procedure for the people in front of me. (I wondered if they would ask the arm signals in the same order - and they did).
When my turn came Phil (for that was his name) introduced himself, and then did various checks on the car, and me. They make sure that the car has things like brake lights, and they make sure that I know things like where the indicator is. Phil was wearing a flat checked cap, very baggy jeans (not in a young trendy way) and a cardboard Halloween tie. He told me that his boss had made him wear it, and that she was a witch. "What, really?" I wanted to ask, but I didn't know if jokes would go down well, so I didn't.
Anyway, we set off. I knew there was a standard route, so as well as concentrating on driving I tried to remember where we were (I never did manage to retrace it all). It was fairly straightforward - there was a moment when a pedestrian waved me across the road, and I don't know if Phil noticed that, and might have thought I was driving when I shouldn't.
That's one of the weird things about driving here, - pedestrians have right of way at every corner. Unlike in the UK, where a driver might wave a pedestrian across the road, pedestrians wave drivers. And no matter how long you take, drivers just sit there patiently. You only have to stand near a corner, and cars slow down or stop. It makes driving around very different, because you have to go around every corner slowly, because you might need to stop. A couple of times, before I realized this, I've almost got into trouble. When turning left on a traffic light (same as turning right in UK) you wait for a gap in the traffic, and then when you think there's a space that's big enough, you accelerate and get through it.
But you can't accelerate, because it's a corner, and you have to drive slowly. Because there is a little old lady shuffling across the road in front of you. When it's busy, it's not uncommon for only one car to make a left turn on each green light, because of this.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, you have to reverse the car. This is (relative to any other driving test I've taken) the easiest part, by a long way. You park the car at the side of the road (a nice clear bit, none of this reverse parking, or even parking. It's more like stop the car near the kerb (or curb, as I have to spell it now). Then reverse, in a straight line. Officially, one reverses 2-3 car lengths, but mine felt like a lot less.
We arrived back at the DMV, and parked the car in the car park (I found out later that driving through the car park is part of the test). Phil said "Well, you didn't frighten me too much, and that's good", and followed up with "How long have you been here?"
I said "Never mind that, tell me if I've passed the test!!" Actually, I didn't. I said "Almost two months".
"Have you had a chance to look around much?"
"Tell me if I've passed the fucking test", is what I wanted to say, but actually I said "Oh yes, we've been to a few places".
"You know there are some great art galleries. Really good art - masterpieces. Every one's a masterpiece. And gardens, they really look after their gardens."
My fingers grasped around Phil's throat, he gasped for breath. 'The fucking test you wanker. Tell me about the fucking test" is what happened in my imagination. But actually I smiled and said "Oh yes, my wife likes gardens".
We walked to the test centre (he still didn't tell me, in fact he never directly said it), gave me a bit of paper, and I went home. I made three minor faults. I couldn't work out what two of them were, but they seemed to be "traffic check". I'd also stopped too close to the car in front at things like traffic lights. You are allowed to make 15 minor faults, before you fail. (That sounds like a lot, and I guess it is, but it's easy to do - if you make the same mistake every time you turn right, then you'll make about 20 of the same fault, and fail).
On Friday was S's test. We'd spent a while trying to retrace the route of the test, but never found it all. I remembered turning left at an IHOP [that's an International House of Pancakes] and we found the route up to that point, I never found the place where I did the reverse. But S got a lot of practice at driving around in circles while we tried.
While S did her test, I sat at a Starbucks opposite (hiding behind some trees) and looked out. She got Phil as well (sans tie), and asked if he remembered me. He didn't; he didn't remember the yellow car either. S had one fault - stopping too close.
So now we are legal and stuff, and our lovely new driving licenses will come in the post.
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