Saliva, Spirits and Settling

A couple of events happened last weekend to make me realise that I had settled down a lot more in the city. Sadly, for my reputation anyway, they both involve alcohol.

On Friday night, I found a pub. A proper one, without pretension, without secret American-only codes, but with drinks, seats not high-chairs, nuts with shells strewn over the floor, big dogs dripping drool and collapsing where they fell, and old propping up the bar locals. I felt instantly comfortable there. They poured drinks like they had no mixers, charged reasonable prices and I could have stayed all night. It doesn't sound like a lot but after all this time, it was a breakthrough. It was only a 1.8 mile walk too, so nice and handy. Although the walk home did help with some of the over-generous gin servings.

Then, on Sunday I found another pub and we went there for lunch. It was pouring with rain and we were soaked to the skin when we got there, but the sight of three soggy, hungry, sleep deprived, bedraggled souls (Noreen was still with us for the weekend) didn't seem to phase them at all. We all ate fish and chips washed down with chocolate porter and it was just wonderful. We almost looked like people who had friends and did this sort of thing all the time. I know, this has just turned into crazy talk.

Eclectic

Last weekend I attended some of the San Francisco Ocean Film Festival which consisted of seven short educational films and then and Q&A session with the film makers, on subjects ranging from climate change (specifically rather than generally) to shark genetics. It isn't something that I would ordinarily go to, or necessarily attend again, but it I did find it incredibly interesting. One of the things that I love about this city is the extraordinary amount of things to do, and the seemingly inexhaustive range of events. Whatever my interest, however niche, I am sure that it would be catered for here.

This week we almost attended a free talk on colony collapse disorder (one of Mike's ambitions is to keep bees but it would be cruel to me to keep them in the flat) but needed a night in with the knitting. In hindsight, I wish we had gone as that is when the scarf started to go badly wrong...but let's not talk about that again.

We also also nearly attended (this is a new great way of being more interesting, to tell you what I didn't see but could have, had I not got some feeble excuse instead) a grilled cheese sandwich competition where we could have helped out as judges. We didn't attend because Noreen* our weekend guest was in no fit state that morning for the outside to see, following a rather splendid night in a new pub which I found, which will be getting a whole post to itself. Apparently there was such a massive turnout that they had to restrict numbers to 500, so it seems likely we would have missed out on tasting had we gone, particularly as I thought it started at 1pm when actually it was Noon. Next year, more cheese has been promised. Phew.

On Tuesday, we did attend (yay!) a City Arts and Lectures Talking Music event with John Darnielle from the Mountain Goats. We have one Mountain Goat's album and like it so when we saw that they were playing in the city on Wednesday, thought it might be good to see them, particularly as events seem to be much cheaper in this neck of the woods. It was sold out but Mike noticed the Talking Music evening instead. It seemed like it would be a little strange, putting in my mind the image of a high-brow episode of Parkinson (a mix between Wogan and Late Night Review with Mark Kermode perhaps?) and we would be in the live audience. However, it exceeded all of my expectations and I had a wonderful civilised evening.

It was actually more like just a nice chat between Tobias Wolff, an author (and yes, he was just as adorable in real life as he is in that picture) and John Darnielle who looked more like Harry Potter in real life as opposed to that picture, but was far more engaging, with some music at the end. SO much better than a gig! We sat down in comfortable chairs, in a beautiful theatre located inside the War Memorial Veteran's Building and listened to two intelligent people who had genuine warmth for each other chat about music, writing; life in general. The audience was full of die-hard fans and we had no idea what half the references were about but that didn't seem to matter.

I came away thinking that I must listen to more Mountain Goat's music, and read anything and possibly everything by Tobias Wolff.


* Names have been changed to protect the inebriated.

Well-Rounded

I have come to the conclusion that I am really bad at application forms. It is the interests and past times portion, wrapped up in traditional or post-modern clothing, which throws me. I must 'do' stuff otherwise where does all the time go? I'm just not sure that I know what counts. My gut reaction when I think of 'interests' are activities like deep sea diving, bungee jumping, white water rafting, the territorial army, sports, astronomy, photography, playing instruments, stamp collecting, bird watching or macrame.

I engage in none of these.

I read, but that was always the thing you wrote down if you had no hobbies on your UCAS form. Actually, given the amount of people who haven't read a book in years (I shudder at the thought), I think reading can safely be classed as a solid interest or past time. So, interest number one. I read. I read a wealth of varying genres in bouts of voraciousness and drought. I consume the printed page when hungry for stories, and am currently trying to read my local library dry.

OK, this is going well. What else do I do? I play computer games, specifically the Wii (and at the moment, pretty much exclusively Mario Kart which I am enjoying racing friends across the miles and time zones). This must count as an interest. It is actually the first game that I have ever tried to 'complete'. I'm a long way off, but the act of playing enough to unlock something else is great, but maybe that is the unemployment talking. Interest number two, I like to play computer games in a non-geeky, non-addictive and semi-competitive way.

By the way, this post had a totally different point but I think the way I am travelling now may ultimately help in my continuing quest of defining myself in 2 sides.

Number three is practically jumping out of me. I cook. Not in a I'm hungry and it's dinner time kind of way. More in a read Nigel Slater just to drool as a past time in itself, watch cookery programmes, think about what food goes with other food, experiment wildly, research recipes endlessly, take pleasure in farmer's markets as a great day out, and generally breathe food. That last one probably just counts in the gluttony pile which I am not sure I should count as an interest, although it is one of my past times. Hmm.

I people watch. No, I observe, riddled with fascination and sometimes rendered mute with fury / elation / confusion. Sometimes I write about them, cruelly. Worse, I enjoy it. A lot.

I now have a new hobby, a 'proper' one to add to my funny little list. Mike and I have started knitting, which is a cute little joint hobby to have. Now I am 30, I need to think about these things. Imagine my shame at tea dances if my contemporaries are discussing patterns and tricky stitches now the joints aren't as nimble, and I am a knitting virgin, not able to add my ten pounds worth ( I have cleverly added inflation there.) I need worry no more on that score.

I hope I get better soon. Failing that, I hope there is suddenly a demand for small square(ish) shapes of very holey woollen structures, worth four times the prices of the wool.

Mike, of course, is excellent. He has used his extraordinary meticulous mind to solve the puzzle of knitting and taught himself lots of stitches from books and YouTube, rather than just learning two types and embarking on a grand scarf project on day two of the new past time.

Needless to say, my scarf turned out to be an abject, miserable, shoddy beyond belief, failure, and Mike is almost ready to start his first project of a throw, which just on it's own puts my scarf to shame. It will be beautiful, perfect in every way and possibly the talk of the town. I will continue to sit in remedial classes for a few weeks, then give up completely, but still quote this interest on any form which requires a well-rounded person - together with swimming ( I do swim but not enough to call it a hobby), badminton (see swimming but with an extra caveat that the last time I played was about 4 years ago) and writing short stories ( these days, I find that reality is a lot more entertaining to me).

Self knowledge is a terrible and wonderful thing.

All my posts don't have to be tip-top

I have a tendency to 'fate' myself, making sweeping, grandiose comments, like "we've never had a bad eating out experience here" only to make a liar of myself mere moments later.

We met up with some people from our not too distant past tonight for a few drinks and a meal. They were staying near Union Square. I'm not really familiar with places to eat or drink around there, so I turned to Yelp. We have no real idea of where to go out, other than when we are given personal recommendations; and living on a budget, we don't want to 'waste' nights out, so I research places as best I can. I have been using Yelp, a peer-review site of all sorts of things in their area, which is useful to a point. I notice that Yelp has now launched in the UK so it will be interesting to see how useful / successful it becomes there. Reviews are usually hilarious as some people are bothered by the strangest things so it is hard to gauge whether you will be of a similar opinion to those who like it, or those who do not. Since we have been here I have built up a list of possible places to eat and drink, yes, I'm a geek. So far, we have been very lucky.

Tonight, not so. The bar we went to although having received great reviews was just OK, if I am being generous, which if you read on, you will see that I am not. One member of the bar staff was pretentious and rude and managed to make a real meal of an order for orange juice. We were told, 'I'm afraid we only have freshly squeezed blood orange'. Right. How awful for you. A second order of orange came with mistakenly added vodka and a weak apology. It must have been difficult for him. He needed all his concentration to look so happy.

The same churlish waiter tried to take away my drink too early (surely the most heinous of crimes), and took away Mike's mangled straws with a look of utter contempt as though they were messing up the bar. There were no smiles from anyone, despite the fact it claimed to be happy hour; the music was intrusive, the seating options limited, the decor and atmosphere bland and insipid and frankly, I hated it from the minute I stepped in there. It is cold and wet tonight and it was suggested to us when we got there that we might like to sit outside. When we asked whether there were heaters, the answer was no, but it might be a bit warmer if we sat nearer to the building. We bore that in mind and sat inside, funnily enough, where everyone else was sitting.

We left in search of somewhere to eat. I didn't have my special list with me, but having returned home am horrified to see that the place we ended up was on it. It was a higher-end curry house and although the service was very professional, the standard of food wasn't great. I love curry. When we moved to Liverpool from the Midlands, I missed a good curry. Since we have moved here, we have had one good Indian food experience, and that was in a place which cost peanuts. This place cost cashews and we almost laughed when they brought the food out and that was before we tasted it.

Whine, whinge. I don't like writing negative reviews about anything, unless it is crazy bureaucratic systems of course (see rest of blog for examples) and then I love it. There are so many glorious places to eat in this foodie-city that I feel bad that we couldn't share one of them. I don't know whether that means I am becoming proud of where I live, or I am starting to demand more from a country which seems to Expect. I'll leave that up to you to decide because I have a cold and I'm tired now. Night x

It was a bright cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen

I've mentioned it here before in passing (a prize will be awarded to the person, without looking who can tell me where. Hang on, that won't work will it? I won't know whether you have looked or not. OK, no prizes will be awarded but you may feel a warm glow of pride* if you can guess where it was mentioned.) This event happened, according to my twitter account, on 28th November 2008, but I have been meaning to write about it for a while, as it seemed to signal a change in thinking for me.

My twitters stated thus, like a telegram sent in troubled times (my life is melodrama, just indulge me):

I live in a place where police powers are exercised to interrupt my film with tannoyed threats about the non return of a stolen Magimix, but at least the perfection façade has finally ended, although I wish it hadn't all got quite so dystopian STOP Fully expect dawn raid to follow STOP

Now the full (read, long) account:

If my memory serves me correctly, it was a perfect warm / chilly / dry / wet Friday evening at around 8.30pm, the day after Thanksgiving, and our insides were at ease with the world. We had settled in to watch a film (probably a deeply intelligent, art house, life changing production, and not Elf) when we were interrupted by a series of coughs, high-pitched ear-splitting feedback, some giggles and long bouts of white noise from the tannoy system connected to the fire alarm (we don't just get an alarm, it is assumed we are more hard of thinking and require a voice telling us that this is a fire alarm and we have to leave the building, followed by more disconnected voices outside in the corridor encouraging us not to use the lifts and take the stairs, just in case we panic outside the confines of our abodes - I digress...) We weren't sure whether to evacuate or not, but put our shoes on and kind of hung around the front door waiting to see what our neighbours might do. They hung around their doors and waited to see what we would do.

Finally the suspense was over. A few more squeals from the tannoy (making sure that the last small child who had been asleep was now very much awake) and then a message along the lines of 'This is the police department. A Magimix placed in one of the charity collection boxes has been stolen. There is CCTV in the building, so we will find out who you are. However, if you have picked it up by mistake, you can return it where you found it' (the sub text in my head was, 'or one of your loved ones will mysteriously disappear'). Then followed more laughter, then wonderful silence.

Now, what would be worse, to find out that this invasion of privacy, intrusion of our soon to be a classic film, was a joke played by some 'crazy' college students, or to find out that is was actually the police?

Yep. It was the police.

Mike, with steaming ears, immediately wrote a stern email to the housing authorities and the police (whose contact address bounced; nice touch) questioning the meaning of this inappropriate communication. He was responded to by the housing people the following Monday to say that the matter would be investigated. A few days later, a letter from the police department was stuck unceremoniously to our door apologising for the incident and stating that there would be a meeting for residents to discuss their concerns, and that we would be contacted with a date.

Lip service paid. Holiday festivities commenced and finished. New Year well and truly under way. To date, we have not been contacted about a resident meeting and surely even the most volcanic of tempers will merely smoulder by now, so that can safely be swept under the carpet.

I probably shouldn't write any more. My twitters did it justice really in 280 characters.

Oh, and the Magimix was returned that night - the letter said that there had been some kind of 'misunderstanding' so there will be someone out there using a food mixer, oblivious to it's troubled history. I hope their smoothies, pesto, cakes, sauces, and that's all I can think of's taste all the sweeter.


* Warm glow not guaranteed. No refunds allowed.

Vestandpants

For someone who doesn't like sport, I am certainly doing a lot of sport watching these days.

Last weekend, we were invited to watch the Superbowl, a kind offer which we most certainly accepted, and then tried to find out what it was. Nothing to do with superheroes bowling anyway, not even Super Gran playing Boules. Drat. We were very patiently and gratefully explained to the rules of American football and our endless questions were tolerated even though they must have been very irritating.

The sport bit got mildly exciting when the underdogs almost won, but otherwise it was nothing special for me. It was fun just to watch those crazy US ads, wide eyed as usual. They were plentiful and largely a waste of money for all advertisers involved, but I imagine that I am not the target audience. That's just a shot in the dark though.

The best part of the day, apart from the delicious food, was before the match when we were talking about PE Kits (it had something to do with picking the team to support based on the colour strip they were wearing, which then led on as conversations do to what colours our sport 'uniform' used to be.) Somehow it was revealed that when Mike and I were in primary school, we used to do PE in our underwear. Such was the norm of the day, hey it was the 80s. We literally would take off our outer clothes and be left in our vest and pants, as I am sure you may be able to relate to if you are reading this from the UK. As we were explaining and Mike was translating the words 'vest' and 'knickers' we were met with 3 utterly bemused and truth be told, slightly horrified faces.

Apparently we can add 'a bit savage' to the list of what a Brit is perceived to be. I'm still laughing a week later. I can think of worse things to define me, but only just!

Road Trip

We were lucky enough to take a trip south of Santa Cruz to the Big Sur on Saturday and it was simply splendid. An early start, a train and a bus, and a cup of coffee from Bad Ass Coffee, we were ready to set off along the coast. It was absolutely beautiful. We kept having to stop in conveniently placed lay-bys, just to gawp at the scenery and try to capture it's image forever on camera. I think we took more photos in one day than we have for all of the rest of the time we have been here. It was an unrelenting stream of ooohh, ahh, would you look at that, take a picture quick and sorry, missed it's.

We stopped for lunch at Pffeiffer Beach (yes, as in Michelle - what fun!) which we never would have found were it not for one of Dan's colleagues recommendations. It wasn't sign posted and entailed a 2 mile drive down a single track, which with SUV's all around is no mean feat. It was gorgeous and well worth the trip, with craggy rocks with holes that the sea has cut out for a better view of the beach, which was more or less deserted and had inexplicable stretches of purple sand. It felt like we have been let in on a very special secret. Lucky us.

Back to Santa Cruz, and dinner in a futuristic Jetson's themed veggie cafe, we were ready for the train home again. Will some one pinch me? It was one of those days I could have dreamt.

Visit America: look at how much fun you could have

This is Dan, with a corn dog. I firmly believe that all dubious food should be laughed at heartily before consuming. A hot dog wrapped in sweet batter, served with ketchup, and sold on a stick for easy eating should be laughed at most of all, then photographed, especially when a flag, SUV and post box background offer that all important location clue. I'm thinking of selling this image to the US Tourist industry - surely it just captures it all?