Week Twenty-Six: Snow Business

March 29, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

So I’ve been here six months. Six months since I last saw my family, six months since I rode the Tube, six months since I watched Match of the Day, six months since I heard the terms ‘Asbo’, ‘Happy Slapping’ and ‘Crazy Frog’ (now there’s something I don’t miss). Now it’s all ‘Roseville Auto-Mall’, ‘Ask your Doctor’ and ‘Triple Doppler Radar’. And despite the recent rainstorms and floods (and, um, tornadoes), the weather is still much better than in Britain, though there is one thing I will always miss – snow. Yes it’s freezing cold and causes pipes to burst and cars to slide all over the place, but there’s something magical about a blanket of snow. So on Sunday we decided to drive a couple of hours east of snow-free Davis into the Sierra Nevada mountains to see some of the white stuff close up – and we were not disappointed.

I have never seen so much snow in my life!! The sky was blue, and it wasn’t particularly cold, but I can’t imagine the blizzards that must have raged through those valleys. We stopped at a gas station on the way, and the snow was so deep that we could not read the road signs. Snow over a metre thick was piled up on the roof, bringing to mind ominous echoes of Bad Reichenhall, while small white hillocks were only revealed to be buried vehicles when their aerials poked out of the frozen mush like pathetic grave-markers. Yet with a blue sky and a well-ploughed freeway gliding through the chocolate box landscape, it’s easy to forget the lethal side of snow.

We passed by Donner Lake, a place synonymous with icy death. It was there that the Donner Party, a group of California-bound settlers, met their fate during a ferocious winter storm in the 1840s, resorting to cannibalism. With that in mind, when we reached the town of Truckee for lunch, we both ordered vegetarian dishes. Truckee is a nice little place, whose history lies in the westward expansion of the railroads that united the nineteenth century States. It kind of reminded us of one of those model towns that accessorise Hornby model railway kits.

From Truckee we drove to Squaw Valley, the small but world-renowned ski resort that audaciously staged the 1960 Winter Olympics, fending off Alpine bids from Innsbruck, Garmisch-Partenkirchen and St. Moritz. Nestled comfortably in a valley around a frozen lake, the only thing missing was the White Witch’s castle. Skiers big and small were pouring down the mountains like tiny black raindrops on a window. I have never wanted to ski, ever – lots of danger of injury, freezing cold weather and ridiculous outfits – if I’d wanted that I would have been an X-Man (actually, that would be cool). But after actually visiting a ski resort, even after getting ripped off with an over-priced and under-sized beer, I’m starting to see the attraction of skiing. At least there are no spiders up there.

So after six months I have finally seen a new side to California, the snowy side. We are just as far from the beach here as the breathtaking mountains, and whatever else London might have to offer such as newsagents, Match of the Day and decent news channels, it doesn’t have that. Score one for Arnie’s state.

Week Twenty-Five: It’s a Funny Old Game

March 21, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

Boy, do I have a red face. Well, half a red face. We went to a college softball match on Sunday, and the midday sun beating down on my left side left me looking like a Feyenoord shirt. To top it off, my Harry Potter-esque scar now glows an ominous purple. After a week of rain, the clouds have finally parted, and it took me by surprise. Either that or Lord Voldemort has moved to Sacramento.

The softball was fun; it was women’s college softball, Princeton vs Nevada. It’s a bit like baseball, except the ball is different (and it ain’t soft, as anyone who ever encountered one at school has ever found out). We sat right behind the batting area, behind the high fence where I thought we would be safe from errant balls. I thought wrong; never mind a sun-hat, I could have done with a helmet, the amount of slices that came our way. All in all though, it was good, wholesome American fun. Princeton absolutely trashed Nevada, despite Nevada’s best efforts to put them off with some bizarre, possibly sectarian team chanting. I half expected them to be standing around a cauldron.

Speaking of sport, local NBA team Sacramento Kings are having an exciting run of form. I managed to watch their televised game against the LA Lakers last week, which despite the clash of purple polyester was a pretty great showdown. The Kings eventually won fairly comfortably, with Ron Artest winning a battle of wits against Kobe Bryant, and Mike Bibby scoring some cheeky three-pointers. Are you impressed I remember all the names? Well, I had to look them up.

And I have decided that I will watch as much of this summer’s World Cup Deutschland 2006 on Mexican TV. I caught a match on Saturday between, um, two Mexican teams (one of them was called ‘Tigres’, I caught that) and I was reminded of how much more fun it is listening to Latin American commentators when somebody scores. Motson, Pearce, Gubba, Davies… you guys just cannot pull off the famous cry of…

GOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Week Twenty-Four: Eight Legs, Two Fangs and a Change of Underwear

March 14, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

My name is Pete Scully, and I am an Arachnophobe. Snakes, rats, ghosts – none of them scare me, but spiders… they are my great weakness. I knew when I came out to California that this was Black Widow country, and I have feared the Widow since I was very small, but now I have a new venomous arachnid to fear – the Brown Recluse. So far, I have encountered neither. Thankfully. I am always on the lokout, and the other night I got a fright – I was on my way to bed, I didn’t have my glasses on, I lifted up the pillow, and this little brown spider ran around in circles before vanishing behind the bed. I tell you, trying to go to sleep that night, trying to ignore the possibility of a little eight-legged freak crawling across my face, that was a task little short of Herculean. In fact it was Poirotian.

I am fascinated by spiders. When I was a schoolboy, other children would pretend they had spiders in their hands just to see my reaction. Just seeing a photograph of one makes my spine feel like Tornado Alley. California’s Central Valley has just those two dangerous spiders, I’m told, but in some abundance. It is because it gets so darned hot here. I’ve done a little research on my enemies lately, and wow that Brown Recluse does not sound like a friendly old eater of flies. When it bites, it does not poison you in the same way that the Widow does, but leaves behind a flesh-eating bacteria that slowly deteriorates whatever it has bitten. Check out this nasty set of images. Can you believe a spider can do that?

And how big is this thing, this Brown Recluse? It’s TINY!! Less than half an inch long! How are you supposed to know if one is lying in your clothes (as they do), or among your books (as they do), or in your bed (as they do)??? Even as I write I am in a panic – I’m from Britain, for heaven’s sake! We don’t have anything that can do you any serious harm there! Our only poisonous snake is the adder, whose bite is more full of sarcasm than venom. So what is my solution, how am I going to learn to live alongside these fanged menaces?

A big hammer. It’s the best I have come up with. When I finally see one, I want to be ready.

Week Twenty-Three: Bye Bye, Baby

March 7, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

Today, the Governor of South Dakota (just east of ‘where was that, now?’) signed the bill that banned abortion in the state. It is hoped by many right-wing pro-lifers that this will trigger a much larger, country-wide campaign that will end in Washington DC at the steps of the Supreme Court. It is believed that other states will follow South Dakota’s lead (heaven help us), and ultimately force a reversal of Roe vs Wade, the landmark 1973 case that saw abortion made legal in the US. Many think the movement will run out of steam before it gets that far, but they underestimate the religious right, and the fact that a certain Sammy Alito now sits at the head of that very Supreme Court, and he certainly believes that this particular law is ‘not settled’.

Well, it’s only South Dakota, I hear you say. If a Dakotan girl gets herself up the duff, all she has to do is pop across the border into abortion-friendly North Dakota and bob’s yer uncle, or whatever phrase is appropriate. The thing is, it’s not that easy, is it. What if this girl cannot afford the bus fare? What if she can’t take a few days off working at WalMart to go to Nebraska? There are lots of scenarios, far worse than this, that point to one thing – once more, it’s the poor that suffer. Not to mention the woman’s right of choice being taken away by zealous righteous men. I’m not going to debate the finer points of abortion here; I’m pro-choice where abortion is concerned, and we all know that it is far better that abortions are performed legally by doctors rather than by back-street Vera Drakes on kitchen tables. It may be challenged in court, but rich and powerful right-wing groups have already pledged millions to fight the pro-life cause in the courtroom. I just want to ask this: why do the neo-Con religious right want so many unwanted babies born into poverty?

What do they gain from it, other than an endless factory line of WalMart employees busting their guts for a dime a day, more pimple-faced brats to pack their groceries for them? I’ll tell you what they get – they get people who are faced with no other choice than to join the Army, wave the flag, and end up dead on the side of a road in Baghdad or Kabul. We’ve all seen that bit in Fahreneit 9/11, where the Army recruiters press-gang directionless kids at the mall into joining up, and I’ve seen them out and about here, too, on the university campus, going after the kids with direction (but offering to pay for their fees). even today, universities were told that they can no longer prevent the recruiters from coming onto campus with their sign-up sheets. They can complain, but it will fall upon deaf ears, or at least the ears of those who determine your funding budgets.

Now I am aware that joining the Army can be a noble thing, but when you see how the military target poor people to become their statistics, and when you see how corrupt governments abuse patriotism to send these same youngsters into wars based on lies and hidden corporate agendas, without sufficient equipment, you start to get a sick feeling in your stomach. they don’t like gays because…they cannot produce potential soldiers. They don’t like abortion because…it prevents potential soldiers form being born. They don’t like contraception because…it prevents potential soldiers from being conceived (States such as Ohio and Utah have been making it difficult for people to obtain contraceptives). It’s all about keeping the little tin soldiers churning out, and into the body-bags so that some greedy politician and his filthy-rich backers can cling onto power long enough to ensure that generations more remain in the poverty trap, thinking themselves lucky they live in a land where their leaders allow this to happen to them.

And if you end up in jail, those same rabid zealots are the ones watching you suffer in paralysis during lethal injection, and gloat at your death. Which brings this anger-tinted blog entry to a long-awaited conclusion – how come the people who say they are pro-life are actually the ones who are the most pro-death?

Week Twenty-Two: I Dunno, I Didn’t Go Into Burger King

February 28, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

“You know the funny thing about America? It’s the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there as we got here, but there it’s a little different. Example – they got a chocolate bar called ‘Milky Way’, but it’s actually a Mars Bar. Almost no difference at all. Nothing like an actual Milky Way. And they have Snickers of course, but they have a variety of Snickers called ‘Marathon’. No lie! They probably don’t know that we used to call it that, once upon a time.”

When I was a young kid at Goldbeaters school, we had two Americans in our class, Bill and Sarah. We could not believe their outlandish stories about the products Stateside, particularly the breakfast cereals. Apparently, everything was different. Sure, they had Kelloggs and other recognisable brands, but completely different varieties. Now I am here, I understand some of the excitement. It takes time to get used to things in foreign grocery stores, and I still haven’t mastered the cereal aisle. I have learnt, though, that Frosted Flakes are the same as our Frosties, but that’s obvious.

However, some products baffle me. Ok, they don’t have Pepsi Max out here (sadly), but they do have Vanilla and Black Cherry Diet Coca-Cola. Is it necessary to have all those ingredients? at leats they don’t have cinnamon flavour Coke – yet. Cinnamon is, I think, the national flavour. You get Cinnamon Tic-Tacs and Cinnamon chewing-gum, fair enough, but also Cinnamon toothpaste, and Cinnamon mouthwash. Hmm. It doesn’t stop at cinnamon. You can even get Orange flavour toothpaste, and Vanilla, too – perhaps Crest are secretly developing a Black Cherry Diet Toothpaste?

Even away from the grocery store, things that are the same are still different. At the bookstore, I found that Corelli (he of the Mandolin) is not a Captain here. The popular board game Cluedo is known simply as ‘Clue’ here (or, the way I play it, ‘Cluedon’t’), and in California, 50 degrees Fahrenheit is considered ‘cold’. What’s more, in the US, Craig Ferguson is considered to be an actual celebrity. Oh my god, it’s a completely different world.

Week Twenty-One: And Yes, This is My Singing Voice

February 21, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

Now that I have begun to interact with the American public, I have realised that my British accent carries a lot of weight. I have had so many people saying to me recently: “you have a lovely accent,” usually followed by wistful memories of the day they spent in London, lunching with the Queen or whatever. Nevertheless, it is true that people do respect it here, even if they really shouldn’t. A woman at the train station told me that British people are more intelligent than Americans, simply because their accent makes them sound more intelligent, which is utterly ridiculous. She obviously hasn’t spent much time in the pubs of Burnt Oak (though she kinda smellt as though she had).

And that’s the thing – I actually put on a different accent when I speak to people here. I don’t necessarily mean to, but I’ve trained myself over the years to drop the glottal Cockney accent as much as possible when speaking to foreigners, as I know how hard it is for them to understand. Yet perhaps I have gone too far. I catch myself sometimes, prattling on like some period drama English fop, far more Hugh Grant than Grant Mitchell, and cannot believe what I’m hearing. However, there are times when I cannot believe what they are hearing.

Such as on Saturday, when a lady in the bookstore asked if I was from Britain, and I said I was. She said, “I thought so; I have a good friend from Scotland, and he sounds just like you.” You what?? How?!? “Don’t get me wrong,” I said to her, “I love the Scottish accent, in fact I wish I had one (I love it), but I do not sound anything like a Scot. Yer ‘avin’ a larf, inch-ya” I added, to prove my point. It didn’t prove my point, it only confused the poor woman. But surely we Brits do not sound all the same to Americans?

I admit I have abused my new-found British accent to make myself sound more authoritative and knowledgable, knowing that really it’s just all bullshit. I have yet to be cast in a Disney film as the Villain, a role which only ever goes to the classic British thesps, but I’m not really trying. The day will come when I tire of being told my accent is lovely, at which point I will either revert to my factory settings, complete with Watling Park style expletives, or I will tell them that I had a stroke. I remember a story a couple of years back that there were people in the US who, having suffered quite bad strokes, suddenly found they had British accents. That’ll give them something to talk about.

Week Twenty: Forgive me, I have Zinned

February 16, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

The level of alcohol consumption chez scully rocketed over the past two weeks, when I received an unexpected house-guest/Best Man from London, and also unexpectedly turned thirty years old. Californian beers are pretty special, and one of my favourites is the Davis local brew, Sudwerk Märzen. Underneath the sink many empty bottles attest to our late-night hanging-out, which resulted in watching lots of films such as Rocky III or Revenge of the Sith and subsequently getting online, BUI (Blogging Under the Influence). Bacchus strikes again, or was it BA Baracas?

Last Friday, though, we took a far more civilized approach to the Bacchinalean tradition. My wife, my friend, my mother-in-law and myself deove up into the wine country of Sonoma County, in glorious sunshine through one of the most beautiful regions of America. A far cry from the flatlands of Yolo County, we were transported into an echo of Tuscany – but with SUVs instead of mopeds. I had been wine-tasting before, but I am hardly a connoisseur, and like most others who take the day-trip to the vines, I left telling myself that I would make an effort to develop my pallatte. But first I need to learn how to spell it.

We first visited Hop Kiln, a great little winery situated in an old converted hops barn. Having previously told me he didn’t like white wine, and loved a nice meaty red, R was so impressed he bought a bottle of the 2005 Thousand Flowers, a white blend that was, I think, pretty fruity (though my vinocabulary is limited to ‘it was nice’ and ‘mmm, fruity’). Hop Kiln, as do many wineries, also sold a range of seriously delicious flavoured mustards, such as Zinfandel and Garlic, or Tropical Mango. More wine-buying and tasting followed at the Mazzoco, Dry Creek and Quivira wineries, and though I took notes on each wine I sampled, I admit I was really just copying what I overheard. Was the Quivira 2002 Zin really ‘chocolatey’? I haven’t the foggiest idea.

Following a brief visit to the spectacularly Italianate Ferrari-Carrano winery, we ambled down to Healdsburg, and dined at the Bear Republic brewpub. Ah, much more common ground: micro-brewed local beers, cold and fresh, and even ‘mmm fruity’. I tried a 2006 Hefe Weizen, good nose, light on the tongue, great with chicken, while R tried the Racer 5, which I think he quite liked. He didn’t spit any out, at any rate. Oh yes, though in the vinyards we may be lost for original thoughts, but in some fields we are true connoisseurs.

Week Nineteen: The Clock Strikes Thirty

February 8, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

Two cakes, several beers, a few glasses of wine, a couple of margaritas, a lot of food & chocolate and some fantastic company. So I have celebrated my thirtieth, and I do not have a goatee. I haven’t had time to write a proper entry, so I will cobble one together, just a quick post, and see where it goes! On Saturday my wife drove me to San Francisco as a surprise, and there we went to a swanky restaurant in Ghirardelli Square where I was surprised to meet a group of friends, including one of my best friends from London (you know who you are dude), out here on a surprise visit, organised in secret by my amazing wife – to say the least, it was a brilliant evening (and I did something I’ve never done before – eat shark. It was niiiice), and we spent the weekend in San Francisco, which was unusually sunny and warm. It’s such a great city, with such character. So was the weekend; though I think I have it all sussed out, I still totally love nice surprises.

My actual birthday was today, the 7th, and my wife, my friend and I went to Chevy’s, a cool Tex-Mex restaurant where we had Margaritas and Enchilladas. It’s such a fun restaurant, we love it! The thing about Chevy’s though is that on your birthday, the waiting staff come out and sing a fast ‘Happy Happy Birthday’ song to you, clapping their hands quickly, putting a straw sombrero on your head and giving you a free ice cream. I was, I think, the fourth birthday boy/girl in there, and there were others after me. It wasn’t even that busy! I wonder if people lie about it actually being their birthday just to get the hat and the moment of special attention? I don’t know, but those waiters probably get sick of birthdays after a while.

But I don’t! I love a birthday. I met my wife at my birthday party four years ago, in Aix. I always tried to get me mates together in Camden every February to celebrate the extra candle. And though I get embarassed & a little nervous when I’m centre of attention, when I’m the Birthday Boy, I do appreciate everything everyone’s done for me, especially this year (if y’all are reading, you know who y’are, many many big big thanks!). Miss me family in London; though I have new family here, it’s hard being so far away. But enough of the personal stuff.

Anyway it’s late, I’m tired, I’ve lost the ability to write, and I’m thirty and feeling it. All I can say now is that even if it is all downhill from here (as another friend in London keeps saying to me, despite being just a month younger and vastly balder – you know who y’are), it’s all part of the mystery of science. And so the blog turns back to poor politics, bad art and a lot of complaining. But right now, I am pretty flippin’ happy.

Week Eighteen: Turning Thirty

January 31, 2006June 11, 2010Leave a comment

In a week’s time, I officially Turn Thirty. I’m not looking forward to it. Especially since, I am told, it’s actually the law here that when you hit 30, you have to grow a goatee. Now I’ve been telling people that it aint gonna happen, I went through my ‘beards’ phase years ago, as all who rememeber me can attest. “Oh you say that now,” people tell me. Yes I do say it now, and I’ll be saying it next week too – the beards aint coming back! However, as if to prove the goatee-law, while watching the golf we noticed that Tiger Woods is now sporting a recently-hairy chin, and a quick google-search revealed that he turned thirty exactly a month ago. Insert golf-related joke here if you must, but it’s got me worried. Can you get fined if you don’t have one?

Of course, there are other phenomena related to turning thirty Stateside. For one thing, you no longer have to prove your age when buying beer. Oh yes, if you are under 30, you get carded – even though the legal drinking age is 21. It is pretty ridiculous to say the least, especially in the supermarket when you know the person selling it to you is at least eight years younger than you and has no idea there was more than one President George Bush. Maybe people grow goatees as a social sign to prove their thirtigenarian status. Thirtigenarian, that is surely not a word? Well, it is now. I’m Turning Thirty, I say so.

If ‘twenty’ rhymed with ‘plenty’, ‘thirty’ rhymes with ‘dirty’, which is not good. Well, it’s better than ‘warty’, which rhymes with ‘forty’ – no disrespect to fortigenarians, of course. Thirty also rhymes with ‘flirty’, which I certainly am not, and ‘shirty’, which I kind of am. But the worst part about Turning Thirty is, and I’m serious here, that it is the name of a truly awful book by Mike Gayle (the former agony-uncle turned agony-inducing-author). I’d prefer to say I turning thirty-one than be identified with that absolute bum-wipe of a novel. In a one-line book review I’d write: Don’t Ever Read This Dire Book, EVER. But that’s just the Thirty-year-old Grumpy Old Man coming out, and he’s always been there.

So what can I expect from my thirties? The plans are to start a family with my wife, to have a career with my MA, and maybe who knows even finally learn to drive… Other than that, who can tell? I don’t even know what to expect from my birthday itself – my wife has a surprise planned, which involves going somewhere the weekend before, and that’s all I know. I’m intrigued! I love surprises – unless the surprise involves me waking up next Tuesday and deciding, “hmm, i think I’ll only shave some of my face today…”

another blog, another planet

January 25, 2006October 6, 2025Leave a comment

And so, I have another blog, though I am as yet undecided as to what to do with it. It doesn’t look like I can put pictures on here (without putting in the wierd URL thing which I have not worked out how to realistically do as yet), but I really like the layout, nonetheless.

All my thoughts and worries can be found on my 20six blog. It seems something is going to happen over there, everything will change (though I think there are many storms in tea cups, I think, heh, how you say, monsieur?)