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July 4th, 2009
05:53 pm - Things on TV that I Don't Understand...
There have been certain questions that have been bugging me lately, in relation to things I have seen on TV. Can someone come up with some possible explanations for my following queries?
1. Desperate Housewives
In almost every episode, the Housewives visit each other’s houses. Sometimes these visits take place on the spur-of-the-moment, when something wacky or dramatic has just occurred on Wisteria Lane, and one Housewife desperately (hehe) needs to talk to another Housewife about it. Other times, a Housewife might host a dinner, or margaritas, or a house party, and the other Housewives bring their husbands too.
My question is: who is minding the kids?
All of the Housewives (apart from Bree) have young children. Who the heck is babysitting the kids, when the Housewives are rushing over to each other’s houses, and attending parties? Surely not Porter and Preston Schavo (the only older teens we see on the show). Those boys are far too irresponsible. I mean, they ran a secret casino in their bedroom, for heaven’s sake! And surely not old Mrs McClusky. She usually attends the parties anyway, with a tumbler of whiskey in her hand. There also appear to be no grandparents close by – they are all either (a) dead; (b) estranged; or (c) live far away from the Housewives and their spouses.
Just for once, I’d like to see a Housewife mention the fact that they have to get a babysitter for their kids. Eg, “Carlos and I would love to attend your party Bree! But we have to get someone to mind the girls.”
2. That Ginger Room Catering advertisement
The Ginger Room Catering advertisements are played every night, during “Masterchef Australia”. There are two of them, and together they form a narrative of a couple’s courtship and wedding. Canberra readers will know what I’m talking about, but for those who live outside our nation’s sunny capital, I’ll elaborate.
The first ad features a gormless looking woman who meets a gormless looking man when buying fruit and veggies. (Their hands touch when they reach for the same red chili. Oh, the symbolism). Then they see each other again, in the same place (the Gormless Woman is wearing a weird cap). Then the scene cuts to some beer garden at night, where they spot each other again. Gormless Woman clutches the arms of her Gormless Girlfriends as if to say “That’s the one I was telling you about!” The ad ends when Gormless Man approaches their table, holding two drinks, and smiling at Gormless Woman.
The second ad shows Gormless Man and Gormless Woman (now clearly a couple), on a double date, then on a date by themselves, then giggling at their reception dinner, then slow dancing at their wedding, and finally, Gormless Woman throwing her bouquet to her Gormless Girlfriends (who are all still presumably yet to find themselves a Gormless Man). Incidentally, the camera angles used during the “wedding” scenes make it look as if there are about six guests there, maximum.
Both ads are set to some whistly upbeat tune about “How I can make the world I see / Exactly how I want it to be”. Er, ok then.
But I digress. My question here is – what is the place where they buy the fruit and veggies? It looks like a large room, with a long table down the middle with baskets of produce. It’s definitely not a supermarket. There is a cashier at one end, and the sign above reads something like “In Season Food”.
Is this a real place in Canberra? If so, I want to go there. Not to meet a gormless man, but to buy some of the food, which does look really lovely in the ad. Can any local readers help me out?
3. Masterchef Australia
Speaking of Masterchef Australia, my question here is: why have they brought back eliminated contestants?
Ok, I guess I do know the answer to this one. Ratings. But is that really a good idea. It’s a popular show, but do viewers really want the show to be dragged out any longer? It’s already been running for over two months, and we were just getting down to the exciting part, when there were only a handful of contestants left. Now they’ve brought back Justine and Poh (both of whom I felt deserved to be eliminated), thus delaying the finals for another few weeks. Could this backfire on Channel 10? Will the public get fed up (no pun intended) and switch off?
4. Talkin’ ‘bout Your Generation
There are several questions I could ask about this show. Why is it that the winners are chosen not by intelligently answering questions all throughout the show, but by being deemed the best at the “Final Challenge” in the last round (which usually involves something like icing a cake, or building a champagne tower, or setting a formal dining table).
And who is that blonde kid representing the “Generation Y” team. Where’s he from? What’s he famous for? And why is his hair always sticking up?
But the real question I wanted to ask was inspired by last week’s episode. The guest on the Generation Y team was Gracie Otto, a young female film-maker, daughter of Barry Otto and sister of Miranda Otto (both actors).
In what was to be a rather embarrassing moment, her question was “Who played Lois Lane in the 1990s television show ‘Lois and Clark: the New Adventures of Superman’?” It quickly became painfully obvious that not only did she not know who the actress was, but she did not know who Lois Lane was. “Lois or Lane? Which one? Is that the actress’s name or the character’s name?” she was asking, completely baffled.
Now I’m 28, and “Lois and Clark” was big when I was about 14 or 15. Granted, Gracie may be several years younger than I am, and missed the hoopla over that show. And granted, apart from “Superman Returns” there haven’t been any Superman movies in recent years. But I figured that pretty much everyone knows that Lois Lane is Superman’s girlfriend. Am I really that much of a geek? Is it perfectly normal for a person in their early 20s not to have the faintest clue who Lois Lane is?
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/niaha/kitty/ankthinkg.gif) curious
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June 30th, 2009
10:23 pm - Homeward Bound
This is the last USA holiday related blog entry. Promise.
Day 24 – Washington DC to San Francisco
On Day 24 we caught a United Airlines plane back to San Francisco. When we arrived at San Francisco International, we waited at the carousel for our bags. And waited. And waited. All the other passengers had left, and we were watching the empty carousel go round and round.
Just when we figured that our bags must have been sent somewhere else, and were wondering what the heck to do, we spotted a roped off area, behind which were several suitcases, including our own. We had no idea why they were there, or who had put them there. A porter retrieved them for us when we showed him our tickets. Then we discovered that United had managed to break Craig’s suitcase. One of the plastic bits that made it stand up had been snapped clean off.
We caught a taxi to the Carlton Hotel. After checking in, we went next door to the Fly Bar. We had a few beers (including Red Seal and Moretti Pilsner) and shared a warm and tasty spinach and artichoke dip, followed by a superb “Funky Chicken” pizza. While Craig drank on, I went for a walk down to Union Square. Had a look in Borders, and bought some undies from Macy’s (had no clean ones left, and we didn’t want to worry about finding a Laundromat).
Day 25 – San Francisco
Our 25th day in the United States of America was leisurely. We strolled down to Café Mason for a late breakfast. It was packed – no doubt due to the Memorial Day public holiday. I never did find out what Memorial Day was about. Craig and I had some idea that it was a bit like ANZAC Day. A day to commemorate the nation’s soldiers, but without the parades and two-up. Of course, we could have been completely wrong about that.
After breakfast, we did some shopping. We swung by Old Navy, where I got some t-shirts for my brother, and Bloomingdales to get some new socks for me (again, I had no fresh ones left). We also stocked up on souvenirs, including “SF” caps, and shot glasses with pictures of bridges and cable cars.
In the evening, we went down to the lobby, for the classy complementary wine tasting. Then went to Jack In The Box for some not-so-classy but no-less-tasty burgers.
Day 26 – San Francisco
Buoyed by our tasty dinner the previous night, we decided to revisit Jack In The Box for breakfast. Unfortunately, their breakfast burgers were quite heavy. Definitely the sort of food to make one sink, rather than buoy one up.
Caught the 71 bus from the corner of Stockton and Market, to the Golden Gate Park. It turned out to be something of a disappointment. To our consternation, the park was riddled with homeless people. They lounged on the green grass, near the pathways, with their shopping trolleys and sleeping bags. Luckily none of them approached us. We also saw a large group of youths (both male and female) all sitting on the grass (in the middle of a school day), and we suspected they were buying drugs.
The museums in the Golden Gate Park cost $25 to enter. We’d reached the stage of our holiday where we didn’t want to fork out too much money if we could help it. Even the Japanese Tea Garden cost $5 per person to enter.
All in all, the most brilliant thing about the Golden Gate Park was the green algae that completely covered the ponds. We decided not to hang around, and caught a taxi straight to Fisherman’s Wharf.
After a lunch of fish and chips at the cheapest place we could find (which was still pretty expensive by Australian standards, for fish and chips) we watched the sea-lions sleep and snort in the sun.
That evening, we kept our regular 5.30 appointment in the Carlton’s lobby. The wine tasting was supposed to run for half an hour. At 6pm, one of the younger hotel employees began wheeling the trolley with the bottles and glasses towards the lifts. I felt sorry for him, because he was suddenly bailed up by all these guests, wanting “last drinks”. One guy even grabbed a bottle and poured two glasses of wine for himself and his girlfriend, right to the brims (you were supposed to wait until you were served by the staff).
There was also a large party of New Zealanders, who looked to be in their 50s and 60s. One Kiwi picked up an unopened bottle off the cart, and asked the hotel employee if he could take it. I guess the hotel employee was too polite, or afraid, to tell him “no”; instead he nodded shyly. The New Zealander ended up carrying the bottle back to his cheering group, with a big stupid grin on his face.
Craig and I just shook our heads. “It’s people like that who ruin things for everyone else,” said Craig. I agreed that it was inappropriate. We both like our alcohol, but would never behave like that. “Complementary wine tasting” is not the same as “Completely take advantage of our hospitality and grab as much wine as you can get!”
Had dinner at the trusty Fly Bar, where I sampled a Blanco pizza, with artichokes and pepper-jack cheese.
Day 27 – San Francisco to Australia
It was our last day in San Francisco and the USA. We decided to head to Coit Tower in the North Beach district. Our plan was to catch the elevator up to the top, and take some “goodbye” photos of the city.
As luck would have it, when we arrived at the tower (after walking up some steep, steep streets), the elevator was out of order. And we weren’t allowed to use the stairs either. So after admiring the murals depicting the earlier life in San Francisco, and crushing one last penny in the machine in the foyer, we departed Coit Tower.
Had an “interesting” lunch at the Pinecrest Diner, near Union Square. I ordered nachos, and received some raw corn chips covered with a toxic looking cheese that was clearly from a can. Plus a few random chopped up green chilies. Very different from the baked corn chips, smothered with a meaty sauce, real cheese, sour cream and guacamole that we’re used to in Australia. What a rort.
Speaking of rorts (but this time, inflicted on American people by Antipodeans), we arrived back at the Carlton, and waited in the lobby for our shuttle bus to take us to the airport. The group of New Zealanders was also leaving. They were on the same shuttle bus.
Our jaws dropped when we saw the number of bags the Kiwis had. For a group of eight people, they had 20 suitcases. All enormous ones too. The shuttle bus arrived, and the hotel porter got busy, lugging all those bags and stowing them in the shuttle bus.
And not one of those New Zealanders tipped him.
Yes, I realise you don’t like tipping, and you think it’s a silly custom. Yes, I realise you are leaving this hotel and probably never coming back. But geez, show a bit of appreciation for the man’s efforts! And next time, don’t pack so much junk.
The flight back to Sydney was uneventful, apart from the idiot in front of Craig who reclined his seat all the way back, 10 minutes after take-off, and kept it back for the next 14 hours. And no, he wasn’t sleeping. He was just lolling back, watching movies, reading magazines, and chatting to his idiot mate sitting next to him. So inconsiderate.
So now I’m back in Canberra, at the end of an incredibly busy month at work, wishing I was doing it all over again (the holiday, not the work!)
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June 21st, 2009
11:44 am - Capital times in the Capitol
Day 21 – New York to Washington DC
It was time to leave New York. We caught a taxi to the bus stand, a block away from Penn Station. We had left ourselves plenty of time, so we stood and watched while the buses, emblazoned with the names of their companies, came and went.
We were traveling to Washington DC on a ‘Washington Deluxe’ bus. We’d pre-booked our bus tickets. Their website required us to be at the bus stop by 10.45am for an 11am departure. At 10.45 non-descript bus, with a different name to ‘Washington Deluxe’ turned up. Instantly, many of the people who were at the stop surged forward, and began crowding onto the bus. A porter got out and started stowing luggage into the compartment below the bus. At no stage did the porter, or driver, announce that this bus went to Washington DC.
By now, the bus was almost full. It was 10.55am, and the Washington Deluxe bus had not shown up. A thought struck me. I walked around to the front of the bus. In the window, was a tiny sign. “This is a Washington Deluxe bus.” Oh dear.
“This is our bus!” I told Craig. He replied with a naughty word.
We got our luggage loaded onto the bus, and went to the door. A few other people, who like us, had realised (almost too late) that this was a Washington Deluxe bus, lined up behind us.
But we couldn’t get on just yet. Behind us was a lady with a little girl. A female employee of Washington Deluxe, who was collecting fares, asked Craig and I to step back, to let her and the child on first. Fair enough. But then the rest of the line pressed forward, effectively sending Craig and I to the back of the short queue. That meant we were the last people to board, despite being among the first to arrive at the bus stop. The sun beat down on the backs of our necks as we stood on the pavement.
“This is ridiculous!” Craig declared deliberately loudly. “We should have taken the plane!”
“Hush.” I told him. I didn’t want them to ban us from the bus.
By the time we boarded, nearly every seat was taken. “There’s a seat there, and a seat there,” said the Money Collecting Lady, pointing to two separate, spare window seats right up the front, on either side of the aisle. The aisle seat on the left was occupied by a man who instantly stood up, so that Craig could get to the window seat. The aisle seat on the right was occupied by a middle aged, well dressed lady with a grumpy expression on her face. She had her stuff, books and shopping bag spread out across the window seat. She did not move.
“There’s seat there,” said Money Collecting Lady again, a little impatiently, pointing right at the window seat. Then she abruptly turned, and hurried off the bus. Still, Grumpy Lady did not move.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. Grumpy Lady slowly looked up and glared at me.
I gestured to the spare seat. “Would you mind…?”
She gave a really annoyed sigh and rolled her eyes. “Aren’t there any other seats?”
“I’m afraid not.” I told her.
Grumpy Lady rolled her eyes again, and very slowly moved her stuff off the window seat, and stood to let me through.
“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
In response, she gave me a filthy look.
The bus took off. Grumpy Lady crossed herself three times. Protection against the bus crashing, or being struck by lightning, or infected with Swine Flu. Then she proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the trip. Fine with me!
We drove through New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland, before arriving in the nation’s sunny capital. The trip took about four hours. I read “The House of Stairs” by William Sleator.
It was a short taxi ride to our hotel in the Capitol Hill district – the Capitol Hill Suites. Craig crashed into bed, still fighting his cold, and was snoring within minutes. There was still plenty of daylight, so I went for a walk. The Library of Congress, the Supreme Court and Capital Hill were all a very short walk away. After returning to the hotel, Craig woke up, and we ordered Chinese take-away in our room. Unfortunately, it was pretty average, and came with too much packaging.
Day 22 – Washington DC
We visited Capitol Hill in the morning. In the foyer, we were issued with visitor’s stickers that proclaimed we were part of the 9.30am group, and joined the queue that was filing into an auditorium.
I was struck by how dressed down some of the other visitors were. I saw one girl, in her early twenties, who was wearing a singlet top which exposed her bra straps. On one of her shoulder blades was a tattoo that said “ME” with shooting stars above it. Classy. There were also several school groups present. One boy was wearing board shorts and a surfie looking t-shirt. If I had a son who was visiting Capitol Hill, I’d be making him wear a button up short, and proper slacks, or shorts. I mean, it’s the most important place in the country. Show a bit of respect!
After watching a short film about the history of American democracy and Capitol Hill, we were split up into tour groups. We were taken to the Dome Room (right beneath the famous dome), and other rooms containing statues of significant people from each American state. Unlike Parliament House in Australia, we didn’t get to see the actual chambers where the pollies sit though.
We had an early lunch in a café around the corner from our hotel. It was an interesting set-up. It was essentially a buffet, with an eclectic assortment of food. One of the dishes I sampled was crumbed frog’s legs. Definitely the second-most strangest meal I’d had, after the battered okra back at Pagosa Springs.
After lunch, we walked to the Air and Space Museum. All the Smithsonian museums were free of charge. However, all had strict security. We quickly got used to emptying our pockets of keys and coins, and slinging our cameras and purses onto the conveyor belts (that is, I got used to slinging my purse – Craig does not have, and probably never will have, a purse.)
The Air and Space Museum had some interesting exhibitions. One was on the space race between the USA and former USSR (including displays of the uniforms that the astronauts / cosmonauts wore). Another exhibition was on the history early years of passenger flight, teaching us about the good old days when stewardesses wore high heels and funny hats, and everyone smoked during the flight. There were also flight simulators, but the queues were too long and it cost money, so we gave them a miss.
Back outside, we walked down the National Mall, past the Smithsonian Castle, and reached the Washington Monument – the needlepoint rock that overlooks the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. We also wanted to see the White House, and headed north, across the green lawns. But there was a perimeter fence several hundred metres away, so we had to make do with photos of the exterior, using our zoom lenses.
We walked back to our hotel, and being a hot sweltering day, stopped off at the Capitol Lounge for a beer. I tried a tap beer called “Starr Hill” which wasn’t bad. And no, I doubt it was named after Kenneth Starr.
We ducked back to our room to freshen up, then hit the town again. We had dinner in a nearby pub called “The Hawk and Dove”. I had ribs and Craig had chicken; both of which were smothered with a thick, barbeque sauce. Washington did not strike us as a particularly culinary town. After dinner, we ended up back at the Capitol Lounge for one last beer, and a look at the baseball (the Mets were playing the Red Sox).
Day 23 – Washington DC
It was our last day in DC, so we set off to see some more museums. It was the Memorial Day long weekend, and the National Mall was packed with families and school groups. Our first stop was the Museum of Natural History. Besides hordes of people, we saw fossils of ancient insects and fishes, and other creatures that would probably cause the average 21st century dweller to run a mile if they saw them today.
The museum also contained dinosaur skeletons, and remains of the massive anthropoid creatures that followed the dinosaurs. Then it was lunchtime, and we went next door to the Museum of American History, hoping it would be a little less crowded.
No dice. The cafeteria was crowded, but we managed to find seats. We had over-priced, bland food – chicken strips for Craig and burger for me. We did not linger there. After lunch, we checked out the museum. We saw exhibits such as a 1977 Kawasaki motor bike used by the California Highway Patrol (a hit, since we are both CHiPs fans), a Buick Eight, just like out of the Stephen King novel, and a fall-out shelter from the 1950s, among many, many, many other exhibits.
After awhile, Craig asked if we could go. The amazing array of exhibits was beginning to get overwhelming, and our sense of wonder was getting numbed. I guess we were suffering from too-much-sight-seeing-fatigue.
So we walked back down National Mall, waving to a grey squirrel as it scampered up a tree. We strolled on, past all the departmental buildings, so different from the ones we work in, back in Canberra. The lucky Federal Government employees in Washington get to work in grand, historic buildings – several with elaborate columns out the front. Working in a place like that would surely make you feel proud; part of a tradition. As Craig said, the bland, modern buildings we work in, in Canberra, might as well contain call centres, rather than government departments.
That night, we had a quiet night in, watching the Retro Channel. Saw “Dragnet”, “Airwolf”, “Buck Rogers” and “Battleship Galactica.”
Next blog entry will be the last travel update – I promise!
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June 14th, 2009
11:25 am - I want to be a part of it: New York, New York
I made seafood chowder this weekend, in memory of San Francisco. It was surprisingly easy to make, and turned out well. This was quite a domesticated weekend for me. Besides the chowder, I also baked some peach and coconut muffins, weeded some of the front garden, planted some pansies in the weeded section of the front garden, cleaned the bathroom and en suite (including polishing the mirrors), did a couple of loads of laundry and changed the sheets.
Getting back to the wrap-up of the USA trip (and I’m coming to the tail end of it, for any readers who are tiring of reading this of-late travel blog) here is the latest instalment.
Day 18 – New York
After sleeping in, in the City That Never Sleeps, we hit the streets. Times Square was only a few blocks from our hotel. I was expecting it to be bigger and well, more square. I was however, impressed at the scope and scale of the enormous electronic billboards, advertising a myriad of products and television shows.
Craig and I walked on, and I was excited to come across the New York Public Library. It opened at 11 o’clock. It was five minutes to 11, so we decided to wait until it opened. The wide, stone steps were crowded with people – students, tourists, a couple of school groups, and others. I watched as a lady in her 50s or 60s greeted her friends in a thick “Noo Yawk” accent. They were close to Craig and I, and they all had perfect coiffures, impeccable make-up, and expensive looking coats and handbags. From their conversation, they were meeting as part of a book club. Matrons from New York’s upper-middle class.
The interior of the library was grand and stately. Unfortunately, it was a closed library, which meant that apart from a few reference books, we couldn’t wander around the stacks and browse. We took a few photos (without the flash, which wasn’t permitted) and inspected the reading rooms, and the upper gallery, which had several exhibits relating to the history of the library.
Because Craig was hankering for his first coke of the day, and we hadn’t eaten yet, we didn’t linger too long in the library. We had an early lunch in a café, before taking a look in a nearby Barnes and Noble. I had heard that books were cheap, over in the USA. To be fair, the newer hardcover books were just as expensive (if not more) than books sold in Australia. However, the paperbacks were substantially cheaper. I bought three books: ‘Creating Master Characters’, ‘Masters of American Comics’ and ‘The Supreme Court’ (the latter written by former Supreme Court Chief Justice William Rehnquist) for a total of less than $50 US. Bargain!
After a rest back at the Belvedere, we went souvenir shopping at “Grand Slam”, a shop filled with “Wall Street” and “Broadway” number plates, models of yellow taxis, and “I Heart NY” caps.
That night, we went to “Restaurant Row” (aka 46th Street) for dinner. It was packed with restaurants serving Thai, Italian, Russian, French and many other cuisines. We picked one called “Don’t Tell Mama”, and kicked off with drinks in the piano bar section. I ordered a Manhattan cocktail, which turned out to be quite potent.
After our pre-dinner drink, we entered the restaurant section. We ordered the three course set menu, for $22.95 US per person. There were about two or three choices for each course. For the entrée (or “appetizer”) we both ordered scallops wrapped in bacon. To our disappointment, we received only three each, on skewers, with a little bowl of dipping sauce. It was just like being in a fancy restaurant in Canberra!
The scallops and sauce were tasty, but the portion size meant we were hungrily awaiting the main course (or “entrée” in US parlance). I ordered the salmon, which turned out to be a crisp, tasty piece of fish. Craig ordered the chicken, which came on a bed of corn kernels. Craig reckoned they were cold, and tasted like they’d come from a can. We both finished off with lemon cheesecake, which was fairly generous and enjoyable. We also ordered a bottle of sparkling wine from New Mexico to wash the meal down with. Along with the state tax, and the tip, it turned out to be our most expensive dinner yet!
We capped off the evening with one last drink at a pub down the road called “The House of Brews”, which purported to have over 80 beers, from all over the world. I ordered a beer on tap called “Checked Cab”, and we watched the Yankees play Minnesota in the baseball, on the TV.
Day 19 – New York
After breakfast, we got tickets for the double decker Hop-On, Hop-Off bus. We got tickets for $54 each, which was good for 48 hours, and included the downtown loop, uptown loop, and the night tour. We did the downtown loop, which took us past the Empire State Building, the Flat Iron Building, and Greenwich Village. We hopped off at the South Street Seaport. In between taking photos, I thought I’d heard the tour guide lady on the bus mention something about a Titanic Memorial at the Seaport, since it was where the survivors of the Titanic were brought. Being a Titanic aficionado, I was keen to check it out.
The Titanic Memorial was not to be found inside the shopping area of the Seaport. We did find a penny crushing machine, however, and added another couple of squashed pennies to our growing collection.
Nor was it to be found inside the Seaport Museum. After paying $10 each, we saw an exhibition on Franklin Roosevelt’s love of ships, old photos of dockside life from the early 20th century, and cutaways and posters of ocean liners, but nothing related to the Titanic.
So we got back on the bus, and got off at the Rockefeller Centre. After our night on the town the previous night, we were budget-conscious. So we eschewed paying the fee to visit the Observation Deck, and walked back to the hotel instead. We got take-away in our room, then got back on the bus for a night tour.
The night tour departed at 8.30pm, under an indigo sky, from an illuminated, buzzing Times Square. We went past the Chrysler building with its striking art deco architecture, all the way down into Brooklyn, before turning around and heading back across the bridge, with Manhattan lit up before us.
Day 20 – New York
The bus was proving good value. Craig and I caught the uptown loop, which took us past superb old apartment buildings, hotels, and Central Park. We breezed through Harlem, and hopped off at the northern end of the “Museum Mile”.
We spotted the distinctive round shape of the Guggenheim Museum, and made that our first stop. Forked out our $16 entry fee each, and saw an exhibition of Frank Lloyd Wright. Back outside, we bought $2 hot dogs from a vendor before pressing on to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (aka “the Met”).
The $20 entry fee initially seemed steep, but we quickly realised the museum was worth every cent. The amount and exquisiteness of the exhibits was staggering. There was so much to take in – from the Ancient Greek statues to the Roman pottery to the ornate, gilt-edged French furniture from the 17th century, and everything in between and beyond. We really needed an entire day or two to properly see everything.
Unfortunately, we only had a couple of hours. To make matters worse, Craig had caught my cold, and was feeling crook. So we left the Met. Popped briefly into Central Park, then caught the bus back to our hotel. Craig rested in bed whilst I went out in search of some take-away for dinner.
Broadway was packed. There were hordes of people on every street corner, and the crowds were gathering in front of the theatres. The strains of overtures wafted from several entrances. I hurried past the steady low piano notes of the theme song to “9 to 5: the Musical”; brushed past people (scalpers?) calling out, advertising tickets at half price. I was sorry not to have seen a show whilst in New York. In fact I was sorry not to have seen lots of things in New York. We never made it to the World Trade Centre site, or the Museum of Natural History, of the Museum of Modern Art. But we couldn’t do everything.
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June 7th, 2009
05:11 am - You Fill Up My Senses: Adventures in Colorado
Day 15 – Colorado
We departed Pagosa Springs and drove through Wolf Creek Pass. To my surprise, that was about as rocky as our Rockies experience got. No doubt, further to the north the roads would have been more mountainous.
Later that day, we turned off, to visit the Great Sand Dunes National Park. These were huge dunes nestled against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains, formed over thousands of years by the erosion of rock. Indeed, from a distance, they looked as if they had been carefully sculpted out of stone.
At the base of the sand dunes was a very shallow stream – clear fresh water washing swiftly over the grey sand. As Craig and I left the car park and approached the stream, we saw families with towels and umbrellas; children with flat plastic toboggans. People were having fun, paddling, and sliding along the water. It was surreal. A little piece of beach in Colorado, hundreds of miles from either coast.
Craig and I went for a paddle across the stream, and a walk across the nearest sand dune. We took a few funny pics (including a couple of Craig sprawled in the sand, as though he’d become lost in the desert) before heading back to the car.
That afternoon, we drove though the large, industrial town of Pueblo, and stopped for the night in Colorado Springs. Colorado Springs turned out to be much larger than we anticipated, with a large freeway cutting through it, with many exits which had seemingly random numbers.
That night, we decided to experience the chain restaurant of Applebees. It seemed to be suffering from an identity crisis. That is, it didn’t seem to know what it was – a family restaurant or a sports bar. The bar was located centrally, with many small high tables and stools nearby. The flat-screens played baseball. However, there were also many booths, containing families out for a Friday night dinner.
Applebees’ menu was varied and of good value. We ordered a special under which we received two main courses for $20.
I should add here that in America, main courses are called “entrees”. What we would call entrees in Australia are known as “appetizers” in America. This caused us slight confusion during our first couple of days in the USA.
For our appetizer, we ordered warm spinach dip. Applebees really delivered on this one. It was warm and tasty and came with fresh corn chips. We munched on these as we watched Denver play Pittsburgh in the baseball. All the players chewed and spat. For our two main courses (or entrees, if you like) we ordered chicken dishes. Mine was a fiesta dish, with corn and rice. We both decided to indulge with dessert to finish. We ordered these hot fudge ice-creams, which were served in these shot glasses. Overall, we thought Applebees was good value, and the service was fast and attentive.
Day 16 – Denver
The next day, Saturday, we drove north and arrived in Denver before noon. Because it was too early to check into our hotel room, we decided to visit the Denver Zoo.
The Denver Zoo was located in a suburb not too far from the city centre. After checking Craig’s trusty GPS, we drove through the Denver suburbia. In some ways, the city reminded me of Perth. The houses were a similar style to many of the ones in Perth’s older suburbs. Nearly all of them had front verandahs. And the sky was a flawless, brilliant blue. Several days later, when watching a documentary, I also discovered that Denver is very much a car city – just like Perth! The only thing different was the rather narrow streets, which were made even narrower by the plethora of SUVs.
The Denver Zoo was hugely popular. We drove around for at least 20 minutes trying to find a park. Every spot was taken. There were cars and people everywhere. The Denverites must really love animals. Or maybe it was the nicest day after a long winter and everyone was out and about? Whatever the case, we were fortunate to find a spot in the museum car-park, next door.
The zoo was good, despite being filled with children who all seemed to have names such as “Skyler”, “Tyler” and “Ariel”. I saw many animals that the Perth Zoo doesn’t have – Rocky Mountain Rams, Coatis, Red River Hogs, Bison, Musk Ox, Yaks, and White Wolves.
We left around mid afternoon, checked into our hotel which was out near the airport, and ate dinner that night in the Moonlight Diner, next door.
Day 17 – Denver to New York
We arose early and drove the short distance to Denver International Airport. We found the Alamo car rental place and bid a fond farewell to the Chevrolet Traverse. With a full two hours to spare before our flight departed, we caught the shuttle bus to the main terminal.
As it turned out, we needed those two hours. Denver International Airport was enormous. Neither Craig nor I had ever seen such a huge airport before. It was clearly a hub for the surrounding regions. We queued up in a long line, eventually checked our baggage in, then set off in search of some breakfast. The food and shopping area was like a mini mall. After grabbing some Burger King breakfast burgers, I spotted my first ever newsagency in America, and went in to buy the New York Times to read on the plane.
We then queued some more to get through security, after which we caught another shuttle bus to the terminal in which our gate was located. Finally, we were able to board.
The powers that be (aka United Airlines) had separated us, placing Craig all the way up the front in Economy Plus, and me all the way down the back with a bunch of school kids who were en route to some field trip to Washington DC. Gee, when I was at school, the only trips we went on were to places like Dwellingup and New Norcia!
After disembarking at La Guardia and collecting our luggage, we were approached by a man in a dark suit, who offered to take us to our hotel in his limousine, for a flat fee of $65. Several days later, at San Francisco Airport, we would hear messages played over the Public Announcement system that warned “For your own personal safety, please do not accept offers of taxi or limousine rides from persons inside the airport!” However, these announcements were not in effect at La Guardia, so heedless of our personal safety, we accepted the man’s offer.
The limousine turned out to be a black Lincoln stretch. The driver took us past innumerable rusty brown buildings, and yellow taxis. We arrived (safely) at our hotel, the Belvedere, which was located on 48th Street. After dumping our bags, we went exploring.
A couple of streets away was an international food fair. The road was blocked off, and there were people everywhere – cops dressed in their distinctive blue uniforms and caps, couples walking little dogs, teenagers jostling each other. We passed a man who had collapsed on the ground. All I could see were his legs. His family was clumped around him, and a black female cop was kneeling by his side, telling him that an ambulance was on its way.
The stalls were beginning to be packed away, so we ate dinner at a nearby restaurant. Once again, the main courses came with a side dish of soup, and the waiter also brought us free bread and olives. After the meal, we walked back to the Belvedere and crashed into bed. That was our introduction to the city that never sleeps.
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June 1st, 2009
02:32 pm - Grilled pannini, Cherry-flavoured cough lollies, and Battered Okra.
Back in bleak Canberra, and have some catching up to do, with this blog.
Day 12 – Southern Utah
We headed back to Arches National Park in the morning – the pass we had paid $10 for was good for a week. The rocks appeared different in the morning light. They seemed a more washed-out brown colour, rather than steeped in the brilliant ochres and reds of the previous afternoon. After purchasing a few souvenirs we pressed on.
We drove through Monticello and stopped for lunch in Blanding. Craig wanted to go to the local burger joint, but I had had enough of take-away style food. Instead, I persuaded him to go to the “Peace Café” for a proper sandwich.
The Peace Café was a trendy spot. We ended up waiting over half an hour for our grilled chicken and pesto pannini sandwiches (which to be fair, were very tasty). But we felt the Peace Café belonged more in Byron Bay, New South Wales than Blanding, Utah.
For the rest of the afternoon we checked into our Super 8 Motel in Blanding and relaxed.
Day 13 – Southern Utah
On day 13, I woke up with a very sore throat and a croaky voice. Craig went to the Clarks across the street (a huge supermarket, discount type store) to get me some cough lollies. Unfortunately, the ones he came back with were cherry flavoured.
Americans seemed to love cherry flavoured items. Craig reckoned that one of the many advertisements on American TV that he saw, was for cherry flavoured Pepto-Bismal. Apparently, it featured a lady who was discussing what her husband had recently consumed. “He’s been eating cherry flavoured chicken, cherry flavoured fries, and drinking cherry flavoured coke!” she said. I can believe it.
My mother uses a waxy furniture polish that smells of cherry. As a child, I used to help her polish the coffee table. I’d imagine that had I eaten some of that polish, the taste would have been similar to the cherry flavoured cough lollies I had. In addition, the back of the packet listed a bewildering array of chemicals.
Subsequently, I felt a little woozy as we took off for a day of driving around in the desert. Every so often, Craig would stop the car, leap out, and take a picture of some interesting rock formation. Then he’d jump back in, glance at me lolling in the passenger seat, murmur “Poor thing,” and take off again.
He drove us along the Valley of the Gods trail, through a rocky orange landscape speckled with spots of green scrub. The road was unsealed, with many steep dips. Craig took delight in putting the foot down, making the car gain some “airtime”, just like in “The Dukes of Hazzard”.
We stopped at a tiny town near the state border called Mexican Hat; so named because there was a nearby rock which looked like a man wearing a sombrero. We ate at a café and noticed that several of the other customers were wearing cowboy hats and spurs. After lunch, we drove across the border into Arizona. Headed east along Route 160 and saw the Four Corners monument – the place where Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado meet up. In fact, this is the only location in the USA where four states join.
As with almost every national park, historic, or monument in the USA, we had to pay to enter. (In this case, $3 each). The Four Corners monument is run by Native American Indians, and they had stalls set up around the monument, hawking jewelry and pottery and pancake snacks. The monument itself was a platform split in four by a large cross, and a plague right in the middle.
After making sure we’d walked in all four states, we set off, back to Blanding, Utah. Our route took us from Cortez, Colorado to Monticello, Utah. This stretch of road was Route 666, aka “The Devil’s Highway.” Back in Bodega Bay, Craig had bought a book about haunted roads of America, and one of the stories featured the Devil’s Highway.
The narrator of this particular tale was driving along the Devil’s Highway. It was night, and there was a full, orange moon and some strange blood-red clouds in the sky, bathing the entire landscape in an eerie glow. In the distance, a car appeared behind the narrator - just two shining headlights. The narrator was suddenly struck by a sense of fear. He increased his speed, wanting to get off Route 666 as soon as possible. But even when his speed reached 90 miles per hour, the car behind him kept on coming, getting closer by the minute.
Eventually, the car was riding his bumper, flooding the inside of his car with light. The narrator tried to move into the other lane to get the car off his tail, but swerved off the road. Whilst fighting for control, the narrator caught a glimpse of the other car as it sped past. It was a old black sedan, with silver smoke streaming out from under its bonnet. The narrator felt a tyre go out and his car skidded to a halt.
He jumped out, and frantically began putting the spare tyre on. As he was finishing, he heard the sound of howling. As he leapt into his car and took off, he saw a pack of dogs loping along the road behind him. Their eyes were yellow.
According to the book, this narrator’s experience is not uncommon. Other motorists have also being run off the road by a black automobile, or chased by a pack of vicious dogs late at night on the Devil’s Highway…
However, for us Routh 666 was quite tame. Perhaps it was because it was only 5.30pm and the sun was still high, but the sky was most definitely not bathed in red. The landscape was cultivated, and quite lush and green. We were not pursued by any black automobile. In fact, the only car we saw on the Devil’s Highway was strangely enough, a Holden Monaro.
Day 14 – Colorado
On Day 14 we left Utah and entered Colorado. The home state of persons such as boxer Jack Dempsey and actor Douglas Fairbanks Jr. We visited the Mesa Verde National Park (pronounced “May-sah Ver-day”) which contained the remnants of ancient dwellings constructed by the Pueblo Indians from approximately 800 – 1200 AD.
I drove the Chevy along the winding road that led us to the Visitors Centre. We took a walk down to the sandstone cliff dwellings. They were remarkable – square and circular houses of carefully placed brick, nestled right under the overhanging cliff. A friendly ranger encouraged us to go down a ladder into a Kiva – a circular underground room – which we did.
We also passed a couple of groups of school kids, no doubt on an end of year excursion. They went by, smelling of sunscreen, some carrying cameras, all of them chattering and excited. It reminded me of my school camps back in Western Australia, although we never saw anything like this.
That afternoon we arrived in a town called Pagosa Springs, where we stopped for the night. I lay in bed and watched episodes of “Friends” that were nearly as old as the Mesa Verde ruins, whilst Craig went downstairs to check out the bar.
He was back after an hour or so, enthusing about how great it was. So I accompanied him downstairs. The bar was nice. The top had images of local animals, birds, and plants etched into it. I traced the outline of a mountain lion with my finger as I drank my Avalanche beer.
We also ordered dinner at the bar. I had the pulled pork, which like lots of dinners in America, came with a choice of several side dishes. I decided to try the okra because I felt like some veggies. The okra came out battered. Definitely the strangest meal I had in the USA – pulled pork and battered okra. On the plus side, it wasn’t cherry flavoured.
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May 26th, 2009
12:08 am - The Golden Spike, KFC, and the Death of the Small Town
Day 10 – Utah
There is something about trains that brings out the rabidity in many photographers. And there is also something about trains that brings out the self-absorption in non-photographers.
On Sunday, 10th May, we set out for Promontory Summit, the site where the Central Railway line and the Pacific Railway line met up (aka the Golden Spike). We were there, under a sunny Utah sky, on the 140th anniversary of that event.
They had the two old trains lined up head to head, on the tracks. Crowds of people swarmed around. Several of persons who were clearly rail enthusiasts (aka train nutters) had video cameras set up on tripods, filming the scene. I’m not entirely sure why. The trains were stationary. One guy was getting a little antsy, and was yelling at people who were walking in front of his camera, telling them to stay out of the way because he was filming. An elderly man (who, to be fair was ponderously and cluelessly shuffling around right in front of the camera) snapped back with “Geez, do ya want me to leave the entire premises?”
The Golden Spike National Park also included a souvenir shop, museum and theatre. In the latter, we watched an informative short film outlining the laying of the railway, and the Golden Spike. I also noted that there was another video featuring Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang, but sadly, we didn’t get to see that.
To our delight, the souvenir shop had a penny crushing machine. We put in some coins, and flattened out a couple of pennies, imprinting them with images of the Golden Spike. Bought some souvenirs – Craig bought a small chocolate wrapped in golden foil, and shaped like a spike.
After spending a couple of hours watching the trains, the rabid photographers, and the unthinking people walking in front of the rabid photographers’ cameras, we decided not to stay for the speeches which started after midday. We headed back to Brigham City to hunt up some lunch.
We decided to have KFC. We soon discovered that the American version of KFC is very different to the Australian KFC. For a start, the American KFC doesn’t have chips! That’s right, those nice, salty KFC chips do not exist in America. Instead, they have these chunky wedges that are obviously fried in some unappealing fat, and don’t taste very nice at all. For another thing, you can only order certain combinations of chicken pieces. For example, in Australia you can go into a KFC store, order two pieces of chicken, and you basically get whatever they give you. But in America, they have specific combinations, such as a leg and a thigh, or a wing and a breast (which costs slightly more).
In addition, the chicken comes with a choice of two side dishes, whether you like it or not! The sides include things like the aforementioned wedges, corn, and coleslaw.
After lunch, we decided to go to Idaho. This was not a huge undertaking as one may expect, since Brigham City was quite close to the state border. So we headed north in the big Chevy Traverse. After awhile, we hadn’t seen any signs announcing that we’d crossed the border. Were we still in Utah, or in Idaho? Craig turned off the highway, down a side road to a tiny town called Portage. Almost every house in Portage had an American flag spiked into its front lawn. Obviously the townsfolk of Portage were very patriotic. After cruising around and looking at the numberplates on parked cars, we determined that Portage must still be in Utah.
So we continued driving north, and in a couple of minutes, saw the sign announcing that we were in Idaho. We crossed the border, and a hundred metres later, stopped the car, and walked on Idaho soil. Then got back in the car, turned around, and headed straight back to Brigham City, ticking the Potato State off our list of states.
Day 11
We departed Brigham City, and skirted neatly around Salt Lake City on the interstate. I read the newspaper (USA Today) while Craig drove. We left the mountains of northern Utah behind us, as the landscape flattened out, and became arid.
After a Burger King lunch in the town of Green River, we continued on to the Arches National Park. We paid our $10 entry fee and slowly drove past the remarkable rock formations. The colours were brilliant. The rocks were a deep ochre, contrasted against a sky of vivid blue. We saw rocks that looked like a herd of elephants ambling along, and others that looked like tall solemn prophets. And of course, we saw the arches – rocks that curved around like huge, rough-hewn window frames. And through many of those “windows” we saw sweeping views of the desert.
After seeing the arches, we drove into Moab, which struck us as being somewhat of a tourist trap. Many shops offered adventure tours, such as kayaking or rafting. Instead, we stayed back in Green River.
The town was quiet. We got a pizza, and went for a walk down the main street of Green River whilst waiting for it to cook. Several shops were clearly closed permanently for business. There were a couple of shabby motels with boarded windows and faded signs. In fact, nearly every town we passed through had at least one of those lonely, derelict former accommodations. At the far ends of the towns however, we could generally find several bright, new brand name motels. Some of these were optimistically huge. Just how many people did they seriously think would be flocking to their town en masse?
Our walk was not long. The empty streets were not conducive to high spirits. We took our pizza back to our Ramada Hotel on the outskirts of Green River and had an early night.
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May 18th, 2009
08:51 pm - I've Been Through the Desert In a Car With No Name
Day 8 – Nevada
Nevada. A state full of desert and poker machines and not a great deal else. On Day 8 of our trip, we were on the western edge of the Silver State, facing a vast expanse of barren scrub.
But that morning in question, Craig had one goal – to find a toy squirrel. America was full of the critters. We’ve seen them everywhere, scampering about, across roads and in parks. People we’ve spoken to have complained about them nesting in their attics. Rather like possums making their homes in people’s garages in Canberra, I suppose.
After investigating a souvenir shop, and purchasing a grey squirrel with a very bushy tail, we left the colourful vistas of Lake Tahoe behind. We cruised through Carson City along Highway 50. Carson City is the capital of Nevada. It contained several nice old buildings downtown, but largely, it seemed to consist of petrol stations (complete with pokies inside) chain restaurants, and independent shops with “Closing Down” signs out the front.
We stopped at our first ever Wal-Mart. “Do they sell walls at Wal-Mart?” I remember Paris Hilton asking in the first season of ‘The Simple Life’ earlier this decade. I can verify that they do not sell walls and Wal-Mart, but they do sell almost everything else. Wal-Mart is like a Woolworths, K-Mart, and Target combined, and multiplied by 10. It even has benches thoughtfully interspersed through-out the store, so one can rest when one is weary from purchasing food, drugs, DVDs, clothes, and goodness knows what else. Craig bought some cheap t-shirts and shorts for around $5 each.
Soon after leaving Carson City, Craig swung a left, and we headed towards Virginia City. It was billed as Nevada’s “liveliest ghost town”. I like ghost towns. I imagined Virginia City would be something like Ora Banda, or Broad Arrow, out near Kalgoorlie in Western Australia. One of those old, ruined, deserted towns, with the remnants of dwellings and mines.
To our surprise, Virginia City transpired to be a thriving tourist town of over 6000 persons! We had lunch in an old saloon ($3.95 US netted us a hot dog, bag of potato chips, and a root beer each) which was filled with not so old fashioned poker machines.
After lunch we looked in the Mark Twain museum. ($3 US per person). Apparently he began his writing career, working as a journo on the local newspaper. I like Mark Twain. He had some good sayings. One which springs to mind is “Golf is a good walk ruined.” Another is “Familiarity breeds contempt and children.” Anyway, we saw the desk of Samuel Clemens (aka Mark Twain), and even his old toilet! I kid you not!
After leaving Virginia City, I took the driver’s seat, and we continued driving along Highway 50, the loneliest road in America. After seeing no more than about 20 cars all afternoon, I could believe it. The never-ending landscape was stark, brown, and rugged. The road stretched straight and distant.
That night, we stayed at an old nickel mining town called “Eureka”. We ate at the restaurant down the street, which was full of locals. Funny thing about America – they call the entrees “appetisers” and the main courses “entrees”. The “entrees” also usually come with a side, like soup or salad. And there are always (complementary) bread rolls.
Back at the hotel, we surfed through all one zillion channels, and ended up watching a movie from 1980 called “Motel Hell”. It was about this crazed farmer and his wife, who captured innocent guests staying at their creepy motel, drugged them, planted them in the ground and eventually smoked and processed them as meat. I swear they just don’t show movies like that on TV in Australia.
Day 9 – Nevada to Utah
On Day 9, we left Eureka and drove to the larger but no less dusty town of Ely, Nevada, where we had breakfast at McDonalds. In Australia, Maccas serves Bacon and Egg McMuffins, Sausage and Egg McMuffins, and Hash Browns for breakfast, but that’s pretty much it. In America, Mickey D’s serves at least 20 breakfast items, including exotic sounding Panini’s and biscuits.
“Where are you folks from?” asked one of the girls who was working there.
“Australia.” we replied.
“Australia? Well it sure is nice to have some different folk come into our store!” she said.
I guess they don’t get many Aussie tourists passing through.
We followed Highway 50, listening to country music stations. In America, we’ve found that in remote areas, when all other stations are a buzz of static, you can always rely on country music stations to come through on your radio, clear as a bell. We listened to many songs about sad break-ups, and broken hearts, and “maybe he/she will take me back, or maybe he/she will say ‘I told you so’,” as we crossed the border into Utah at the town of Wendover. The casinos abruptly vanished. We were now in the state of light beer and Mormons.
We checked out the Bonneville Salt Flats, hard, white in crusty in some parts, and grimy, moist and fragile in others. Craig and I had lunch in a nearby diner run by Hispanics with heavy accents. It was quite busy, and I overheard one young American male chatting with one of the servers.
“Yeah, I want to apply for the FBI next year,” he was saying. “Or I want to be a cop in a big city. I’m tired of driving up and down here all the time, and living in a town where everyone knows me.”
I guess living in a small town in the middle of the desert isn’t for everyone. I must admit, I’d get tired of driving up and down a town’s main street all the time too.
We skirted around Salt Lake City and drove through Ogden. I believe it’s meant to be a university town, but our impressions were not favourable. It seemed to be a shabby, dumpy town. There were lots of bogan-ish people. We overtook a big gas-guzzling car, driven by a big fat American man. Sitting next to him was his big fat American wife, and in the back was their big fat American son. All three of them were slurping on Jumbo sized buckets of what probably were overly-sweetened fizzy drinks.
So we drove on, to Brigham City. After checking into a motel, we went across the road to Wal-Mart. In an effort to conserve our financial resources we decided to get some frozen TV dinners. Like pretty much everything in America, the degree of choice was staggering. You could get frozen pastas, steaks, chicken, Asian noodles, casseroles, and rice. I settled on a tuna and pasta dish. Craig got something called “Hungry Man” which consisted of battered chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, corn and chocolate pudding. And it was so cheap! Only $2 or $3 per meal. No wonder they’re so popular.
Next Up: we check out the Golden Spike, and a lot of arches.
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May 12th, 2009
10:46 pm - California Dreaming
Day 5 – Northern California
“Remember the Alamo!” was a cry uttered by Texas soldiers in the 1836 Battle of San Jacinto, referring to a siege several weeks earlier, where Mexican forces had attacked the Texans at Alamo Mission.
I will certainly remember the wait at the Alamo car rental agency on Tuesday last week. It wasn’t a particularly long queue, but we ended up waiting over an hour, partly due to European tourists in the queue ahead of us, who didn’t seem to know what car they wanted, or where they were going, and partly due to the Alamo staff who seemed to be taking ages.
We ended up upgrading our car, at the recommendation of the Alamo guy we dealt with. They gave us a 2009 Chevrolet Traverse. It is a huge brown behemoth of a car. Craig managed to manoeuvre the car down the steep streets of San Francisco (driving on the “wrong” side of the road for the first time in his life) and back to the Hotel Carlton. We parked a little way up the street, found that the meter was broken, so we dashed inside to get our bags from the hotel, and load them into the Yank Tank.
We were gone for no more than 10 minutes, but when we returned, there was a parking citation stuck under the windscreen wiper. We now owe the City of San Francisco $70 US. Undeterred by this early breach of the local law, we set off, driving north across the Golden Gate Bridge. The weather was still annoyingly foggy, which meant that when we stopped on the other side, in Marin County, we couldn’t get any decent photos.
We drove on and stopped for lunch in Bodega Bay. This was the town where the 1962 Hitchcock movie “The Birds” was filmed. Unfortunately, we found the place to be quite small, yet overpriced. They didn’t seem to be capitalising on the movie at all, apart from a few photos near one of the main restaurants. I realise the movie is almost 50 years old, but it is still quite well known.
What we did discover in Bodega Bay is an American phenomenon known as a souvenir penny machine. You drop two quarters and a one cent coin into the machine, then crank the handle (or press a button, if the machine is a modern one). The one cent coin is somehow flattened and stretched into an oblong shape, and a souvenir image is printed on it (in the case of Bodega Bay, it was the image of a bird.)
After a late lunch of seafood chowder in a diner type restaurant, we pressed on north up Highway 1, along twisty, narrow roads. At times the road ran close to the coastline, which was rugged and windswept. We stopped for the night at a town called Gualala, and had dinner in a place near the beach. It was so foggy and grey that it was hard where the sea ended and the sky begun. The sand was a murky colour. Looking at it, I thought that California was supposed to be a sun soaked, clear bright state. But maybe that’s just the southern part?
Day 6 – Northern California
The sky was a flat, pale beige as we left Gualala and drove further up the coast. We stopped at the town of Fort Bragg, which was damp and devoid of tourists. We turned east, and headed along Highway 20.
Craig encouraged me to have a go at driving. So, with some trepidation, I climbed into the driver’s seat, and experienced the slightly disconcerting act of driving a car (a massive car) with a left hand drive, on the right hand side of the road. It wasn’t too hard to pick up, but at first I had to fight the urge to veer closer to the right.
Craig turned on the radio, and we got some Top 40 type station where the artist was cheerfully singing about a girl who crashed her father’s car. “She crashed that Chevy and walked away!” it went. I gripped the steering wheel of our Chevrolet Traverse a little tighter.
The countryside flattened out, and the blue skies appeared. Craig and I were glad. We were both heartily sick of the fog and drizzle, not having seen the sun in almost a week. We passed through several towns, including Yuba City, which was full of chain stores and restaurants with names like Applebee’s, Denny’s and Wendy’s.
We stopped for the night in a place called Grass Valley. Unfortunately, the motel we chose turned out to be a dive. The moment we walked in, we were assailed with the stench of stale cigarette smoke. The décor was circa 1978. And worst of all, we soon realised that there were homeless, unemployed people living just downstairs. (We overheard them talking about their situation). We hoped our Yank Tank and us would be safe.
Day 7 – Lake Tahoe
We ended up surviving the night in the Stinky Motel in Grass City. We continued driving east, and were excited to see patches of snow and ice appearing on the sides of the hills we were driving through.
Lake Tahoe was spectacular. After the previous days of greys, beiges, and off-whites, Lake Tahoe was a vivid palette. The water was a clear azure, surrounded by mountains of pure white, and closer up, green pines. And the sky was a pleasant, cloudless blue. We walked along the shore near Sand Harbour, scrambling over rocks and taking photos and enjoying the sunshine.
Driving around the lake’s shoreline, we passed what seemed to be hundreds of lodges, cabins, and cottages. Nearly all of them appeared empty. We were there during the quiet season. Too late for the ski season, but too early for the summer crowds.
We spent that night in South Lake Tahoe (which was a lot more industrialised than the villages to the north), in a casino resort called MontBleu just across the border in Nevada. Never having stayed in a casino before, I was impressed at the size of our room and bathroom (which included our own personal hot tub). The hotel also had several shops, a nightclub, a theatre, a restaurant, a bar and of course, heaps of poker machines and blackjack tables.
Neither of us knows, or has any interest in, gambling, so we eschewed the pokies for a beer at the bar. We sat down at the bar, which had electronic poker machine screens set into the bar in front of every stool. We smiled at the barman encouragingly, but to our surprise, he completely ignored us. In fact, after a couple of minutes in which he avoided eye contact, he literally turned his back on us and started chopping limes or something. It wasn’t like the bar was busy or anything – it was just us and a couple of other people.
After a few awkward minutes, Craig whispered “Let’s go, if he’s not going to serve us.” So we went to the casino next door, wondering if we’d done anything wrong. At the bar in the casino next door, we found out why – the bar staff can’t (or won’t) serve you, unless you are actually playing the pokies at the bar. This raises an interesting discussion point. Were we at fault for not knowing that? Is it the type of thing that one should know before one stays at a casino? Or was our barman at fault for not explaining it to us (rather than deliberately ignoring us)?
That night, we ate at the restaurant in our casino and happily, we were able to order some sparkling wine to go with our meal.
Next up: Our journey across the Silver State.
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May 9th, 2009
02:45 pm - The Streets of San Francisco
This blog entry comes to you from to town called Eureka, Nevada. It’s along Highway 50 – the loneliest road in America. We should know, because we drove it today, and saw maybe no more than 20 cars all afternoon.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s a run-down of the previous few days.
Day 2 – San Francisco
We had breakfast in a café along Mason Street, which strangely enough, was called “Café Mason”. We were starting to get the hang of this tipping thing. Being in America sharpens one’s mathematical ability, once you calculate the sales tax and the tip, on top of the price stated on your bill.
We then hopped on the Hop On, Hop Off double decker bus, and went to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was pretty touristy, with lots of shops and restaurants selling fare such as clam chowder and crab cakes. We walked through the spitting rain to Ghirardelli Square, which featured a chocolate shop, and a wine cellar, and not a great deal else. Caught the bus to Fort Mason and walked around the old military buildings, with their red roofs and surrounding green lawns. The Golden Gate Bridge loomed dimly in the background, through the fog.
That evening, we headed downstairs to our hotel lobby for the complimentary wine tasting. It was certainly popular, with a range of hotel guests crowding the room, sampling the wines. I tried a glass of chardonnay from the Napa Valley, which was nothing to sneeze at.
Craig and I then walked down Sutter Street to a café that advertised itself as having 10 beers on tap. Tried a beer called “Anchor Steam” which wasn’t bad. We then tried another beer called “Boddington’s” which was bad. It was the most blandest beer I’ve ever tasted. Or not tasted, as the case was. We moved on to another bar a couple of blocks away and sampled a beer called “Trumers”. Now that was a much nicer, flavoursome pale ale. After dinner at an Italian restaurant, we went back to the Carlton, and hit the sack.
Day 3 – San Francisco
After the wine and beer tasting of the previous night, we stayed in bed until late in the morning. Eventually we got up and had lunch at the Pinecrest Diner near Union Square. After lunch, we walked down Market Street, and checked out some of the shops. Craig bought some clothes from a budget place called “Ross”, eschewing the more upmarket places such as “Macy’s”.
We then pressed on, to the Museum of Cartoon Art (which was slightly hard to find, as it’s a small building upon Mission Street). It was somewhat disappointing. I'm interested in cartoons and comic strips, so was keen to see this place. Bit it was pretty small, and a significant chunk of the space was devoted to “Watchmen” which doesn’t interest me.
That night, we ended up getting pizza and cokes to take back to our hotel room. We ran through all one thousand or so channels that American television has to offer, and settled on a documentary called “House of Cards” which was about the sub-prime crisis. I have to say, a surprisingly interesting channel here is the weather channel. There is always some discussion or another on tornados, or freaky storms that have wiped out small towns in the midwest...
Day 4 – San Francisco
On Monday morning, Craig and I arose early, and strode down to Union Square to catch the Powell-Mason cable car. It was $5 to ride, but worth it. There is a scene in an early episode of “The Streets of San Francisco” where a friendly politician leaps onto a cable car, and stands on the side, holding onto the pole with obvious pleasure and enjoyment. (The character is murdered shortly after, when he gets off the cable car, but let’s not dwell on that). We also stood on the sideboards, holding the poles, as the car chugged up the steep hills. We jumped off at the end and walked to Pier 33, where we caught the ferry to Alcatraz.
I’d always been interested to see Alcatraz, ever since I saw the movie “The Rock” as a teenager. (It was the first MA15+ movie I’d ever seen) Ironically, I saw “The Rock” at a cinema on another island – Rottnest Island.
The ferry ride only took about 10 minutes – the island is right in ‘Frisco Bay, after all. Luckily, it was foggy (no surprises there) but the rain held off. The prison only occupied a small part of The Rock. Our ticket prices included audio tours. We strolled around the cell blocks, and saw the library, dining room, and recreation yard. The cells were tiny. It’s a wonder the prisoners didn’t go mad, cooped up like that. It’s surprising that they kept it going as a Federal prison until as late as 1963.
After almost three hours of looking around, we caught the ferry back to the mainland, and the street car back to Union Square. Stopped off at a convenience store where I bought a San Francisco Chronicle, two Hersheys Bars, and a can of soft drink for only $3.50 US. Bargain! Much cheaper than the equivalent items in Australia would have been.
That night, after another glass of the northern California chardonnay in the hotel lobby, we headed right next door to a bar / restaurant called “Fly”. Shared a pizza, which was extremely tasty. Would definitely recommend the “Fly” to anyone. The beers were also good, the barman genuinely friendly.
It’s getting late, so I will cover Days 5 – 8 (in which we left San Francisco and hit the road) later.
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May 5th, 2009
03:34 pm - We're the Kids in America!
Here we are in San Francisco. The same streets that Karl Malden and a young Michael Douglas patrolled in the titular 1970s TV show. It is a city of grey clouds, small dogs, smart people, and square, white terraced houses.
Day One – Friday 1 May
We left Canberra after receiving a shock. When we checked in, the Qantas lady asked us whether we had our ESTA application numbers with us. Craig (who writes everything down) replied that he had. I (who had written down my number on an envelope, and chucked it out the other day when cleaning up my desk) replied that yes, I had registered on the ESTA travel website, but no, I did not have my application number with me.
“Well, you’ll need your number when you arrive in America,” replied the Qantas lady.
I tried to stay calm as we walked to the internet terminal. I hoped that I’d be able to retrieve it online. I went to the ESTA website, and clicked on the option that ostensibly allows one to view their ESTA applications. Unfortunately, doing so required me to enter in my application number. Which of course, I did not have. I fought back panic as we tried to think of what to do. It was too late to go home, search through the rubbish, find the envelope with application number, and return to the airport. I felt sick with anxiety and stupidity, that I had not kept the number with me. It looked like this holiday was over before it had begun. I imagined brusque US immigration officials, telling me that they couldn’t let me into the country.
At that point, Craig took over. He quickly did a new application for me, and I wrote down my new number.
“But don’t you have to register at least 72 hours before you leave?” I said.
“it’s just a recommendation, not a rule,” said Craig.
I tried to put it from my mind during the flight. Not being a seasoned traveller, I was happy to enjoy the goody bags (containing stuff like water, toothpaste, and eye masks) and play computer games and watch movies. We filled out our immigration cards, and to my surprise, it did not ask for my ESTA application number.
We arrived in San Francisco at 10.15am local time. Getting away from the airport was surprisingly easy. I had imagined horrific queues, rude officials, and lost baggage. Happily, all my fears were exploded. The queue moved quickly, and the immigration guy who took our photos and fingerprints did not ask for our ESTA application numbers! TIP for any Aussies travelling to the USA – don’t bother writing your ESTA application number down because you won’t need it! We sailed through Customs, fuming over the Qantas woman who had worried us so unnecessarily.
We caught a taxi to our hotel, where we dumped our bags (it was too early to check in). We went for a walk to Union Square, where we had lunch in an old fashioned American diner (I had tasty sea food chowder). After wards we got tickets and jumped on a double decker bus that went around the inner city. We went over the Golden Gate Bridge – a feature of numerous TV shows and movies, including “A View to a Kill” and many others that I can’t think of right now.
“I can’t believe we’re here!” Craig said. This would become a common refrain of ours, over the next few days. I smiled, and hummed the theme from “The Streets of San Francisco.”
After the bus ride, we went back to the hotel, checked in, and crashed.
Will write again soon, with more of our adventures in San Francisco. Tomorrow, we’re planning on heading to Bodega Bay (where the movie “The Birds” took place).
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April 28th, 2009
11:05 pm - Holidays
When I was very young, and my family was planning on going away on holiday – usually to a nearby West Australian town such as Pemberton, Geraldton, or Busselton - my mother and father would say to me “Don’t tell any of your friends at school that we’re going away.”
“Why?” I asked my parents, the first time they issued this edict.
“Because if people find out that no one is home, they might break in,” replied my dad, whilst my mum nodded.
“Word can spread quickly. You could tell one of your friends, and they could tell their parents, and one of their parents mention it to their brother, or a friend, and that person might be up to no good, and they could break in while we were away and rob us,” she continued.
“Really?” I said. “What would they take?”
“Everything,” said Mum. “Robbers can take everything.”
As an adult, I now realise that my mother probably meant “everything of value”. Or maybe she was trying to scare me. If she was, she succeeded. Being the over-imaginative child I was, I took “everything” quite literally. I instantly pictured strange, brutish looking men muscling their way into our house, and taking all my clothes, books, and toys. Just what such men would want with my Sooty puppets and my copies of “Snugglepot and Cuddlepie” and “Blinky Bill” I didn’t stop to consider.
I thought of them loading all our furniture onto a huge moving van – beds, tables, chairs, bureaus, desks, wardrobes, fridge, washing machine and television. I imagined our house, stripped of all its rugs, blankets, pillows, plates, coffee mugs, glasses, cutlery and knick knacks. The paintings ripped off the walls, the curtains torn down, the carpets rolled up and carried away, the shelves carefully unscrewed and removed. I imagined our family coming home happy from our holiday, and finding our house a gutted, empty shell, all our stuff gone, the dust motes softly playing in the sun against the bare, echoing floorboards. I could practically hear my mother’s shriek of horror, and my father’s cry of despair.
So on the last day of term, if my family was going away on holiday, I would keep my mouth shut. My friends’ parents obviously had not warned them as mine had; they were quite happy to share their plans of going to Rottnest Island, or down to Dunsborough or up to Kalbarri. At those times, it was tempting to reveal my family’s holiday plans, but the image of our desolate, burgled house would float before my eyes, and I would keep my mouth shut.
“Can I tell my friends that we’ve been on holiday after we get back?” I asked my parents.
“Yes, that’s fine,” said Dad. “After we’ve come back, you can tell your friends you’ve been away. But not before.”
So on the first day of the new term, I would proudly tell my friends how my family had gone away for a week during the school holidays. However, this would be met with rather hurt and aggrieved cries of “Why didn’t you tell us you were going away? We’re supposed to be friends!”
Somehow, I didn’t think that suggesting that maybe they had a dodgy uncle who moonlighted as a house-breaker would be well received. So I’d respond with a shrug. By the time I hit high school, I realised that any burglars would not take “everything”, so in one of my very few acts of teenage defiance against my parents’ instructions, I was telling my friends in advance when I was going on holiday.
And so it is today. This blog entry is to say that I am going overseas for the next month. I will do my best to update from the road, but I can’t be assured that I’ll get a chance to do it regularly. I trust, dear readers, that (a) you don’t know my true identity, and therefore have no idea where I live; or (b) if you do know where I live, you have no plans to break in and steal all my stuff.
But just to be on the safe side, keep it under wraps, ok, and don’t tell your siblings or mates.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/niaha/kitty/ankhappyg.gif) excited
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April 19th, 2009
10:34 pm - More adventures in make-up
After a few sparkling wines on Friday night, I asked Craig whether I could try putting some make-up on him. Thanks to the few sparkling wines, he agreed to this proposal.
So I got my foundation, blusher, eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick, and went to work. I also did his hair with some water and styling mousse (he secretly loves having his hair done).
Here were the results:
I think the lipstick was a little too pink. Here's another one of Craig, looking coy.
Eventually, Craig requested that I slick his hair back like a mafia don. So I did (and he also removed the make-up). Here he is, the new Godfather!
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April 12th, 2009
07:51 am - Sweet things
Happy Easter dear readers. I hope it brought you lots of chocolate. I recall being a child at Easter. Mum and Dad would always buy my brother and I a large egg each, or a chocolate bunny each. I preferred the bunnies – they were easier to eat. Start at the tops of the ears and work your way down. With the eggs, it was a little harder to get your chompers around the top. There were a few times when I’d try to bite into one of those, and it would crack, sending a shard of hard chocolate slicing across the roof of my mouth. I recall one of my primary school friends, a girl called “Kat”, would always sit on her Easter eggs to break them, but I never wanted to do that.
For the last few weeks, Craig has been stocking up on those Red Tulip bunnies. His way of breaking them up, in preparation for eating, is to get a solid object (like the remote control, if we’re sitting on the couch), and use it to bash the poor bunny's face in. I always let Craig do that. The image on the wrapping foil, depicting the cute, huge-eyed face of the rabbit, just won’t let me do it
Craig and I were thinking of going to Newcastle for the Easter weekend, but decided to stay in Canberra instead. We were both too tired from work to make the drive up. Ironically, only days after I posted my blog entry about being a Pin Striped Prisoner, I was seconded to a different section of my department, to work on an urgent project. This meant that I was working evenings and weekends, doing tedious, process-driven tasks. I did no writing (creative writing, in my own time, that is) during that period.
On Thursday, the people in charge were calling for volunteers to come in to the office and work on Good Friday and Easter Monday. Eschewing that option (as the majority of my colleagues did), I have chosen instead to remain here at home, baking cupcakes with icing and sprinkles, shopping for new jeans, and catching up on episodes of “Lost”. There is one more Red Tulip bunny in the fridge which might be broken up (with a bit of assistance from the remote) and devoured soon.
Current Music: some blues thing
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April 5th, 2009
06:42 pm - A Good Shock
On Friday night I was sitting on the couch, playing my new acoustic guitar ($69 from Aldi – bargain!). I had the hiccups, which isn’t conducive if you’re trying to play and sing along at the same time. Craig watched me for a few minutes, before retiring to the other couch with his glass of sparkling wine
The phone rang. That was weird. It was 10pm. Who could it be? Thoughts flashed through my head. A death in the family? A friend needing urgent advice? A wrong number?
“I’ll get it!” announced Craig, and sprinted to pick it up. I put down the guitar and listened.
“Hello? Oh hi! How’s it going?” he said.
Pause. “Oh yeah, she’s here. She’s just playing her new guitar. Yeah, she got a new acoustic guitar.”
So it was someone calling for me? Who? I got up and walked into the kitchen, hovering nearby.
“Yeah”, Craig continued cheerfully, “She’s playing it naked.”
My jaw dropped in indignation. I was most definitely clothed. I could only surmise that Craig had had one too many drinks, and it was causing him to be most indiscreet with his choice of humour. I hoped he was talking to one of our friends, who by and large, understand things like that.
Craig’s tone changed. “Oh, look, it’s a Friday night. I’ve had a few drinks.” Pause. “You want to know how many drinks?”
Oh god. It wasn’t a friend. It had to be my mother. She’s the only person I know who monitors the drinking habits of others.
“Um, I’ve had a few. And she’s had four? Or five?”
I glared at Craig and held up one finger.
“One. She’s only had one drink. Hey, listen, about that comment I made earlier. About her being naked. Yeah. That was a TV show. I was getting confused.”
Ok, good. That’s a start towards damage control. When was he going to hand over the phone so I could finish making the explanations and apologies for his ridiculous remarks?
Pause.
“Oh, but she was still playing it topless. Her boobies were everywhere!”
I lunged for the phone, just as Craig politely said “Oh well, it was nice talking with you. Bye!” and hung up.
“Who was that?” I said, in a voice somewhere between a whisper and a shriek.
“No one. I wasn’t talking to anyone. I called our phone from my mobile, when you weren’t looking,” said Craig, in a much more sober voice than he’d been using these past few minutes.
“Why did you do that?” I demanded.
Craig shot me a wicked grin. “Are your hiccups gone?”
“Yes, but…” I stopped.
“I couldn’t let you go on hiccupping without doing something to help.”
Before I had a chance to jump on him, he started walking back to the couch. I followed him, where we both collapsed, and laughed until our guts hurt.
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March 29th, 2009
05:19 pm - The Pin Striped Prisoner
Whilst browsing in Borders yesterday, I came across a book called Pinstripe Prison: How Overachievers get Trapped in Corporate Jobs They Hate by Lisa Pryor. The book was about how high achieving university graduates are recruited (or more like, seduced into accepting a job with) powerful organisations, and end up being bored and burnt out after the first few years. Whilst the book covered organizations such as law firms and banks, I believe that some of the points raised in Pinstripe Prison can also apply to the public service.
One interesting point Pryor raises in Pinstripe Prison is that although these firms claim to be “innovative” and “progressive”, the opposite is usually true. The prevailing culture is strictly conservative. This means that young employees – the brightest young employees - are being denied the chance to show any degree of independent thinking, let alone be creative or experimental. I remember in my first year working for the public service and being surprised that after many years of being told “not to plagarise” at university, I was encouraged, when drafting reports, to just “copy-and-paste” from other sources of information if I needed to.
I would go one step further than Pryor to say that not only do these types of organisations stifle creativity on the job, but they also make it difficult for persons to be creative in their own free time.
For a start, there are time constraints. Being in the public service, I would venture to say that my days are nowhere near as long as my peers who work for large private law firms, or financial institutions. However, I am still absent from my home for close to eleven hours per day (factoring in travel time). Which only leaves a few hours in the evenings and on weekends in which to be creative.
But here’s the kicker. After a long day being “switched on”, sitting in front of a computer, using all your powers of mental concentration, often the only thing you want to do is to veg out in front of the TV. With or without a drink.
If your creative outlet, like mine, is writing it can be doubly hard. In another book I picked up at the Lifeline Secondhand Book Fair last week, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Writing a Novel , by Tom Monteleone, it was pointed out that if you have a job that requires you to do a lot of writing (and the author even listed examples including a government agency or a law firm!) it could have a negative effect on the amount of writing you get done when you’re not at work. “The last thing you feel like doing (at home) is more writing… and that’s lethal”, says Monteleone.
Monteleone goes on to state that such a situation can eventually force one to make a life-changing situation. Such as quitting the job, or quitting writing (your creative writing, that is).
But here lies the seductiveness of the pin-striped prisons. Most of them offer good money. Pryor’s book explained how often, graduates with large university debts feel as though they have to accept a job that offers them a large salary, in order to pay off their debts. Further, Pryor explains how there are a lot of hidden costs which chip away at those big salaries. Suits. Taxi fares home. Work-related drinks and dinners. It becomes a vicious cycle, where many pin-striped prisoners feel they cannot afford to break away. And that’s no even taking into account factors such as mortgages and children.
And there are other elements which can prevent pin-striped prisoners from escaping their gilded cages. I won’t go into detail, but Pryor mentions family expectations, the feeling that it would be a “waste of marks” if one did not practice law or banking, etc, and the fear of making such a huge decision for oneself (often pin-striped prisoners have been gently propelled into their current positions from their teens, by well meaning parents, teachers, counselors, etc).
So – short of chucking in one’s job – what does a pin-striped prisoner do if they want to be more creative? In Idiot’s Guide Monteleone lists the following hints for time management and discipline:
- Avoid distractions (such as staying off the internet – whoops!)
- Hiding the remote control (don’t watch so much TV)
- Writing fast (giving yourself a certain amount of time, and going hell for leather – bad writing is better than no writing)
- Finding a space of your own to write
- Keeping other people (and the outside world) out of your writing space.
The following are directed towards writing, but I think they can also apply to other forms of creativity, such painting, or sculpture, or drawing, etc. I tried the fast writing tip three times in the last week (giving myself from 10-10.30pm, before I went to bed), and it has helped get some words down. I believe that with a bit of effort, pin-striped prisoners do not have to sacrifice all their soul.
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March 22nd, 2009
04:51 pm - The Top 10 Rules for Writing a Children's Detective Novel
I went to the Lifeline Second Hand Book Fair yesterday. One of the books I picked up was a children’s book entitled “The Mystery Squad and the Candid Camera”.
I used to read the Mystery Squad books as a kid. They were written in the 1980s by UK author Martin Waddell, and definitely qualify as somewhat bizarre. The books centered around narrator Bodger Bacon, his sister Beans, brother James, and their friend Casey, as they solved mysteries.
What made these books unique, was their “Solve It Yourself” formula. You had to spot clues along the way. The story was divided up into segments, starting at segment 1. At the end of each segment would be a test with options. There would only be one correct option, which led to a new segment and installment of the story. If you picked a really stupid option, it led to a segment which depicted a child being splattered by a huge custard pie. I'm not making this up. It was truly odd.
This made me think of the other children’s detective series which I used to enjoy as a child. These included “The Three Investigators”, “The McGurk Mysteries”, “Encyclopedia Brown”, and “The Baker Street Irregulars”. Looking back, I can see that these series had several common elements. From these elements, I can present to you:
The Rules for Writing a Children’s Detective Novel
1)The title must always begin with “The Mystery of…” or “The Secret of…” of “The Case of…” (or sometimes even “The Clue of…”). The title should also be alliterative. Eg “The Mystery of the Barking Buffalo” or “The Secret of the Clanging Clock”.
2)The main character in the series must have a wacky name. Eg “Bodger Bacon” or “Jupiter Jones” etc.
3)The leader of the detective group (and this does not necessarily have to be the main character) has to be outstanding in some way, due to their incredible intellectual powers or their large ego (or both).
4)The kids will have a “Headquarters” in a basement or a garage. They will use old crates, desks, tables, benches, etc as furniture.
5) One of the child’s parents will have an interesting job, which will often provide a source of mysteries for the kids to solve. Often, this job involves law enforcement (eg “Chief of Police”)
6)There will be one token girl in the group (or sometimes, none at all). Under no circumstances will romance play a part in the novel.
7)One of the kids will be a “technical expert” and invent stuff.
8)All action will take place outside of school. School does not play a part in child detective novels.
9)All members of the gang will be white, middle class, well adjusted children. Issues such as bullying, parents divorcing, learning disorders, racism, alcohol, drugs, poverty, etc have no place in children’s detective novels.
10)The mystery will often centre around a missing valuable item. This could be cash, a jewel, an old painting, beloved animal, etc.
With these rules in mind, it should be relatively easy to write a children’s detective novel. Here is my attempt:
The Mystery of the Disappearing Dog
by Heartstart
Terry leant his BMX against the side of the Benson’s house, and walked down the path that led to the garage. Inside the garage, seated in battered old office chairs around the large packing crate that served as a table, were the rest of the gang, looking bored.
“Hey guys,” said Terry. “What’s going on.”
Boomer Benson scowled. “Nothing. We’ve been on holidays for a whole week and no one seems to want any mysteries solved.”
Boomer Benson was the leader of the group. He was lean, almost skinny, with spiky blond hair. His real name was John, but everyone called him “Boomer” because of his loud voice. He was also very smart.
“Maybe we could test out that Electronic Tea-Strainer that I invented the other day?” suggested Elmer, the gang’s Resident Inventor, as he polished his glasses. “Doesn’t your dad drink tea, Boomer?”
“Yes, but he hates to be disturbed when he’s busy, so it’s not a good idea,” said Boomer. Boomer’s dad was a Detective Inspector, and was often pre-occupied with his own cases.
“I’m sure something will come up soon,” said Sue, who’d been sitting quietly in the corner.
Just then, there was a loud knocking on the door. Boomer opened it. There stood Doug Smith, looking distressed. Doug lived three doors down.
“Do you guys still have your detective agency? I need your help!” said Doug.
“We sure do,” said Boomer. “What seems to be the trouble Doug?”
“Someone stole my dog!” wailed Doug.
Everyone gasped. Boomer took Doug by the arm and steered him to a chair. “We’re good at finding things Doug. Why don’t you sit down and tell us exactly what happened.”
As the gang’s Official Record Keeper, Terry took out his notebook and pencil from his back pocket as Doug began to speak…
See? Easy!
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/niaha/kitty/ankcreateg.gif) creative
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March 15th, 2009
08:28 pm - Review - Midnight Oil - Canberra, 12 March 2009
The Midnight Oil concert on Thursday night was a cracker. I stood with Craig and my friends in a sea of people at the Royal Theatre, many wearing those black t-shirts with an outline of a hand printed on them.
We waited patiently through the stand-up comedian’s bit (why do all Canberra concerts have comedians as a warm-up act?) and wondered how the show would turn out. Would they be a bunch of old doddery rockers, out of practice and out of flair? Would Peter Garrett’s status as a Federal Minister result in a restrained performance? Would the song list be severely curtailed, due to politics?
Happily, the answer to all these questions was no. Peter Garrett and the boys were in fine form. It was like they’d never retired. They burst into their opening song – “Redneck Wonderland”. The notes were crisp. They never missed a beat. As the show went on, Garrett did his characteristic bizarre, flailing dancing. “I think I’m the only person here who has to go to work tomorrow!” he joked good naturedly in between songs.
Midnight Oil played most of their classics, with “US Forces” and “Short Memory” being notable exceptions. I was also disappointed they never played my favourite song, “Put Down That Weapon”.
Highlights of the show included “The Power and the Passion”, with drummer Rob Hirst belting his sticks against a rain tank, and a heartfelt “Truganini”. And yes, they did play “Beds are Burning” and no one seemed to be offended.
My only complaint, which had nothing to do with the band itself, was that I was stuck behind a couple of really tall guys, which partially blocked my view of he stage. And whenever I tried to shuffle back a bit, and to the side, they would move too! I swear, I had my spot all staked out, then literally five seconds before the band came on, they suddenly materialised in front of me!
One of my friends with whom I attended the concert, Geoff, had no qualms about firmly tapping taller people on the shoulder (if they tried to stand in front of him) and bluntly asking them to step aside, because he couldn’t see over them. My shyer personality precluded me from adopting the same course of action – that said, Geoff has a somewhat tough look about him (shaved head and all) and I don’t (both the tough look and the shaved head).
Overall, the concert was highly enjoyable, and I really appreciated the rare opportunity to see a classic Australian band in action – until they reunite for the next disaster benefit concert that is!
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/niaha/kitty/anktiredg.gif) tired
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March 8th, 2009
06:27 pm - Adventures in Make-Up
Unlike many females, I do not wear make-up on a regular basis.
Actually, that is an understatement. My make-up regime consists of sometimes dabbing on some concealer if I have a zit, and occasionally wearing some lipstick if I’m going to a party or something.
I am completely clueless about all other forms of make-up and how to apply them. Somehow, I skipped the giggly, thirteen-years-old, trying on glittery make-up with close pals during a sleepover phase. Whenever I had a school dance, my mother would pull me into her bedroom, and in an odd mother-daughter bonding ritual, would apply eye shadow, rouge, and lipstick to my face. Unfortunately, my mum’s taste in make-up was stuck in circa 1985, which meant I’d go off to the dance with blue-green eyelids and bright red lips.
On becoming an adult, I never gave much thought to wearing make-up. However, the other night, after “Ladette to Lady” was over, I watched the first few minutes of “The Secret Diary of a Call Girl”. I was curious to see what Billie Piper was up to after her role as the sweet, innocent Rose Tyler in Doctor Who.
As it turned out, Billie’s latest role as Belle de Jour wasn’t so sweet and innocent. Before you could say ‘Honey to the bee, that’s you for me’, there she was, “entertaining” a disabled gentleman in her swanky, minimalist-styled London apartment.
But what did capture my attention was the opening credits, which show Belle putting on her make-up. And I have to say, Bille Piper does look good with make-up. Both in “Doctor Who” and in “The Secret Diary of a Call Girl”. Much better than when she isn’t wearing any (I have seen episodes of “Doctor Who Confidential” where she doesn’t have make-up on, and she looks just like an average person, rather than smoky-eyed, pretty Rose Tyler).
So this weekend, I decided that I’d have a go at putting on make-up. After Googling some websites that gave hints and tips to poor, clueless persons like me, I headed down the chemist to stock up on some make-up.
It was a strong learning experience. That is, I learnt that some girls must pay an absolute fortune in make-up. Make-up doesn’t come cheap. I saw skinny little tubes of mascara that were almost $30. Small, plastic compartments containing eye-shadow that were $25. Eyebrow pencils upward of $10. What did I need an eyebrow pencil for anyway? I already have eyebrows!
The assortment of colours for the lipsticks, eye-shadows, and eye-liners baffled me. It reminded me of when Craig and I were selecting paint, to paint our house, and we looked at lots of colour charts, trying to picture various combinations of colours in our heads. In the end, I went for the most basic, el cheapo ones.
Shell dual eye-shadow: $5.95
Berry Cheek Tint: $4.95
Black Mascara: $5.95
Total: $16.85. Nice!
(Note I already had concealer, foundation, lipstick and lipgloss at home.)
So here are the results. I got Craig to take “Before” and “After” shots.
Before
After
It’s a start. Nice steps: fix hair, staple back ears.
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March 3rd, 2009
09:55 pm - Girls (and Boys) Behaving Badly
Does bad behaviour sometimes get rewarded? That is the question I'm asking myself as I watch "Aussie Ladette to Lady".
These girls are mostly unemployed. They spend most of their time getting plastered at clubs, brawling, and flashing their bodies around. And here they are getting a (no doubt, all expenses paid) trip to the UK. They get to learn from experts the art of flower arranging, wine tasting, gourmet cooking, elocution, and more. These are things that some people would pay huge amounts to learn. And yet here these Ladettes are, giggling and swiping wine and getting plastered behind the back of stately headmistress Mrs Harbord, and taking it all for granted.
On a note closer to home, I learn today at work that one of our "problem clients" (a somewhat bull-headed, time-wasting, irritating bloke who has a habit of turning any project or task he works on into a debacle) makes a regular habit of coming in at 10am and leaving at 4pm. (Charlie found this out when trying to pin him down for a meeting). And this guy is ostensibly a full-time employee. We wondered why no one has pulled him up for it yet. But then we figured that his supervisor probably doesn't mind him doing minimal hours, because it's less opportunity to create train-wrecks at work. Great - that's the key! Stuff up at work and no one will mind if you come in late and leave early.
That said, Craig's supervisor "Tara" has decided to take a stand against "rewarding" the wicked. She was rear-ended this morning, when waiting in traffic. She began to get out of her car. But the other driver (a young bloke in some souped up jalopy) leaned out of his window and screamed at her "I never f***ing hit ya car!" before pulling around her and zooming off. At first Tara wasn't going to do anything - the damage to her rear bumper was minimal. But the other driver's behaviour rankled, and she ended up filing a police report. She wasn't going to "reward" him by letting him get away with his actions.
And now the sulky Ladettes are all polishing candlesticks and ironing starchy looking table clothes. Maybe bad behaviour does only take one so far.
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