Who's going to drive you home?

Being the USA, everything is based on the car. Need to buy a pint of milk? Drive to the shops? Need to borrow some sugar? Drive to your next door neighbour. Need to go out for the evening? Drive to the pub, get hammered and still drive home. That being the case, you would have thought that everything was designed to make driving as simple as possible.

Hell no.

They've done the first half. It's virtually impossible to walk anywhere, because they've removed all the 'sidewalks', meaning you have to take your life into your own hands to walk along either the (hard) shoulder or - worse - along the side of the road with no space to protect you from the traffic. But they haven't done the key part of making the roads work. Clearly, they have a large number of roads. And some of them are massive. To get from here to Newark airport, I can take a six-lane behemoth (for a mere $2.05 in tolls) [or I can take a 2/3 lane highway, with frequent stops for traffic lights and a very high possibility of not moving very far for a very long time]. But, significantly, these roads are holier than the Vatican, or are so badly constructed that the camber virtually catapults you off the ramp and into oblivion. Whether this is just through chronic underfunding (likely), or a more sinister cartel agreement by the garages and spare parts providers (*sucks air through teeth* "Your suspension has gone, and your wheel is bent. It's going to cost you..."), has yet to be determined.

But worse than the quality of the road is the quality of the drivers. With all the miles under their collective (oversized) belts, you would expect them to have picked up some of the basics, but no. The key issues appear to be driving straight and turning corners. And also awareness. It seems that few people have any concept about the size of their cars. In fact, almost all seem to think that their massively corpulent cars are, in fact, twice the enormous width that they already are. Thus, when they are driving down a road without central markings, they will have a tendency to drive straight down the middle, or - if they are overtaking a parked car - somewhere between the wrong side of the road and the adjacent front yard (if there was a pavement, they'd be mounting that).

This perceived car size doubles when they have to turn a corner. Honestly, the way some people (especially in SUVs) take a 90 degree turn (often at traffic lights) you'd think they had just come back from their jobs as supertanker captains and hadn't yet switched off. Occasionally, when they have to squeeze through a space only three times the size of their car, they will stop completely. You can almost hear the cogs whirring, and you have expect them to start backing up. I find the best way to counter that is by holding your horn while shouting outrageous abuse at them. They look put out, but miraculously find that they can actually get their vehicle round in the space.

At least these two issues of stupidity can be highlighted to the perpetrator through effective use of honking and swearing. Unfortunately, the most pernicious failure of driving skill is unlikely to give you a chance to warn other road users. It appears that the perceived size of a car is inversely proportional to your speed. Such that, when travelling at 65 mph, your car can fit into a space less than 5 feet long. So confident of this are most drivers that they don't even bother to check before they change lane. In fact, the breathtaking ignorance and selfishness is something to behold. And because nobody knows how to drive, everybody drives within about 3 inches of each other. It's fearful, but a good chance to practice defensive driving. I dread to think how bad it will be when the winter and ice kicks in.

Why so bad? Well, it turns out that the driving test is only slightly more advanced than a child's learning toy (note: this does not apply to the theory test, which is difficult owing to the inane precision required to answer some of the questions, requiring proper revision. Yes, I did fail it the first time. By one question). Seriously, the driving test consists of: starting the car; driving around some cones in a car park; reverse parking using cones in a car park (with a very big margin of error); doing a 3-point turn in a car park. But here's the twist: somewhere during this drive around a car park, there is a stop sign that you have to stop at. And that's it. No testing of your road awareness. No concept of being able to control the car when other vehicles are near you. None... No wonder the level of driving skill is so poor. And the death rate so high.

I was going to discuss my long drive to Boston and back for the weekend, but the rant kind of took over. That will follow another time. If I don't crash before then...

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Making The Stone Roses seem prolific

OK, so it's taken me a while to get my arse into gear and blogging again. But now, following the sad, whimpering demise of my previous computer (with the loss of the hard drive, it appears. Fortunately, I had backed up most things prior to September, but not those things you forget about, like bookmarks. So, remember, kids, back-up often), I have bought myself a laptop that (i) isn't larger than an IBM mainframe; (ii) doesn't keep the block awake when the fan is running (i.e. all the time); and (iii) can actually process more than zero things at any one time. So this, combined with the fact that I'm living abroad and dammit you want to hear about my adventures (and I'm going to be better disciplined...), means I will write often. But still keep it interesting, of course.

So, what do I have to tell you about? Well, I'll feedback on the enjoyable stupidity of Vegas, driving up to Boston for a weekend, trying not to spend any money at all yet still vaguely have a life, but more interesting things should be happening soon. It all kicks off in two weeks, when my visitors start arriving (all women, all coming just before Christmas. Hmmmm. Ever feel like you're being used? Still, I provide free lodging, they can damn well buy some beer...). Until then, I'll let you catch up on all the interesting (sic) things I've done recently.

This week, of course, I have spent an inordinate number of hours trying to connect to the internet, which - thanks to Vista - is like trying to herd smoke. Still, it's better than having a Mac. I've also played football inside what appeared to be a massive bubble. And split my ear open playing football on the more traditional concept of a pitch (or field, as it's known here). Which is all very dull. There was also some election or other, which was all very predictable (with the added caveat that I still thought the dumb public here would fail to get it right. Again. But anyone voting for Palin deserves to be hit around the head with a brick until they see the error of their ways.

And with that, more news soon.

Thoughts on women's football at the Olympics

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha jesus wept they're inept ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

The only man in America without a TV

I finally have the internet at home. Thank god (well, Comcast and the fat cheque I'm going to have to send them every month*). I also have a telephone, which is useful as my mobile doesn't seem to get reception here... And I can't get a contract with another provider until my Social Security number comes through.

Which has been a nightmare, and shown up the utter incompetence of the witless bureaucracy here. I've waited over 7 weeks for something that should have taken 4 (at most), all because they needed proof of my wife's US citizenship. I'm finding it very difficult to obtain that. Once the cretins realised their error, they kindly threw a piece of paper at me and told me I'd have the number within two weeks. No apology. No explanation. Bastards.

Of course, I had to go to Trenton (right-most image, BTW). By bus. Because my car is unregistered. Because I don't have a social security number. Bastards. A bus which was only 40 minutes late, but had the saving grace of being (i) air conditioned and (ii) mostly empty. Trenton appears to be nice big government buildings interspersed with boarded up terraces. Which is nice. I probably won't be hurrying back.

So anyway, I have the internet, I have a phone, and I have a cable box. At some point in the next week or so, my TV should turn up. I'm looking forward to watching some sport in HD. Or I will, once the crappy sports season ends and something good begins. In the meantime, I'll have to use iPlayer, the equivalents over here, and cycle to the cinema. Oh well...

*Figuratively. Obviously, I'll be able to pay using the interwebs.

Slappers

In trying to avoid the shockingly poor things they show on TV inbetween the adverts here (and by God, it is awful: mostly horrifically unfunny sitcoms (i.e. re-runs of Friends. And worse!: America's somethingest something; US Idol X Factor Dance On Ice; news read by over-coiffured hairdos with botox-rigid vacuous smiles, who can only inject emotion into a subject by lowering their voices and attempting to maintain eye contact with whichever guest stuck next to them on the sofa, etc), I have mostly stuck to ESPN, the mypoically parochial sports channel dedicated to any sport that is only played in the USA and one or two other countries. Speaking of which, I have become strangely hypnotised by softball. Not, of course, that this is professional softball though. No. This is College softball.

I don't quite understand the rules. It appears to be a version of baseball, which is of course a version of rounders played by testicularly challenged steroid-injecting cubans, contested by chunky misfits from midwest towns or blonde bimbos caked in mascara (during the match, under their helmets) from SoCal.

But the most compelling thing about this sport was (as with all American sportscasts) the commentary. It was hard to keep a straight face when they commentators insisted on referring to half of the players as "slappers". I'm sure that there is a tecchnical reason for it, but no sport - or TV channel - deserves anything but mockery when presenters can say, with a straight face (I kid you not): "it's incredible what slappers can do with a little bit of height on their balls..."

While I'm on the subject of ESPN (10 seconds of non-US sport mention per hour. On a good day), it also appears to have classed Spelling Bees (for under 14s) as a sport. And show it on TV. Frequently. And without irony. On Saturdays. They should be showing European sports at this time. Arghhhhhhh. (And no, I've still not managed to see any of the Euros.)

What I didn't know I was missing

I've been in Chicago for, ooh, about 10 hours and being here has reminded me of one thing. I love living in the city. I hadn't really noticed in the last week or so, but I love the buzz, the people, the grotty corner shops. Just the buzz.

Of course, that may be because I've been living in a hotel community on the edge of a major highway, and not within miles of a proper town. We shall have to see how it goes when I actually do find a place to live. In the meantime, I shall enjoy being back in a big place!

By god Sears Tower is an ugly lump of soulless crap. I'm sure the views are great, though...

It's like a foreign country out here

Now I'm not one to make sweeping generalisations. Except, of course, when I'm talking about other people. But, by God this place needs some things sorting out.

Socks. It's not a difficult concept. If you are wearing shoes, you wear socks. Not wearing socks in this situation is disgusting. Especially when the only shoes you wear are trainers. Here's a simple equation for you: trainers + no socks = ugh. Rule 2 is also quite simple; unless you are actively participating in a sporting event, do not wear white sports socks. See. Simple. Finally, if you are wearing sandals, don't wear any socks.

Also, being earnest. There's nothing wrong with supporting your troops for Memorial Day. A little militaristic, perhaps, but the cannon fodder do not choose who and where they fight. But don't mistake patriotism for militarism. If the only way you can support your country is by supporting the bombing of a less-developed nation, you have a problem. But hey, if you don't watch Fox News, you can find people questioning the Iraq war...

But that's not the most worrying earnest item I need to bring to your attention. No. That honour belongs to a jaw droppingly, outrageously shocking advert. The deep, silky smooth voice-over begins by telling us of all the problems in the world - not that you'd realise that there was an outside world from watching the news or sport on TV here (or reading the papers. Or listening to the radio). It then goes on to tell us how we all put these ill feelings aside for two weeks to celebrate - guess what? - the Olympics.

Oh yes. In Iraq and Afghanistan, soldiers and insurgents will lay down their arms and spontaneously start a game of football. And Mugabe will realise what a cock he's been and resign; and China will pull out of Tibet. Ah yes, China. The beacon of humanitarian enlightenment, where the cash-grabbing IOC have decided to hold their quadrennial orgy of corporate-sponsored overconsumption, performance-enhancing drug stories and mockery of decency. But none of this matters, because for two weeks, Visa tells us, we can ignore all that is hateful in the world because a few steroid-pumped freaks are running around a track built on the blood of the workers.

And the shameful slogan for this demand for ignorance? Go World.

I'm going to go and have a beer before my anger gland explodes and destroys central New Jersey. Go World!

Number of orange jumpsuits being worn? ZERO.

Ha. I'm in. Although without internet access in my hotel, so you'll have to be patient for proper updates (i.e. until I get to work). Suffice to say, I have a gun and a pick up and live in a trailer.

I have none of these things.

Licence and registration

So, there I was, driving around Princeton looking for a parking space, when I take a right at a red light (as the law allows). Behind me, the red & blue lights flash... Bollocks, I thought. I must have missed the sign saying "No right turns on red"; hopefully, I can bluff my way out of this, and play the dumb foreigner abroad.

Oh, no. No no no.

"Your right turn was fine, sir. But your car is unregistered."

Probably a felony... Bang goes my visa...

It turns out that National had rented me a car that had been unregistered since November. November.

Fortunately, the copper was forgiving, and didn't even wave his gun at me, and after 10 minutes on the phone he let me go (with the car, although it should have been towed), and told me to give National hell! Not my fault, apparently. Of course, that won't help me if I get pulled over tomorrow...

Guess who's back, back again...

Ahoy! I'm back. Way too much has happened since I last updated (well over 2 years ago), so I'll just fill you in gradually and where necessary. But not now. It's just too much. Suffice to say, it's all change. Or mostly all change. With more to come...

Join me on my next (intermittently updated) journey.

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