JULY 30
NO CHILLI Cheese Fritos? What is this, the Dark Ages?
JULY 28: 'ANDROID 207' — ONE OF THE BEST STOP-MOTION FILMS EVER MADE
JULY 27
FOR some reason Pepsi has started doing these anodized aluminium bottles. I think they're pretty cool and picked one up at Wal-Mart last week. They come in blue, green and yellow with different messages on them. Oh, and Ev asks that you please don't look at the messy kitchen in the background.
JULY 24: ANOTHER REASON NOT TO GET AN AMAZON KINDLE
A FEW people have asked me if I've thought about buying an Amazon Kindle, the electronic book reader created and sold by the online retailer. Two major points caught my eye — the thing holds 1,500 books (there's nowhere near that many in the pic above) and it's less bulky than most of the novels I own. And with 300,000 books available it would be much like having a major bookstore wherever I went; I could download new volumes whenever I felt like it. So for a week or so I seriously considered it.
Then I changed my mind and decided to stick to the real thing. Unlike CDs (which were ripped to my PC then sold) or DVDs (put in a CD wallet and the cases thrown out), I like having my books on display. I guess the living room would be a lot tidier without the two messy bookcases but it wouldn't feel like home. Besides, I like the whole experience of buying a book (or even just browsing for one): the eons spent weighing up which one or two of the 15 I've picked up off the shelves I'm actually going to buy, the deliberating over whether to try something new or play it safe and go with a known author, and for some reason looking at Orwell's books even though I own them all and he died in 1950 so isn't likely to be writing another one any time soon.
Don't get me started on going to second-hand places, I'll be here all night.
And then there's the experience of reading, the feel of the paper under my fingers, the rustle of the pages as I turn them, the satisfaction of bending the spine over every so often — as far as I'm concerned, if a book doesn't have a knackered spine it hasn't been read — the cover art, the weight of it in my hands. (These are also the reasons I don't do audiobooks, even though Ev owns several that I really like.) Do I really want to give all that up for a gadget that looks like a reject prop from that crappy Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy movie? Nope.
But there's another reason for not wanting a Kindle and it's one many owners are only just finding out about. The Kindle store was contacted by the publishers of a certain edition of Nineteen Eighty-Four who told Amazon that they didn't have the rights to sell that particular edition. So Amazon did what any retailer would do — it stood up to the publishers and defended its customers. Only kidding! It erased them from users' Kindles without actually, you know, telling them. Of all the books to do this to, it's a crowning irony that it's Nineteen Eighty-Four, a novel where newspapers and photographs are regularly doctored on the orders of the totalitarian government.
So do I want to shell out $300 (or $500 for the top-of-the-range model) only to have some Big Brother in an Amazon office delete my books that I've paid for from an electronic device that I've paid for? Put it this way — would I want someone coming into the flat and taking books off my shelves because the store that sold them to me didn't have the right? Would I arse as like. I'm sticking to the paper product.
JULY 23: THE OC FAIR (OR HOW TO SPEND $140 ON JUNK FOOD AND AN ORANGE MONKEY)
WE HAVEN'T been to the OC Fair since 2004 so when Ev suggested we go tonight I was all for it. It's a good place to get photos of the rides, to win crap for the cats, and to stuff yourself stupid with all kinds of incredibly unhealthy food. After shelling out $20 to get in we wandered around and I took photos of the rides.
And how could I forget the food, especially at these prices:
Six dollars for a hot dog? Ooh, that sounds very reasonable. But as I feel like being thoroughly raped I think I'll go for the kielbasa dog with chilli.
In case you're wondering what an eight-dollar hot dog looks like, here it is. I was mildly surprised not to be charged for the fork. To add insult to injury the bun fell apart while I was eating it and probably two dollars' worth of hot dog ended up on the ground. Bollocks.
Ev treated herself to a hotdog wrapped in zucchini, dipped in batter and deep fried. Only in America.
In the foreground is a carton of chilli cheese fries and in the background Ev models the latest in fairground pizza technology.
Tens of millions of years of evolution have produced this: a block of cheese which is dipped in batter, deep fried and sold for a higher price than an entire meal at Denny's.
Just to make sure our arteries got the message that we hate them, we finished off our culinary quest with a couple of ice creams. As the fair runs until August 9 we might go back and try some of the other delights on offer:
So we spent all that money on shitty food and there was a Pink's? ARSE!!
Oh, and here's Ev modelling the orange monkey. Night!
JULY 18: RESULT!
SHORTLY after I started on my self-imposed ban on buying books back in March we went on one of our occasional trips to the "antique" stores at the Orange Circle. And what happened? I spotted an old book called My L.A. by Los Angeles Mirror writer Matt Weinstock. "I have to have this," I thought. But then it hit me — I can't buy it. Shit. So what did I do? I hid it. And last night I remembered about it, and today I found it.
Published in 1947, My L.A. is a collection of columns/essays Weinstock wrote for the Mirror about life in Los Angeles immediately after World War II. A lifelong resident of the city, he writes with some affection about the place and its inhabitants:
My advice to the newly arrived is simply to stipulate that Los Angeles is one hell of a big place and to reconcile yourself to the fact that it starts and stops, it fuses, it disappears, it integrates: it consists of dozens of seemingly unrelated but nevertheless amazing communities. As Grandma used to say, there's nothing a body can do about a crazy quilt.
That's from Chapter 3 — the essays don't have titles — in which Weinstock guides an imaginary first-time visitor around the city. Scanning it, a couple of paragraphs leap out at me:
By now, you will have discovered a group of large buildings two blocks to the south, overshadowed by a white, spikelike tower. This is City Hall, Los Angeles' one outstanding landmark. When the downtown section is but a smudge on the horizon from Palos Verdes, twenty-five miles away, or from Pasadena, half that distance, the City Hall tower is usually visible, prodding the sky… It looms ubiquitously because it is the highest structure in town, twenty stories. Other buildings are restricted to thirteen stories on the theory that anything higher might be allergic to earthquakes.
You have to wonder what he'd think of today's downtown LA:
The other great thing about My L.A. is the map on the inside covers. It's done by an illustrator called Emax, about whom I can find nothing on the Interweb, so if anyone does know anything about him, please drop me a line. I scanned the map and did some close-ups (click for the big version):
The first thing that hit me was, "Where are the freeways?" But then I started to look closer:
Orange groves, farms and stockyards?
Geraniums and a farm in Culver City?
The "municipal airport" (now LAX) shares the land with sunbathers, another farm, and oil wells.
Griffith Park had a fairground in it? But it's nice to see Glendale getting a shout with the inclusion of Forest Lawn Memorial Park.
Why there's an Emo kid dressed only in his undies and holding a spear in the Hollywood Hills remains a mystery. Did they film Tarzan there?
A kamikaze police officer and more oil wells/storage tanks.
But my favourite part of the book is this dedication page. Books are meant to be read and I hope John got some pleasure from it before it passed into my hands. My L.A. has been placed on the official list of books to read and I'll let you know what it's like.
JULY 17
PAUL THEROUX'S The Great Railway Bazaar is turning out to be an even better read than I hoped. I'm a big fan of travel writing but Theroux is one author I've been neglecting. Although his output is prodigious the only other book of his I own is The Kingdom By The Sea, the story of his walk around the coastline of Great Britain, and since reading it I've been looking to get into more of his stuff.
Published in 1975, Bazaar is his account of travelling by train from Victoria Station in London to Tokyo Central, and his return journey on the Trans-Siberian Express. The great thing about Theroux is that he's basically a miserable bastard throughout the book. He doesn't look for humour in his situation or fawn over every foreign locale; he tells the warts-and-all story of his trip as it happens and includes the boredom, heat, crappy food, overflowing chamber-pots, corrupt railway officials and annoying people he has to share sleeping compartments with. Virtually the whole book (at least so far) involves the time spent on trains, not on the countries he passes through, and he gives a good sense of the sometimes cramped and claustrophobic conditions. Most of his time on board is spent either talking to passengers, complaining to conductors, drinking or searching for drink. He doesn't make for a great travelling companion but her certainly makes for an interesting one.
The book is also interesting from a historical point of view. Theroux travels through then-friendly Iran with no problems and describes the huge posters of the Shah that adorn every public area. He spends some time in Kabul (which he hates) and travels through the Kyber Pass and Peshawar, something that's probably not too feasible nowadays. And he chats with a few hippies who are on the trail to enlightenment and goes up in my estimation when he dismisses them as ridiculous. Things should get more interesting when he reaches Vietnam and travels through the USSR.
And one other thing: after a few weeks of reading new books it's nice to dive into a used one and get a good lungful of that second-hand book smell. Yes, I'm a freak. Deal with it.
JULY 16: THIS SELLOUT IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE LETTER U AND THE NUMBER 2
I GUESS The Edge's five Malibu homes are costing him a bit more than he thought. Anyone remember when U2 were good? 1989, wasn't it?
“Aaaaw," said Ev. "Look at him. He doesn't have a care in the world, bless him." THAT'S BECAUSE HE'S A BLOODY CAT.
JULY 12: TWO MORE PANORAMAS
THE first is of the Vincent Thomas Bridge (click for the big versions):
I stupidly didn't finish taking the bottom set of pics because I didn't think they'd work. Duh. I'll have to go back and retake this one.
The other one is of what I think is a warehouse:
What makes me love AutoStitch, the free software I use to put the panoramas together, is that it even straightens out the photos that were slanted thanks to the tripod not being quite level. I want to have a go at doing one of these inside the Rose Bowl when we see Barcelona v LA Galaxy on August 1.
I'M THOROUGHLY enjoying Arthur C Clarke's Childhood's End way more than I thought I would. I haven't read a science fiction book in a while and it's good to get back into the genre with a classic. I'll have to check out the sci-fi section in the second-hand bookstore next time I'm there.
JULY 11: BLOODY CATS
I'D LOVE to come back as one of our cats because I'd get more attention and be better fed and looked after than I am now*. Case in point: I'm not allowed to have a new camera ($809 from Amazon) but the cats get a Kitty Kabana ($25 from Wal-Mart). We assembled the "kabana" — I shudder just typing that word — put it in front of the TV and waited for the cats to take an interest.
And waited.
Then Ev had the idea of spraying it with catnip and, quick as a flash, Emric was all over it like a Pomona hooker over a bag of meth:
Bless him. We also went to San Pedro today to try doing another panorama, so if it's any good I'll put it up here tomorrow. Or to be more accurate, later today.
*After receiving a severe bollocking from Ev, I would like to state that this is an exaggeration done for dramatic effect.
JULY 10: FECK CALTRANS
THAT'S the California Transit Authority for those of you who are lucky enough not to live in a state where they close four lanes of the 5 freeway on a Friday night meaning you end up taking the 134 to the 210 and then, after about five miles, realise you're going the wrong sodding way so have to get off in some shitty neighbourhood to turn around and get back on the 210 east which for crapness of driving surface is beaten only by the 710 and the exit ramp to the 2 north and then finally, finally you're on the 605 south and it's all plain sailing, so plain in fact that if it wasn't for the bloody awful bumpy bit at the Lakewood exit you'd probably have fallen asleep, and you make it home at 1.44am after leaving work at two minutes past midnight.
Oh, and I have to get up in five hours to take the Mini in for repairs. Arse.
I finished AN Wilson's London last night. I was intrigued by how slim it was when I bought it — it weighs in at 200-odd pages, so compared to Peter Ackroyd's 850-page London: The Biography it's a minnow — and reading it I can see why.
It's what Wilson leaves out that makes this book fail in its ambition. Trying to cram 2,000 or so years of history into two-hundred-and-something pages is asking a lot and shows. For starters there's no mention whatsoever of Elizabethan London, a period where the City came to dominate trade and exploration around the world and when the concept of "Englishness" was defined. There's no real feel for the bustle and noise of the city and London Bridge — which stood from 1136-1824 — barely merits a mention. Samuel Pepys, from whom we learn so much of life in 17th-century London, makes all of two appearances (one less than Ken Livingstone) and there's no sign of Jack The Ripper. Wren's churches are described in loving detail (and quite rightly) but of the Eye or Tower Bridge there is nothing. I will give Wilson credit for putting the boot into both Labour and the Tories for their wanton selling-off of land to property speculators, resulting in much of the either hideous or mundane architecture that blights parts of London, but that's about it. It's probably possible to get an equal amount of information free from the London Tourist Board.
JULY 8: STOP THE CLOCK
SOMETIMES I really wish I had a time machine. I can feel 1974 calling...
JULY 5: TASTE TEST — HORMEL PIGS FEET
I'VE just realised that there's no apostrophe on "pigs" so I have no idea if it's the product of one pig foot or many. They're also semi-boneless, whatever that is. Either way, I'm going to attempt to eat one and let you know what it's like, starting with opening the jar and going up to, and including, the possible projectile vomiting. But instead of writing a coherent description I'm just going to transcribe the notes I made while going through the process (these are spread over a period of about 25 minutes).
— They look like innards.
— The vinegar looks and smells like battery acid.
— Just caught a whiff off the feet... they smell like cheap ham in a jar of water from the Salton Sea.
— It's like something out of Alien.
— I'm starting to feel... icky.
— My camera is going to stink.
— I keep finding things to do to put off eating one of these. I might even scoop the kitty box if it gives me another 5 mins of trotter-free life.
— Drained off the vinegar. Now it looks like something out of Se7en.
— Where do I start?
— Ev phones. I tell her what I'm up to and she mishears "drained the vinegar" as "drank the vinegar" and nearly pukes in Ken's truck.
— And I'm not allowed to feed them to the cats. Damn.
— Come on, man. You're British. Stiff upper lip and all that. I mean, you've eaten kidneys, spotted dick, semolina, black pudding and Pot Noodles. Are you really going to let the bloody Yanks beat you? The day after Independence Day?
— OK... 5...4...3...2...1...
— Dear God this is AWFUL. It's incredibly fatty and slimy and then the bones crunch and the vinegar is so strong it's going up my nose.
— Ych a fi... I swallowed some but spat the rest out. I'd better wait by the sink just in case.
— I don't think I'm going to chuck but I'm not risking another bite.
— Incredible, not even the waste disposal unit can eat this crap. There's bits of bones rattling around in there.
JULY 4
AND so we gather on the pier to watch this year's firework show over the Queen Mary. I've always found it a touch ironic that a celebration of a bunch of rich white slave owners who didn't want to pay taxes should take the form of watching a shedload of taxpayers' money go up in smoke, but that's just me. And now I'll shut up and let the photos do the talking.
Looking towards downtown Long Beach.
What looks like an alien mothership at the top is the Good Year blimp.
I have to admit, I don't think the photos are as good as the New Year's Eve ones I took in 2008. I couldn't remember exactly how to take the shots and setting the camera on an exposure above five seconds made the pics come out too light as the sky wasn't dark enough. But there's always next year.
JULY 3: IS IT JULY ALREADY?
I HAVE been lax in updating this, haven't I? I have a confession to make — I'm becoming a bit of a Facebook addict. I never thought it would happen to me but it has. Well, sort of has. But both of you have nothing to worry about as Planet Mut will continue. I've just been a lazy bastard over the past week or so.
A CHALLENGER to Billy's magnificent bacon-avocado burger has arisen in the form of the cardiac-arrest-on-a-plate you see above. Ken sent it to me from his northern hideaway with the following note:
I would like to present to you the ultimate burger I have discovered. It is from a restaurant called Famous Dave's and is almost food porn. It combines the best of BBQ and probably weighs in over a pound of meat. The picture does not do it justice. I can feel my heart slowing one bite at a time. It is comprised of a juicy ground beef patty beneath a pile of Georgia chopped pork with two strips of jalapeņo bacon, cheese, and Beam & Cola barbecue sauce. Not only does it combine the essence of pork, beef and bacon, you get a Jim Beam and Coke as well. Anyways take a look, if you come up here I will take you there for one.
It certainly does look good, and although it's very much the last thing my heart/arteries/layer of blubber needs Ev assures me there's a Famous Dave's near us so I might be getting one sooner than I think. It should make for a good Taste Test, and the videos of me being loaded into the ambulance afterwards might even knock Jacko off bloody CNN.
I've been thoroughly enjoying my first outing to Wodehouseland. I was a tad iffy about giving it a go as although I loved the 90s ITV series the books never really appealed. But as it turns out I'm loving the stories of hapless Bertie Wooster and his valet Jeeves. It does help that I'm reading it with Hugh Laurie's voice for Bertie and Stephen Fry's for Jeeves. And in case any of the Americans out there have no clue what I'm talking about, here's a clip from the show:
Yes, that is the guy who plays House. Spiffing, what?