My brother got married on Friday last week. The happy couple have this week gone on honeymoon in New York. So this is for them... I love this song (you didn't have me down as a Jay-Z fan now did you?):
Bright Lights, Big City, New Tork Times 1 and New York Times 2 tell of my and Rachel's visit to the Big Apple (for what it's worth). Ant, Lisa... hope you have as much fun as we did. x
Showing posts with label USA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label USA. Show all posts
Monday, 23 November 2009
Thursday, 2 July 2009
I can't decide
I'm currently enjoying reading Dave Gorman's latest book, America Unchained (another birthday present from Rachel!). It chronicles his attempt to drive across the USA avoiding all the big Chains. This means he doesn't allow himself to stay in any of the Chain motels and, more of a challenge, he's not allowed to fill up his car at any of the Chain gas stations.The trip was inspired by an earlier stint in the States in which Gorman had lamented how the big Chains had taken over America at the cost of independent owners of motels, gas stations, and so on.
As I say, I'm really enjoying the book but was distracted from its pages the other evening when I heard Dave Gorman's voice coming from the TV. He was providing the voiceover for an ad for Sainsbury's Homebase, a large chain of DIY stores in the UK.
I couldn't decide whether that was a little ironic or a tad hypocritical...?
Thursday, 19 April 2007
Sunday, 8 April 2007
Thursday, 5 April 2007
What do you mean "used"?
This isn't going to come as a big surprise to you all, I know, but much of your time on a road trip is spent on the road (go figure...). As a consequence, you find yourself paying an unhealthy attention to the things that catch your eye by the side of the road. For example, what's the deal with water towers? What are they for? And why so many in the US and so few in the UK? Answers on a postcard please...
I am also intrigued by how many different kinds of churches there seem to be in the US. Whether it's at a First Baptist Church, a Methodist Church, a Lutheran Church, or a First Church of Christ the King, Americans seem to be spoilt for choice in how they worship the Almighty.
Perhaps most unsettling are the road-side signs. The Kentucky to Tennessee leg of the trip seemed to provide the best of these, such as the confrontational "If you died today, where would you spend eternity?" (personally, I'm not so sure but I'm hoping it's not in Kentucky) or the straight-to-the-point "We Grow Hair". But the winner has to be "Used Cows For Sale". Yes, you read that right. And no, I don't know what it means either. A quick search on Google reveals that it's a known "wacky" sign, but doesn't reveal whether it's a serious sign or an indication of the zany sense of humour of Kentucky farmers. Who cares. Just sit back and enjoy:
I am also intrigued by how many different kinds of churches there seem to be in the US. Whether it's at a First Baptist Church, a Methodist Church, a Lutheran Church, or a First Church of Christ the King, Americans seem to be spoilt for choice in how they worship the Almighty.
Perhaps most unsettling are the road-side signs. The Kentucky to Tennessee leg of the trip seemed to provide the best of these, such as the confrontational "If you died today, where would you spend eternity?" (personally, I'm not so sure but I'm hoping it's not in Kentucky) or the straight-to-the-point "We Grow Hair". But the winner has to be "Used Cows For Sale". Yes, you read that right. And no, I don't know what it means either. A quick search on Google reveals that it's a known "wacky" sign, but doesn't reveal whether it's a serious sign or an indication of the zany sense of humour of Kentucky farmers. Who cares. Just sit back and enjoy:
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
This is Niagara Falls?
If you ever visit Niagara Falls, and you get the chance to visit the "Journey Behind the Falls" exhibit, don't bother. It's rubbish. The same goes for Stapeley Water Gardens in Cheshire. Don't let the title fool you... it's just a garden centre.
Monday, 2 April 2007
Ass (not arse)
It was one of those times when you start a sentence, not quite knowing how you’re going to end it. We had picked up our car from Boston (a blue Toyota 4x4), and we’d driven up to New Hampshire to visit Paul and Sally (friends of Rachel’s mum) in New London, New Hampshire. By the time we got there, the weather had got colder and there was now snow on the ground. The next day Paul drove us all in Sally’s car to visit Hanover (the home of Dartmouth College) and Eastman, a planned community covering 100’s if not 1000’s of acres of woods a few miles from New London. Paul and Sally had just bought a house there and so they showed us round. Needless to say, we were envious of how much more you could get for your housing dollar in the US (or at least in New Hampshire) compared to what you get for your housing pound in the UK.
In the car, with me in the front passenger seat and Rachel and Sally in the back, Sally explained that there were buttons you could press to heat either or both of the front seats. She leaned forward and pushed the button that heated my seat. Within seconds I could feel the seat becoming warm. If the truth be told, it was a pleasant sensation all round.
Now this is the bit about starting a sentence not knowing how you’re going to finish it. As my backside began to glow with warmth, I thought I would ask Paul if he'd like to share in the experience. So I asked him if he would like his seat warmer switched on. Only that's not what I said. Instead, I started to say something like “Paul, would you like a warm…”, and as I said the word “warm” I decided I would attempt to sound just a little American and end the sentence with the word “ass”. Only I didn’t say that. My Englishness got the better of me and so it came out as “arse”. Only I didn’t stop there. Something, I don’t know what, made me want to end the sentence with one more syllable. So instead of me asking Paul if he would like a warm ass, I asked him if he would like a warm arse hole.
I couldn’t believe it either! Within a matter of hours of meeting Paul I was enquiring if he’d like a warm arse hole! (I know, it doesn't get any better the more you say it...) Fortunately, I think he had anticipated the question and so was answering "yes" just as I uttered the word "hole", so I think I got away with it.
Still, the lesson here is to have an idea how you’re going to end a sentence when you start it. Similarly, I guess you should start a blog knowing how you’re going to end it. Otherwise, you might find you have to simply end it in the middle of a…
In the car, with me in the front passenger seat and Rachel and Sally in the back, Sally explained that there were buttons you could press to heat either or both of the front seats. She leaned forward and pushed the button that heated my seat. Within seconds I could feel the seat becoming warm. If the truth be told, it was a pleasant sensation all round.
Now this is the bit about starting a sentence not knowing how you’re going to finish it. As my backside began to glow with warmth, I thought I would ask Paul if he'd like to share in the experience. So I asked him if he would like his seat warmer switched on. Only that's not what I said. Instead, I started to say something like “Paul, would you like a warm…”, and as I said the word “warm” I decided I would attempt to sound just a little American and end the sentence with the word “ass”. Only I didn’t say that. My Englishness got the better of me and so it came out as “arse”. Only I didn’t stop there. Something, I don’t know what, made me want to end the sentence with one more syllable. So instead of me asking Paul if he would like a warm ass, I asked him if he would like a warm arse hole.
I couldn’t believe it either! Within a matter of hours of meeting Paul I was enquiring if he’d like a warm arse hole! (I know, it doesn't get any better the more you say it...) Fortunately, I think he had anticipated the question and so was answering "yes" just as I uttered the word "hole", so I think I got away with it.
Still, the lesson here is to have an idea how you’re going to end a sentence when you start it. Similarly, I guess you should start a blog knowing how you’re going to end it. Otherwise, you might find you have to simply end it in the middle of a…
Saturday, 31 March 2007
64 no more
In 1964, my mum and dad and my sister, who was about a year old at the time, moved from north London to Boston for a couple of years. My dad had been offered a post-doctoral position at Massachusetts General Hospital, which I gather is linked to Harvard Medical School. I had always been quite proud of this fact, and so I was pleased we were taking a train up to Boston from New York to collect our hire car. We would get to spend a night in Boston and our road trip across America would officially begin there. We would also see if we could find 64 Kirkland Street, the house where my parents had lived between 1964 and 1966
We thought we might not get to sit together on the 4 hour train journey from New York, as it would seem that Americans have the ‘double-seat’ syndrome even worse than we Brits do. Each double-seat was taken up by a lone traveler with a strategically placed bag next to them. Even when Rachel asked a couple facing each other with their legs and bags on the vacant seats if we could sit on the unoccupied seats, they replied "our bags are there”. So helpful. We eventually settled for seats one behind the other, and I asked the lady (I say lady…) whom I would be sitting next to if she minded switching seats with Rachel behind so that we could sit together as we had work to do (a white lie, I know, but it sounded better than saying we wanted to sit together so we could hold hands).
“Does she have a window seat?”, the lady asked in return. Rachel didn’t have a window seat. “Then I’m not moving”. Cow. I decided instead to try my luck with an elderly Chinese woman (I don’t think it was the same one from Times Square…) a couple of seats back. Bingo. She seemed happy to move so that Rachel and I could sit together. You can say what you like about the Chinese but they do think of others (even to the point of warning you about the the mark of the Beast [see New York Times 2 post...]).
Once in Boston, our short stay (at the Omni Parker House hotel, the oldest hotel in the United States!) included the obligatory visit to the ‘Cheers’ bar, both the bar that was the original inspiration for Cheers, and the newer replica Cheers bar at Quincy market where I even got to sit in Norm’s seat! (Favourite Norm-ism is “Women, you can’t live with them… pass the beer nuts”.)
The next morning we took the T (Boston’s tube) to Harvard. Our mission this morning was to take a photograph of 64 Kirkland Street. Finding Kirkland Street was easy. Finding no. 64 was not so easy. That was because it wasn’t there. 62 Kirkland Street was there. But after that it went to a set of what I guess would be condominiums numbered 70-1, 70-2, up to 70-8. No 64! I tried knocking on the door of no. 62 to find out if they could shed any light on what had happened to 64 but alas there was nobody home.
So that was that. 64 Kirkland Street was no more. My parents' home from when they were here over 40 years ago no longer existed. And I guess that's it... it was over 40 years ago, and time moves on. Today is actually my parent's 45th wedding anniversary. So happy anniversary mum and dad! Here's to the next 45...
We thought we might not get to sit together on the 4 hour train journey from New York, as it would seem that Americans have the ‘double-seat’ syndrome even worse than we Brits do. Each double-seat was taken up by a lone traveler with a strategically placed bag next to them. Even when Rachel asked a couple facing each other with their legs and bags on the vacant seats if we could sit on the unoccupied seats, they replied "our bags are there”. So helpful. We eventually settled for seats one behind the other, and I asked the lady (I say lady…) whom I would be sitting next to if she minded switching seats with Rachel behind so that we could sit together as we had work to do (a white lie, I know, but it sounded better than saying we wanted to sit together so we could hold hands).
“Does she have a window seat?”, the lady asked in return. Rachel didn’t have a window seat. “Then I’m not moving”. Cow. I decided instead to try my luck with an elderly Chinese woman (I don’t think it was the same one from Times Square…) a couple of seats back. Bingo. She seemed happy to move so that Rachel and I could sit together. You can say what you like about the Chinese but they do think of others (even to the point of warning you about the the mark of the Beast [see New York Times 2 post...]).
Once in Boston, our short stay (at the Omni Parker House hotel, the oldest hotel in the United States!) included the obligatory visit to the ‘Cheers’ bar, both the bar that was the original inspiration for Cheers, and the newer replica Cheers bar at Quincy market where I even got to sit in Norm’s seat! (Favourite Norm-ism is “Women, you can’t live with them… pass the beer nuts”.)
The next morning we took the T (Boston’s tube) to Harvard. Our mission this morning was to take a photograph of 64 Kirkland Street. Finding Kirkland Street was easy. Finding no. 64 was not so easy. That was because it wasn’t there. 62 Kirkland Street was there. But after that it went to a set of what I guess would be condominiums numbered 70-1, 70-2, up to 70-8. No 64! I tried knocking on the door of no. 62 to find out if they could shed any light on what had happened to 64 but alas there was nobody home.
So that was that. 64 Kirkland Street was no more. My parents' home from when they were here over 40 years ago no longer existed. And I guess that's it... it was over 40 years ago, and time moves on. Today is actually my parent's 45th wedding anniversary. So happy anniversary mum and dad! Here's to the next 45...
New York Times 2
Like other places filled with traipsing tourists, Times Square is filled with people trying to shove pieces of paper into your hand as you walk by. Some of these are simply trying to encourage you to visit a comedy club around the corner, or one of the many Broadway or off-Broadway musicals. All very well. What I found more interesting were the people holding out flyers for religious reasons. One of the more bizarre was the elderly Chinese woman who was handing out pieces of paper with the warning not to get the mark of the Beast, which is 666 if you didn't know (shame on you if you didn't). Of course I took the paper, and I read it with interest. and having done so, I'm not really sure what her point was. She wasn't trying to sell a particular church or anything. She just felt the need to warn people of the Beast and his mark. A free service as it were. And for that I suppose I should be grateful.
A little further along the sidewalk was Lloyd. I didn't know his name was Lloyd at this point, he was just another person handing out flyers to passers by. Lloyd's flyers were professionally printed glossy cards inviting us to go and watch an "orientation" video about the virtues of Scientology. Now normally I would just keep on walking and probably not even accept the card as it was held out to me. But not this time. This time I showed an interest, and I learned that the New York office of the Church of Scientology was just round the corner. We toyed with the idea of paying a visit, but the lure of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building proved too much and so we assured Lloyd that we might come and view the film tomorrow.
And that's exactly what we did. The next day (after our return visit to the camera shop), we crossed Times Square to see what Scientology had to offer us. Inside the impressive church/office building, we were greeted by a receptionist who ushered us down some stairs to another receptionist. We explained to the second receptionist that we were here to see the orientation video. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Lloyd appeared. He explained that the orientation video lasted about 45 minutes and that it would be showing again in about 20 minutes, but while we were waiting we could look at a display that explained some of the ideas behind Scientology and "Dianetics" the so-called science of the mind upon which much of Scientology was based.
It was at this point that I think both Rachel and I started to have concerns that maybe we had already taken things a little too far. For me, it was probably the slightly-too-firm grip of Lloyd's handshake as he asked us our names and led me by the hand down a corridor further into the building. We were already forming our excuses.
"We're keen to see the orientation video", I explained, "but we are due to meet friends in Central Park at around 3.30pm", I fibbed, looking at a clock to pick a time that would give us about 30 minutes to spare for the Scientologists.
"That's OK", said Lloyd, who had probably heard every excuse in the book. "I suggest you watch the Dianetics video. That lasts only 15 minutes, and gives you an introduction to some of the ideas behind Scientology." That sounded like a good compromise.
Lloyd led us into a small auditorium (i.e., a room with no windows) in which there were rows of seats laid out facing a cinema screen on one wall. We were the only ones there. Lloyd turned out the lights and left the room as the film started. The film was a glossily produced, but poorly acted, attempt to introduce the basic ideas behind Dianetics, a "modern science of mental health" devised by the founder of Scientology, L. Ron Hubbard. Some of the ideas I had no trouble with. For example, I'm happy to accept that we can be affected by events that have happened to us in the past, and that if we increase our awareness of how these influence us we might be better for it. This seems to be a major part of what Dianetics is saying. However, the reliance on what seemed to be pop-psychology concepts like the "analytical mind" and the "reactive mind" didn't sit too well. About half way through the video, both Rachel and I suddenly started to wonder how easy it would be for us to actually get out of the building. And once this panic set in, it was hard to shift. I even suggested that maybe they were recording everything we were saying, after which I was careful not to say anything critical about the insightful and well acted film we were watching.
The moment the film ended, the strip lights were turned back on (who needs retinas?), and a young man appeared holding a couple of clip boards. No sign of Lloyd. Oh dear, they're dragging us in, I thought! The panic was uncalled for. He simply wanted our opinions on the film, some contact details, and to know if we'd be interested in attending one of their seminars.
So we survived! We had a chance to talk further with Lloyd when he reappeared (how does he do that?), and we even bought a couple of books on Dianetics so we could do some further research. We re-emerged in Times Square and continued on our walk to Central Park to meet our "friends". All we need to do now is make sure we avoid getting the mark of the Beast.
More information about Dianetics and Scientology can be found at www.dianetics.org and www.scientology.org. (I don't think the elderly Chinese woman has a website.)
A little further along the sidewalk was Lloyd. I didn't know his name was Lloyd at this point, he was just another person handing out flyers to passers by. Lloyd's flyers were professionally printed glossy cards inviting us to go and watch an "orientation" video about the virtues of Scientology. Now normally I would just keep on walking and probably not even accept the card as it was held out to me. But not this time. This time I showed an interest, and I learned that the New York office of the Church of Scientology was just round the corner. We toyed with the idea of paying a visit, but the lure of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building proved too much and so we assured Lloyd that we might come and view the film tomorrow.
And that's exactly what we did. The next day (after our return visit to the camera shop), we crossed Times Square to see what Scientology had to offer us. Inside the impressive church/office building, we were greeted by a receptionist who ushered us down some stairs to another receptionist. We explained to the second receptionist that we were here to see the orientation video. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Lloyd appeared. He explained that the orientation video lasted about 45 minutes and that it would be showing again in about 20 minutes, but while we were waiting we could look at a display that explained some of the ideas behind Scientology and "Dianetics" the so-called science of the mind upon which much of Scientology was based.
It was at this point that I think both Rachel and I started to have concerns that maybe we had already taken things a little too far. For me, it was probably the slightly-too-firm grip of Lloyd's handshake as he asked us our names and led me by the hand down a corridor further into the building. We were already forming our excuses.
"We're keen to see the orientation video", I explained, "but we are due to meet friends in Central Park at around 3.30pm", I fibbed, looking at a clock to pick a time that would give us about 30 minutes to spare for the Scientologists.
"That's OK", said Lloyd, who had probably heard every excuse in the book. "I suggest you watch the Dianetics video. That lasts only 15 minutes, and gives you an introduction to some of the ideas behind Scientology." That sounded like a good compromise.
Lloyd led us into a small auditorium (i.e., a room with no windows) in which there were rows of seats laid out facing a cinema screen on one wall. We were the only ones there. Lloyd turned out the lights and left the room as the film started. The film was a glossily produced, but poorly acted, attempt to introduce the basic ideas behind Dianetics, a "modern science of mental health" devised by the founder of Scientology, L. Ron Hubbard. Some of the ideas I had no trouble with. For example, I'm happy to accept that we can be affected by events that have happened to us in the past, and that if we increase our awareness of how these influence us we might be better for it. This seems to be a major part of what Dianetics is saying. However, the reliance on what seemed to be pop-psychology concepts like the "analytical mind" and the "reactive mind" didn't sit too well. About half way through the video, both Rachel and I suddenly started to wonder how easy it would be for us to actually get out of the building. And once this panic set in, it was hard to shift. I even suggested that maybe they were recording everything we were saying, after which I was careful not to say anything critical about the insightful and well acted film we were watching.
The moment the film ended, the strip lights were turned back on (who needs retinas?), and a young man appeared holding a couple of clip boards. No sign of Lloyd. Oh dear, they're dragging us in, I thought! The panic was uncalled for. He simply wanted our opinions on the film, some contact details, and to know if we'd be interested in attending one of their seminars.
So we survived! We had a chance to talk further with Lloyd when he reappeared (how does he do that?), and we even bought a couple of books on Dianetics so we could do some further research. We re-emerged in Times Square and continued on our walk to Central Park to meet our "friends". All we need to do now is make sure we avoid getting the mark of the Beast.
More information about Dianetics and Scientology can be found at www.dianetics.org and www.scientology.org. (I don't think the elderly Chinese woman has a website.)
Friday, 30 March 2007
New York Times 1
Our first taste of Times Square seemed unreal. I think it was all the more impressive as we kind of stumbled upon it by accident (it was less than a block away from our hotel). It really was a case of bright lights, big city! The constant movement of the hugely colourful advertising displays against the backdrop of the clear blue sky, the stream of yellow taxis, and the thousands of people made London's Piccadilly Circus seem, well, a bit crap.
We were in need of a camera. As there were a few camera shops handily located on Times Square, we popped into one of these to see what we could pick up. We opted for a neat little Casio model in a rather fetching blue. At $350, it was probably a little more than we had hoped to pay but roughly equivalent to what we would have paid back in the UK. The $200 we had to pay for a 1Gb memory card seemed a bit steep but not completely unreasonable and something we needed if we wanted to take more than 10 pictures before having to download the pics on to the computer. At least we could now record the unreality of Times Square, the majesty of the Statue of Liberty, and the breathtaking views from the top of the Empire State Building. We even took a photograph of the nice man who sold us the camera with his not-at-all-gay friend (see below).
It wasn't until the next day that Rachel revealed that she had since looked on the internet and discovered that we paid well over the odds for the camera we had bought. Even more galling was the price of 1Gb memory cards online: $50! I believe we had been what is commonly called "shafted". In our rush to record the technicolour beauty of Times Square we had foolishly handed over more Monopoly money than we should have (Rach had actually put it on her credit card, but you get my point).
At this point we had two choices. Either we forget about it, put it down to experience and get on with things (vowing to take extra care in the future). Or we take the camera back and ask for our money back. We wanted our money back, but we knew this would not be an easy thing to do (we are British after all!). Once we had located the receipt, the decision was made for us. In block capitals across the slip of paper it stated, in no uncertain terms, NO REFUNDS. Shit. (It didn't say "shit" on the receipt... that's my reaction to the No Refunds bit. But you knew that, right?)
It seemed that all was lost. Until we noticed that it did say that exchanges could be made within 7 days. Maybe we could salvage something. Not a refund, but perhaps we could change the camera for a better model, or get a memory card with more memory. Or something. Anything that might make us feel a little less foolish. And if we had no success then at least we had tried. Then we could put it down to experience.
As we walked back to the shop we agreed that our best chance of having some success was to be as open and friendly as possible with the salesman rather than telling him exactly what we thought of him. In fact, all we initially complained about was the fact that camera had only come with a very basic instruction manual and so we weren't able to work the camera's various features. We told him that as we were now aware that we had paid well over the odds for the camera, we at least expected we should have an instruction manual! Almost immediately he offered to replace the camera for a different, more expensive, model. We tried to hide our delight. We must have been at least somewhat successful in doing so, as within minutes he also offered to replace the 1Gb memory card with a card with 4 (count them... four!) Gb of memory. Result. We thanked him and edged our way back out into the bustle of Times Square. We had learned an important lesson that day. In fact we had learned two lessons. First, a fool and his money (or her money) are soon parted. Second, and perhaps more importantly, smile when you're complaining and you might just get your money back (or a 4Gb memory card!).
We were in need of a camera. As there were a few camera shops handily located on Times Square, we popped into one of these to see what we could pick up. We opted for a neat little Casio model in a rather fetching blue. At $350, it was probably a little more than we had hoped to pay but roughly equivalent to what we would have paid back in the UK. The $200 we had to pay for a 1Gb memory card seemed a bit steep but not completely unreasonable and something we needed if we wanted to take more than 10 pictures before having to download the pics on to the computer. At least we could now record the unreality of Times Square, the majesty of the Statue of Liberty, and the breathtaking views from the top of the Empire State Building. We even took a photograph of the nice man who sold us the camera with his not-at-all-gay friend (see below).
It wasn't until the next day that Rachel revealed that she had since looked on the internet and discovered that we paid well over the odds for the camera we had bought. Even more galling was the price of 1Gb memory cards online: $50! I believe we had been what is commonly called "shafted". In our rush to record the technicolour beauty of Times Square we had foolishly handed over more Monopoly money than we should have (Rach had actually put it on her credit card, but you get my point).At this point we had two choices. Either we forget about it, put it down to experience and get on with things (vowing to take extra care in the future). Or we take the camera back and ask for our money back. We wanted our money back, but we knew this would not be an easy thing to do (we are British after all!). Once we had located the receipt, the decision was made for us. In block capitals across the slip of paper it stated, in no uncertain terms, NO REFUNDS. Shit. (It didn't say "shit" on the receipt... that's my reaction to the No Refunds bit. But you knew that, right?)
It seemed that all was lost. Until we noticed that it did say that exchanges could be made within 7 days. Maybe we could salvage something. Not a refund, but perhaps we could change the camera for a better model, or get a memory card with more memory. Or something. Anything that might make us feel a little less foolish. And if we had no success then at least we had tried. Then we could put it down to experience.
As we walked back to the shop we agreed that our best chance of having some success was to be as open and friendly as possible with the salesman rather than telling him exactly what we thought of him. In fact, all we initially complained about was the fact that camera had only come with a very basic instruction manual and so we weren't able to work the camera's various features. We told him that as we were now aware that we had paid well over the odds for the camera, we at least expected we should have an instruction manual! Almost immediately he offered to replace the camera for a different, more expensive, model. We tried to hide our delight. We must have been at least somewhat successful in doing so, as within minutes he also offered to replace the 1Gb memory card with a card with 4 (count them... four!) Gb of memory. Result. We thanked him and edged our way back out into the bustle of Times Square. We had learned an important lesson that day. In fact we had learned two lessons. First, a fool and his money (or her money) are soon parted. Second, and perhaps more importantly, smile when you're complaining and you might just get your money back (or a 4Gb memory card!).
The Lady Vanishes
What does it mean to be “free”? If we are free, what does this freedom allow or entitle us to do? One of America’s best known symbols of freedom has stood proudly in New York harbour since 1886, reminding US citizens that they are resident in the land of the free.On the centenary of the Statue of Liberty’s erection (steady on…), magician David Copperfield made her disappear. In his uniquely smarmy way, he used nothing more than the power of his mind and a few tonnes of hydraulics to vanish Lady Liberty and remind America of what this monument symbolizes. In designing this grand illusion, he told the millions of TV viewers watching, he had explained to his co-conspirators that it was important that the statue must reappear. Yeah, right. Like he could figure out a way to make it “disappear” that didn’t mean it would have to “reappear”. Twat. He implied that without the Statue of Liberty, the USA would no longer have it’s Freedom. As I say… twat. It would appear that nobody told Dave that if the Statue disappears then your freedom doesn’t disappear along with it. (Check out Dave's smarminess and silver jacket as he makes the Statue disappear on youtube.)
(By the way, I presume I don’t I need to point out that this is not the same David Copperfield written about by Charles Dickens. Nor is it the same one who was the star of the 1980’s TV sketch show Three of a Kind, supported by Tracy Ullman and Lenny Henry.)
On our visit to Liberty Island, we too found this remarkable monument to be a worthy reminder of the “freedom” we so often take for granted. Especially as we had to pass through two airport-style security checks to reach the statue.
But the question still remains. What does it mean to be “free”? I found an interesting answer to this question in a quote from Jean-Paul Sartre displayed next to one of the exhibits in the museum in the Statue’s pedestal. It read “Liberty is not the power to do what one wants, but it is the desire to what one can.” Wise words mate.
Thursday, 29 March 2007
Bright Lights, Big City
"New York, New York! So good they named it twice..."
Well, that’s the easy bit done! Continental Airlines delivered us safely to Newark pretty much right on schedule (thanks dad, by the way, for the lift to the airport this morning through rush hour traffic… I hope you agree that the half eaten Jamaican Ginger Cake more than repays the favour!).
All we need to do now is negotiate our way across the 3,000 or so miles across the US to LA over the coming weeks. Piece of piss. But before we do that we want to experience all that NYC has to offer. They say that it is the city that never sleeps. Really? I'm not so sure... within half an hour of arriving at our hotel, both Rachel (or should I say Thelma) and I were fast asleep. So that's one myth busted already!
To be honest, I don't think this is a reflection on the Big Apple itself. Neither of us had slept on the flight as we watched the in-flight movie (Bewitched) and chatted to a Professor of Law in the seat next to us about the economic analysis of law and the concept of 'karma' (as you do...). So we were both in need of a nap.
On landing at Newark Liberty, we passed through Immigration without a hitch. We almost got caught out by those sneaky questions on the green Visa waiver we had filled out on the plane. But fortunately we were able to answer these honestly and say that we were not seeking entry to the United States to engage in criminal or immoral activities, that were had never been involved in espionage, sabotage or genocide, and that between 1933 and 1945 we had not been involved, in any way, in persecutions associated with Nazi Germany or its allies. (I wonder how many spies or Nazi sympathizers they catch with those?)
Our cab driver who brought us into Manhattan was Hassan. Rachel discovered that he was originally from Egypt. I say "discovered" as though she pieced together a number of subtle clues in much the same way Inspector Morse might have done, whereas her direct questioning ("where are you from?") was probably more in the style of Sergeant Lewis. Hassan proceeded to tell us that he now lived in New Jersey, having moved to the USA from Cairo 27 years ago. In fact, Rachel and Hassan struck up quite a conversation as Rachel explained she had visited Cairo some years before, and I was impressed to learn that she also knew one word of Arabic... "Enchala" (no doubt spelled wrong...). It means "God willing". I liked that. And the more Hassan turned to face Rachel in the back of the car as he veered from one lane to another the more I could hear the word going round in my head. But he did get us to our hotel, the Hotel QT on West 45th Street, in one piece so he earned his tip (which we had to pay in dollars as we had given away our last piece of Jamaican Ginger Cake that morning).
So, as I say, that's the easy bit done. Now the fun really starts...
Well, that’s the easy bit done! Continental Airlines delivered us safely to Newark pretty much right on schedule (thanks dad, by the way, for the lift to the airport this morning through rush hour traffic… I hope you agree that the half eaten Jamaican Ginger Cake more than repays the favour!).
All we need to do now is negotiate our way across the 3,000 or so miles across the US to LA over the coming weeks. Piece of piss. But before we do that we want to experience all that NYC has to offer. They say that it is the city that never sleeps. Really? I'm not so sure... within half an hour of arriving at our hotel, both Rachel (or should I say Thelma) and I were fast asleep. So that's one myth busted already!
To be honest, I don't think this is a reflection on the Big Apple itself. Neither of us had slept on the flight as we watched the in-flight movie (Bewitched) and chatted to a Professor of Law in the seat next to us about the economic analysis of law and the concept of 'karma' (as you do...). So we were both in need of a nap.
On landing at Newark Liberty, we passed through Immigration without a hitch. We almost got caught out by those sneaky questions on the green Visa waiver we had filled out on the plane. But fortunately we were able to answer these honestly and say that we were not seeking entry to the United States to engage in criminal or immoral activities, that were had never been involved in espionage, sabotage or genocide, and that between 1933 and 1945 we had not been involved, in any way, in persecutions associated with Nazi Germany or its allies. (I wonder how many spies or Nazi sympathizers they catch with those?)
Our cab driver who brought us into Manhattan was Hassan. Rachel discovered that he was originally from Egypt. I say "discovered" as though she pieced together a number of subtle clues in much the same way Inspector Morse might have done, whereas her direct questioning ("where are you from?") was probably more in the style of Sergeant Lewis. Hassan proceeded to tell us that he now lived in New Jersey, having moved to the USA from Cairo 27 years ago. In fact, Rachel and Hassan struck up quite a conversation as Rachel explained she had visited Cairo some years before, and I was impressed to learn that she also knew one word of Arabic... "Enchala" (no doubt spelled wrong...). It means "God willing". I liked that. And the more Hassan turned to face Rachel in the back of the car as he veered from one lane to another the more I could hear the word going round in my head. But he did get us to our hotel, the Hotel QT on West 45th Street, in one piece so he earned his tip (which we had to pay in dollars as we had given away our last piece of Jamaican Ginger Cake that morning).
So, as I say, that's the easy bit done. Now the fun really starts...
Tuesday, 27 March 2007
Road Trip!
"California, here I come... right back where I started from!" Well, that's not strictly true. I didn't start in California at all. I started in a little place called Tarvin, near Chester, in England. But that's not important right now.
The important thing is that I'm coming/going (I don't know if I'm coming or going...) to California! In fact, not just California. California will be the end point of a road trip across the USA! We fly out to New York tomorrow, spend a few days there before taking the train up to Boston. In Boston we pick up a hire car, tour New England, and then pick a route across the States to ensure that we arrive in Los Angeles in time to catch a flight back home on April 21st. It is going to be a trip of a lifetime.
There are many reasons for this trip (although would you need a reason?). The main reason is that Rachel, my partner, has always wanted to do a road trip across America. This year she turns 30 and so it seemed as good a time as any to go and do it. And who am I to stop her? The original "plan" (there was no plan, we had just talked about it a little) was to maybe go in August. We would then have a few months to plan the trip and contact people we both knew in the States. Then things changed. Something inside suggested that we didn't need to wait until August. We could go at Easter. Before we knew it, we had booked the flights.
Coincidentally, (we'll talk about coincidences another time...) there are other reasons why this is a good time to go. One of these is that by going now I will have an opportunity to meet up with some potentially important people to do with my work (again, more on that another time). So it all seems to be working out.
It'll be just like Thelma and Louise! Only I'm not a woman... And we don't plan on killing anyone... And I hope we don't drive off any cliffs. But apart from that it will be just like Thelma and Louise!
The important thing is that I'm coming/going (I don't know if I'm coming or going...) to California! In fact, not just California. California will be the end point of a road trip across the USA! We fly out to New York tomorrow, spend a few days there before taking the train up to Boston. In Boston we pick up a hire car, tour New England, and then pick a route across the States to ensure that we arrive in Los Angeles in time to catch a flight back home on April 21st. It is going to be a trip of a lifetime.
There are many reasons for this trip (although would you need a reason?). The main reason is that Rachel, my partner, has always wanted to do a road trip across America. This year she turns 30 and so it seemed as good a time as any to go and do it. And who am I to stop her? The original "plan" (there was no plan, we had just talked about it a little) was to maybe go in August. We would then have a few months to plan the trip and contact people we both knew in the States. Then things changed. Something inside suggested that we didn't need to wait until August. We could go at Easter. Before we knew it, we had booked the flights.
Coincidentally, (we'll talk about coincidences another time...) there are other reasons why this is a good time to go. One of these is that by going now I will have an opportunity to meet up with some potentially important people to do with my work (again, more on that another time). So it all seems to be working out.
It'll be just like Thelma and Louise! Only I'm not a woman... And we don't plan on killing anyone... And I hope we don't drive off any cliffs. But apart from that it will be just like Thelma and Louise!
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
Seeing the bigger picture
The first time I saw a 'magic-eye' picture was in July 1993. I was in the US attending a summer course at the Foundation for Research on the Nature of Man (yes, I was into these things even back then...). Jurassic Park was showing at the movies, Take That were at number one in the UK with Pray (wonder whatever happened to those lads...?), and it was when the artist now known as Prince was wanting to be known as the artist formerly known as Prince (or a squiggle...).
It was my first time in America, and my 2 months there were almost up. I was walking through a shopping mall in Durham, North Carolina, on the look out for presents for the folks back home, leaving it till the last minute as usual. I wasn't having much luck finding suitably American souvenirs when my attention was caught by a stall in the centre of the mall. People were stood at the stall staring at unusual looking pieces of colourful artwork that were hung all around the stall. As I walked nearer, the colourful prints seemed to be made of patterns that repeated themselves over and over. The patterns themselves didn't seem especially eye-catching or aesthetically pleasing, but I was amazed at how the people stopped and gazed at these patterns for what seemed to be ages, as though transfixed by their beauty.
I carried on walking past, a little confused by these people's fascination with the pictures, as I continued my hunt for presents. I wasn't particularly successful in my present-buying mission, by the way. For example, I ended up buying my parents an "amusing" weather station that consisted of a block of wood to which was attached a stone hanging from a wire. From this is was possible to determine the weather for that day: if the stone was wet, it was raining; if the stone was swinging, it was windy. You get the idea. If the stone was gone completely, then you could conclude that it was a very windy day. Look, I thought it was funny and there's only so much you can buy for $10. To their credit, mum and dad did actually hang it up outside their home next to the front door so that visitors would be able to see it, so they must have thought it was kind of funny too (although they recently moved house and the weather station was left behind, so perhaps by then the joke was wearing thin).
Each time I walked past the stall selling the magic-eye posters, I couldn't believe that the same people were still stood there, gazing intently at these pictures! What was so good about them? Why were these people so enraptured by these rather garish and, to be honest, kind of tacky-looking pictures?
I edged towards the stall to take a closer look for myself, and noticed that there were instructions printed on a small sign next to some of the posters. These instructions explained that the patterns (created using a computer) contained hidden pictures that could only be seen if you looked at the poster in a certain way. Looking at the patterns in the usual way would not reveal the hidden pictures - all you would see would be the colourful patterns repeated again and again on the paper. In order to see the hidden pictures, you needed to look at the patterns in a very different way.
The printed sign instructed the viewer to relax the eyes and try to focus on a point beyond the paper on which the pattern was printed, rather than on the pattern itself. That is, you had to look through the poster. Now this of course is much easier said than done, which explains why so many people stood staring at these posters for 30 minutes or more at a time still only to walk away without seeing the hidden pictures and being none the wiser.
Fortunately, the owners of the stall did provide a very useful way of helping with the difficult task of looking "through" the posters. Some of the posters were framed, which meant they were also behind glass. This aided the viewer enormously as the glass allowed you to see your own reflection in the glass. This may not sound like much help but, believe me, it made the world of difference. By focusing on my reflection in the glass I was able to focus on a point beyond the surface of the poster, seeing as my reflection (as would yours) appeared as though it was the same distance behind the glass as I was in front of the glass. (So if you stand one metre in front of the glass, your reflection will appear as though it is one metre behind the glass. By the way, while we're on the subject, did you know that the size of the reflected image of your face on the glass itself, or on the surface of a mirror, is half the size of the actual size of your face? Did you also know that the size of the image remains the same no matter if you're right up close to the mirror, or standing on the other side of the room? Next time you're in the bathroom, trace the image of your face on the steamed up mirror and try it for yourself!)
So there I was, staring at my reflection in the glass with the hope that some hidden picture would magically appear before my eyes. It didn't. However, this was an important first step. The next step was to relax the eyes so that I was no longer focusing on my own reflection but I was still looking "through" the pattern. (For more details about how to see magic-eye pictures you could do a lot worse than following this link.)
The poster that I was slowly going cross-eyed at was called Lady Liberty. I could see my reflection in the glass, and I even managed to relax my eyes in such a way that I wasn't focusing on my reflection but I was still looking through the pattern. But could I see anything in the blue-green patterns that would justify the title Lady Liberty? Not a thing. Perhaps I was trying too hard?
Then, after about half an hour of staring deeply into the patterns it happened. It was as though something clicked into place. The patterns that were there on the poster suddenly seemed to take on a whole new form! I could now see shapes that I couldn't see before, shapes that simply weren't there before. And then it made sense... I could now see where the title Lady Liberty came from. In the centre of the poster, as if it had appeared from nowhere, I could now see the clear outline of the Statue of Liberty with her hand held high above her head holding a burning torch. The repeating blue-green patterns were still there. It wasn't that they had suddenly disappeared to be replaced by a photographic image of the Statue of Liberty in glorious technicolour. No the patterns were still there, it's just that they now seemed to form into another pattern that depicted the Statue of Liberty. There was also a 3D effect whereby the New York skyline behind Lady Liberty herself seemed to appear deeper within the picture in such a way that when I moved my head from side to side, the position of the statue moved in front of the skyline.
I was deeply impressed. I bought it, thinking I may give it to my brother as a present from my first trip to the USA. (I knew of course that I was going to keep it for myself.. in fact I'm not sure I ended up getting my brother anything. Hey ho.) Once I got back to the UK, I was eager to show my parents, my dad especially, this amazing picture. Remember, this was 1993 and these things hadn't made it into the shops in England by then, so I felt like I was almost showing them something on a par with colour TV for the first time! My parents' house had a large serving hatch type thing between the kitchen and dining room, which had two large sliding panes of glass. Perfect for the viewing of magic-eye pictures I thought.
With the help of my dad, I carefully slid Lady Liberty between the two panes of glass so that the blue-green pattern could be viewed behind glass when stood in the kitchen. I then explained that the image of the Statue of Liberty would appear magically if you stood and gazed at your reflection in the glass, relaxed your eyes, and so on. Of course, it took some time but eventually they saw it. My mum saw it first, but I don't think she was that impressed by it (or at least not as impressed as I thought she should be!). My dad took a lot longer. By the time he saw it, my mum and I had got rather bored of staring into the picture, and had moved ourselves into the living room and were watching something suitably high-brow on TV (Bullseye I think it was). We had actually forgotten about my dad in the kitchen who, bless him, was still gazing into the blue-green yonder.
Then, all of a sudden, "Oh, I see it... Amazing!". He seemed impressed. I was pleased. It's nice when you can give people pleasurable little experiences like that. Especially your own parents.
Now I know what you're thinking. Why on earth am I telling you this story about the first magic-eye picture I saw? Well, I guess I'm telling you for a number of reasons, but the main reason at this point is because part of me wonders whether seeing magic-eye pictures is in some way analogous to how we view the world around us (an idea inspired by my friend and colleague, Carl Williams, who I first heard suggest this at a conference back in 1995).
If you look at a magic-eye picture in the usual way, you will just see random-looking patterns that don't really make much sense. They may be pretty or colourful but that's as far as it goes. However, if you look at the patterns in a very different way... if you're able to change the way you think about the patterns, and view them from a very different perspective, then you see the bigger picture. From this new perspective, the patterns suddenly makes sense, and the picture that was at first hidden is now revealed. It's also interesting (or at least it is to me!) that some people find it relatively easy to see the hidden pictures, while others have real difficulties in seeing them. Magic-eye pictures are based on stereograms and so binocular vision (i.e., two working eyes) are needed to see them. However, even people with 20-20 vision sometimes find it hard to relax their eyes, and their minds, sufficiently to allow the picture to come into view.
Perhaps the way in which we view the world is a bit like this? Maybe it requires a fairly fundamental shift in perspective from our "normal" way of thinking about things to see the bigger picture. Maybe we need to be able to "relax our minds" in a certain way to see through the random-looking patterns of daily life and get a deeper understanding of what's there.
Or maybe not. Either way, it's a great feeling when you get that "Oh, I see it!" moment. And it's even better when you hear your dad get it.
It was my first time in America, and my 2 months there were almost up. I was walking through a shopping mall in Durham, North Carolina, on the look out for presents for the folks back home, leaving it till the last minute as usual. I wasn't having much luck finding suitably American souvenirs when my attention was caught by a stall in the centre of the mall. People were stood at the stall staring at unusual looking pieces of colourful artwork that were hung all around the stall. As I walked nearer, the colourful prints seemed to be made of patterns that repeated themselves over and over. The patterns themselves didn't seem especially eye-catching or aesthetically pleasing, but I was amazed at how the people stopped and gazed at these patterns for what seemed to be ages, as though transfixed by their beauty.
I carried on walking past, a little confused by these people's fascination with the pictures, as I continued my hunt for presents. I wasn't particularly successful in my present-buying mission, by the way. For example, I ended up buying my parents an "amusing" weather station that consisted of a block of wood to which was attached a stone hanging from a wire. From this is was possible to determine the weather for that day: if the stone was wet, it was raining; if the stone was swinging, it was windy. You get the idea. If the stone was gone completely, then you could conclude that it was a very windy day. Look, I thought it was funny and there's only so much you can buy for $10. To their credit, mum and dad did actually hang it up outside their home next to the front door so that visitors would be able to see it, so they must have thought it was kind of funny too (although they recently moved house and the weather station was left behind, so perhaps by then the joke was wearing thin).
Each time I walked past the stall selling the magic-eye posters, I couldn't believe that the same people were still stood there, gazing intently at these pictures! What was so good about them? Why were these people so enraptured by these rather garish and, to be honest, kind of tacky-looking pictures?
I edged towards the stall to take a closer look for myself, and noticed that there were instructions printed on a small sign next to some of the posters. These instructions explained that the patterns (created using a computer) contained hidden pictures that could only be seen if you looked at the poster in a certain way. Looking at the patterns in the usual way would not reveal the hidden pictures - all you would see would be the colourful patterns repeated again and again on the paper. In order to see the hidden pictures, you needed to look at the patterns in a very different way.
The printed sign instructed the viewer to relax the eyes and try to focus on a point beyond the paper on which the pattern was printed, rather than on the pattern itself. That is, you had to look through the poster. Now this of course is much easier said than done, which explains why so many people stood staring at these posters for 30 minutes or more at a time still only to walk away without seeing the hidden pictures and being none the wiser.
Fortunately, the owners of the stall did provide a very useful way of helping with the difficult task of looking "through" the posters. Some of the posters were framed, which meant they were also behind glass. This aided the viewer enormously as the glass allowed you to see your own reflection in the glass. This may not sound like much help but, believe me, it made the world of difference. By focusing on my reflection in the glass I was able to focus on a point beyond the surface of the poster, seeing as my reflection (as would yours) appeared as though it was the same distance behind the glass as I was in front of the glass. (So if you stand one metre in front of the glass, your reflection will appear as though it is one metre behind the glass. By the way, while we're on the subject, did you know that the size of the reflected image of your face on the glass itself, or on the surface of a mirror, is half the size of the actual size of your face? Did you also know that the size of the image remains the same no matter if you're right up close to the mirror, or standing on the other side of the room? Next time you're in the bathroom, trace the image of your face on the steamed up mirror and try it for yourself!)
So there I was, staring at my reflection in the glass with the hope that some hidden picture would magically appear before my eyes. It didn't. However, this was an important first step. The next step was to relax the eyes so that I was no longer focusing on my own reflection but I was still looking "through" the pattern. (For more details about how to see magic-eye pictures you could do a lot worse than following this link.)
The poster that I was slowly going cross-eyed at was called Lady Liberty. I could see my reflection in the glass, and I even managed to relax my eyes in such a way that I wasn't focusing on my reflection but I was still looking through the pattern. But could I see anything in the blue-green patterns that would justify the title Lady Liberty? Not a thing. Perhaps I was trying too hard?
Then, after about half an hour of staring deeply into the patterns it happened. It was as though something clicked into place. The patterns that were there on the poster suddenly seemed to take on a whole new form! I could now see shapes that I couldn't see before, shapes that simply weren't there before. And then it made sense... I could now see where the title Lady Liberty came from. In the centre of the poster, as if it had appeared from nowhere, I could now see the clear outline of the Statue of Liberty with her hand held high above her head holding a burning torch. The repeating blue-green patterns were still there. It wasn't that they had suddenly disappeared to be replaced by a photographic image of the Statue of Liberty in glorious technicolour. No the patterns were still there, it's just that they now seemed to form into another pattern that depicted the Statue of Liberty. There was also a 3D effect whereby the New York skyline behind Lady Liberty herself seemed to appear deeper within the picture in such a way that when I moved my head from side to side, the position of the statue moved in front of the skyline.
I was deeply impressed. I bought it, thinking I may give it to my brother as a present from my first trip to the USA. (I knew of course that I was going to keep it for myself.. in fact I'm not sure I ended up getting my brother anything. Hey ho.) Once I got back to the UK, I was eager to show my parents, my dad especially, this amazing picture. Remember, this was 1993 and these things hadn't made it into the shops in England by then, so I felt like I was almost showing them something on a par with colour TV for the first time! My parents' house had a large serving hatch type thing between the kitchen and dining room, which had two large sliding panes of glass. Perfect for the viewing of magic-eye pictures I thought.
With the help of my dad, I carefully slid Lady Liberty between the two panes of glass so that the blue-green pattern could be viewed behind glass when stood in the kitchen. I then explained that the image of the Statue of Liberty would appear magically if you stood and gazed at your reflection in the glass, relaxed your eyes, and so on. Of course, it took some time but eventually they saw it. My mum saw it first, but I don't think she was that impressed by it (or at least not as impressed as I thought she should be!). My dad took a lot longer. By the time he saw it, my mum and I had got rather bored of staring into the picture, and had moved ourselves into the living room and were watching something suitably high-brow on TV (Bullseye I think it was). We had actually forgotten about my dad in the kitchen who, bless him, was still gazing into the blue-green yonder.
Then, all of a sudden, "Oh, I see it... Amazing!". He seemed impressed. I was pleased. It's nice when you can give people pleasurable little experiences like that. Especially your own parents.
Now I know what you're thinking. Why on earth am I telling you this story about the first magic-eye picture I saw? Well, I guess I'm telling you for a number of reasons, but the main reason at this point is because part of me wonders whether seeing magic-eye pictures is in some way analogous to how we view the world around us (an idea inspired by my friend and colleague, Carl Williams, who I first heard suggest this at a conference back in 1995).
If you look at a magic-eye picture in the usual way, you will just see random-looking patterns that don't really make much sense. They may be pretty or colourful but that's as far as it goes. However, if you look at the patterns in a very different way... if you're able to change the way you think about the patterns, and view them from a very different perspective, then you see the bigger picture. From this new perspective, the patterns suddenly makes sense, and the picture that was at first hidden is now revealed. It's also interesting (or at least it is to me!) that some people find it relatively easy to see the hidden pictures, while others have real difficulties in seeing them. Magic-eye pictures are based on stereograms and so binocular vision (i.e., two working eyes) are needed to see them. However, even people with 20-20 vision sometimes find it hard to relax their eyes, and their minds, sufficiently to allow the picture to come into view.
Perhaps the way in which we view the world is a bit like this? Maybe it requires a fairly fundamental shift in perspective from our "normal" way of thinking about things to see the bigger picture. Maybe we need to be able to "relax our minds" in a certain way to see through the random-looking patterns of daily life and get a deeper understanding of what's there.
Or maybe not. Either way, it's a great feeling when you get that "Oh, I see it!" moment. And it's even better when you hear your dad get it.
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