Frisco

I haven’t been to San Francisco since I was about 8 years old. My dad had a meeting out in California and we went out to stay with my aunt and uncle and cousins on their land about an hour and a half north of San Francisco. Despite it being warm and lovely everywhere else in California, it was freezing and rainy in Frisco. But I swam in the pool and looked at the sea lions and we ate at a really cool Morroccan restaurant on cushions on the floor and hung out at the apartment of one of my Uncle’s criminal associate. (He used to be in the import/export business, primarily bringing in herbal products from Mexico til he got busted, now he’s an environmental scientist thanks to the rehabilitation program).

We arrived to San Jose airport (what a freaking dump) and took the train to San Francisco. I thought we’d see countryside, but we saw progressively nicer backyards. Our journey was lengthened unfortunately by taking the wrong train. At the Santa Clara station there appeared to be only one platform, and we couldn’t find any directions or instructions, so we got on the first train. It went the opposite direction. When we realised our error, I got a little panicky.  It was never clear we were fnally on the right train (the same train incidentally, just reversed at San Jose) until we were actuallly moving.

Once in San Francisco we were offered helpful advice from a local who then asked us for money so he could catch the train home. He was rather large, so we gave him a dollar.  This didn’t entirely satisfy him, but we made our escape.

We took the bus from the station to the hotel. That was quite a ride. They all told us we were on the wrong bus for Fisherman’s Wharf, we weren’t but it was a little unnerving.

The Vol-in-Law was a little traumatised by it all, so we didn’t get out as early as we should have. I went out to try to find a sandwich for less than 7 bucks (that was an adventure in itself, but I succeeded!).

We then went out for dinner, enjoying a lovely seafood meal and watching the sea lions off Pier 39.  I was liking the sea lions until in the darkness I realised they looked like big giant slugs lined up on the floating docks.

In the morning I discovered that I had stepped on my glasses during the night and broken them. This is the second pair of glasses broken on this voyage (the Vol-in-Law broke his pair earlier). I can see alright, but not great without glasses, but I do get headaches.

However, we were able to use the gym free of charge (as you would expect at any normal hotel) and swim in the outdoor saltwater pool in the San Francisco drizzle.  We went back to look at the sea lions in the daylight – when they look less like slugs.
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Security

They snaffled my lighter at airport security in Vegas. Since they used to allow smoking on planes I cannot fathom why we are not allowed lighters. Note I brought this lighter from the UK in carry on and I have carried it on two internal US flights since. I gave up the lighter, but refused to accept the security lecture.

All I have to say is that if a terrorist manages to bring down a jet plane with a French designed Bic lighter, this is a war we cannot win. Kudos to you. I don’t even think McGyver (sp?) could accomplish such a feat.

Vegas

Ok, my first impression of Vegas is not favorable. Perhaps I came to Vegas too late after I hd already started my life as an International Gambler, and was therefore was spolied for Vegas.

I first gambled in Natchez, Mississippi on the Isle of Capri River boat. The Vol-in-Law had to drag me down the jetty. Perhaps more of attending my grandfather’s Church of Christ stuck than I thought, but I was convinced that the maw of hell was going to open up right there on the Mississippi and swallow me up. But we walked out a buck fifty ahead and I was hooked.

Since then I’ve gambled in Helsinki at the only casino in Finland (local Finns strongly warned us against it saying it was full of Russian mafia, which it was), in Sinaia, Romania (flourescent lighting, dire, we lost) and Budapest with my brother, and in Prague where I cleared enough to buy me and the Texan a round of 30 cent beers. (This appeared to be an unusual occurrence sine the attendant/ bartender struggled to cash us out). And in Tunica, Mississippi. So yes, I’m an international gambler, having wagered small stakes in Mississippi and the eastern fringes of Europe.

In all these places, winning or losing, I never had to queue more than three minutes. Vegas is the land of waiting and queuing it appears. We queued to check in, we walked past 5 or 6 queues seeking lunch, we queued at the player’s clubs, we queued at the cage. See this is not my idea of fun, I can queue in London.

We did have a couple of successes. The Vol-in-Law wanted to see Celine Dion, and although people had been queuing since the morning for returns for last night’s show he got a single ticket for the 1st of Jan (when we’ll be back in Vegas). We also walked right into the night club in Treasure Island for a good view of the pirate show. (Much writhing about on the riggings and pyrotechnics).

The biggest disappointment was that they charge 20 bucks each to go to the gym. I have never had to pay extra to use a treadmill at a hotel. I was so appalled I complained, to no use. However, we did swim in the outdoor pool, which yes was cold, but we felt better for it after the excesses of Christmas.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone

I’ve been away from the blog for a bit, but I’ve been busy. We had a heckuva long day on the 23d – drove from Asheville to Nashville. Lunch at the Opryland Hotel, which was much bedecked with flora and faux fauna and lights and ribbons and bows. All very impressive, photos later…

Then to the Frist to see the Hudson River School show, the Vol-in-Law was much impressed with that, and gazed admiringly at the paintings. However, I could see the influence of English painters – which I don’t care for too much.

Then on to the Grand Ole Opry – which was great and deserves a post of its own. But Christmas dinner is nearly ready…

Lots of running around Lawrenceburg yesterday, I nearly got the Vol-in-Law to buy a pair of cowboy boots in Loretto at Lawsons (worth a visit for the bow hunting emporium in the basement alone). The ViL decided cowboy boots were perhaps not his style.

Breakfast at a friend of the family’s this morning with some 20-some people, biscuits and country ham and grits (yum).

We still haven’t opened presents yet…

Gotta go.

Back on the net

I haven’t been on a PC for days, so this is the first time I’ve had a chance to tidy up the blog or read any comments or look at anyone else’s blog.

Today we headed out for Asheville, what a cute and funky town. I’d never spent any time here. A couple of people I went to college with live here now. Being a librul, (sort of) you’d think this might be the kind of place I might want to live should I head back stateside. But I have to wonder that in a town stuffed with so many progressive, creative people I might just not stand out from the crowd. It is pretty, though and full of fun-downtown-ness.

Here’s a blog about Asheville advertising a Drinking Liberally meetup tonight at a local pub Jack of the Wood. (My host’s husband plays on their over 30 soccer team). Tonight’s all about the “War on Christmas”. Should be a hoot.

Hooray for Dollywood 3

When we got back in from Dollywood, VolBro asked: “Did you see any rednecks?”

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Ok, Dollywood was cold. I mean cold. I mean witches and brass underwear cold.

Kids were screaming on the rides, but above all the general shouts you could mostly hear cries of “I’m cold!”

The lights and Christmas decorations are amazing and the show was OK, but it’s mostly one big mall for Smokey Mountain memorabilia.

I have NEVER seen so much UT orange wear outside of a game day. I thought I’d be very flash in my orange gloves, but my orange accents and accessories were drowned out by Vols track suits and jackets and hats.

I can’t say that Dollywood was really my cup of tea, but since the last theme park I visited was Opryland, I guess no theme park is really my thing. The stuff I enjoyed most was probably the Dolly Parton museum, with her amazing dresses and an intractive display allowing you to “virtually” try on Dolly wigs through the decades.

The one thing that kind of put a little damper on stuff were the greetings of “Merry Christmas”. At first it was nice, cheerful, in the spirit of the season, but then I began to realise that the greeting was a pointed political statement, with a sizing up to see how we’d react. (Some people genuinely meant it, I must say) See I like “Merry Christmas” but please don’t use this as a litmus test to see how much FoxNews I watch.

In the little tram ride out to the car, the conductor wished us all a Merry Christmas and then said, “That greeting is not as generic as it should be, but I guess you figured out that Dollywood’s not a generic place.”. He then went on to say that people at Dollyood remembered the reason for the season of Christmas. Great. How ’bout a little goodwill towards all and peace on earth or at least East Tennessee?

Hooray for Dollywood 2

Today’s the Vol-in-Law’s birthday. So we’re off to Dollywood.

We’ve already had a nice walk this morning- from 16th Street in the Fort up through the World’s Fair site to Market Square and on to Gay Street, where I did a little shopping at Yee Haw industries and bought a Knoxville Girl t-shirt and an excellent Buford Pusser poster: he cracked skulls for justice.

(Thanks to Swap Blog and the Knoxville Christmas Post for alerting me to that store- sorry I can’t link ya on this thing).

I was also able to show the ViL the Gay Street wig shop featured in that famous Simpsons in Knoxville episode – the one where the SunSphere gets it.

Good value Knoxville

We all met VolDad for lunch yesterday and ate at the Copper Cellar. It’s kind of weird being on the strip visiting your old drunken haunts.

The Vol-in-Law got good Christmas from VolDad. A bottle of Basil Hayden’s Kentucky bourbon and an Oxford University pewter hip flask. He was thrilled. Not only has he always wanted a flask, but he got one with the logo of his alma mater and made in the city of Sheffield, England where he did his PhD. Sheffield has an ancient and venerable pewter and cutlery industry and truly we should have stocked up when we lived there.

After lunch we went to the Knoxville Museum of Art, which was very enjoyable. On the way in we were asked for our zip codes and explained we lived in London. The volunteer at the entrance was quite interested and asked us how we had found out about the KMA. Ummm… well, not in London. I’m not sure the Vol-in-Law had ever been, but both VolDad and myself used to be quite frequent visitors.

If you haven’t been, the KMA is quite small but they take a lot of care with their exhibits. I’ve seen stuff I don’t particulalrly care for there but I can’t remember seeing any junk. And that’s the thing with modern art, a lot of it is rubbish. The Tate Modern in London (well worth a visit for the building alone) is huge and chock-a-block with crap -and lots of great stuff, too. They take more of a weird quantity over selective quality apprach to curating at the Tate Modern.

There was a knowledgeable dosun who explained all sorts of things. After a number of years in London with only limited visits out really, you get kind of used to the cold and distant human relationships and when someone does approach you, you’re always sort of wondering what they want. I couldn’t help but think – get away, can’t you just watch me suspiciously like I might steal or damage something? What do you care which piece I like? But, his presence enhanced our visit tremendously. There was an excllent exhibit of light and image display by I think Jim Campbell (sorry can’t remember the name exactly that might be it -I’ll revise when I get Internet access again.) although the first thing you come to was a kind of “sound sculpture” – the kind of thing I precisely hate. I like visual art, music, the spoken word, performing arts, etc. But don’t record bits of spoken words and then hang a speaker up on the wall and expect me to be impressed.

Later on we went to the dollar theater out west. I fully expected it to be 2 or 3 dollars, but it was only 1.50. I can remember when Movies 7 opened and it was only a dollar. Maybe a year or so later it went up to a buck fifty. Some nine years after I left Knoxville it’s still the same price and I can’t help but feel that I had to bear the brunt of the inflationary pressure on ticket prices.

We saw 40 Year Old Virgin which I thought was quite good. All the better in that it was less than a pound. The ViL and I hardly ever go to the movies any more and it’s mostly because we almost never walk out of the cinema feeling we got out our money’s worth. It’s a lot easier to get that feeling of that movie was worth my money when the ticket’s under two bucks compared to over 12.

Tecnical difficulties

My email hasn’t been working since sometime yesterday. So I haven’t been able to post. I’ve been going through withdrawal pangs. I think I have a problem.

The ViL and I went to the Knoxville country dancers contra dance last night, and it was great. I used to go every Monday at the Laurel Theater. If you’re in the Knoxville area and like folk dancing I highly recommend it. It’s easier than square dancing and they always have live music.

Afterwards VolBro and I went to Krogers where our groceries were bagged by a fellow in a stars and bars airbrushed gimme cap. He spontaneously asked my brother “Do you like Lynyrd Skynyrd”. Of course.

In England no one ever bags your groceries for you and my first couple times I stood at the checkout waiting for someone to appear. Just lately, ccasionally, the cashier will offer to bag, but the offer is made so grudgingly that I usually just do it myself. They certainly wouldn’t ask you if you like Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I’m still having a little trouble with the jet lag and tire early and then wake up ridiculously early. We went up to Hardees this morning for a sausage biscuit while it was still dark.

We also made it down to the UT bookstore, where we I got me some UT paraphenelia. The prices were so high I got that same queasy Big Orange Screw rip off price feeling that I had when I was a student. Ahh nostalgia.

However, I am now the proud owner of a roller bag emblazoned with a big orange Power T. There probably won’t be too many of those in London. I needed one anyway, since my old one broke and the small ones are ideal for overnight journeys to the crap towns I have to go to on business occasionally.

I also bought a mug because it turns out that VolBro has but one mug in his house. I had to drink my morning coffee from a plastic Solo cup.

At the counter on impulse I bought the special Rocky Top mix CD (all Rocky Top all the time, I’m looking forward to the Techno mix) The student cashiers were much amused. They said they were sick of Rocky Top. I explained that the further away you get from Knoxville the better it sounds. I used to be sick of it myself, particularly when I worked at the stadium and had the privilege of lisening to the band practice it for what seemed like hours every day during the summer. I did truly think at one point that if I heard Rocky Top one more time I’d kill myself or use the base of the giant V atop the stadium as a gun rest so I could spray bullets at the scattering members of the Pride of the Southland Band.

UPDATE: The techno Rocky Top mix was kind of amusing, but that amusement wears thin pretty quick. Should be a smash hit at the old summer BBQs, bet my neighbors are gonna love it.

Arrival in Knoxvegas

Well, I had a very relaxing morning at my cousin’s house. I cooked up some bacon and frozen biscuits, drank coffee and riled up her dog.

After lunch, we headed up to Knoxville.

A couple of observations:
There’s a lot more Christian rock on the radio. All we could find in a quick scan of the dial was gospel pop and post 9/11 kick-some-A-rab-ass country.

Apparently there has been no maintenance to 440 since the I was here 2 and a half years ago. The Interstate appears to have fallen to Arkansas roadway standards.

There sure are a bunch of people who feel obliged to wear their patriotism on their vehicle.

My home state is beautiful.

Once we’d arrived in Knoxville, we got to my brother’s apartment – the Chateau VolBro – only to find that he’s at a poker tournament. Hope he wins.

Update: Nah, he didn’t win.