I've found my home

dodged that bullet

Monday 2nd November, Day of The Dead. No work. Sheffield United are playing football, in England, at 7:45pm their time, 11:45am my time. According to the t'internet, which has never been known to lie, the match is being transmitted live by Setanta. The match would be shown (live) in The Shakespeare Pub and Grille. Your mission, if you are willing to accept it, is to get across the border, on a Monday morning, with no visa, and watch the match. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds.

Game On!

Woke at 7:30am. Got up thirty minutes later. Got dressed. Hung around flat for twenty minutes more while maria finished getting ready. Exchanged money. Drove towards San Ysidro Sentri Border crossing. Realised that I was in the car, headed towards Otay Sentri Border crossing. Traffic up to Otay was abysmal. Finally got to Otay. maria joined the Sentri line, I joined the walk-over line. You remember this video? Forget it. Monday morning is busy, very busy. A Monday morning when half of Mexico has got the day off is double-very busy. It was busy.

An hour and a half later I was finally stood in front of a Border guard. I pointed out that my visa had expired and I would need to renew it. (For those of you who are non-Mexican and have travelled to the USofA, you probably remember having to fill out a green form, full of interesting questions: Have you ever overthrown a government? Were you a member of the N@zi party from 1939-1945? This is a visa waiver because you are from a friendly country. It expires after three months. For those of you who are Mexican, you never see this form. Not because you might be ex-N@zis, you have to go through 14 hours of queueing, a full background check, several hundreds of dollars cost, just because gardening is in your DNA.) I was sent to join the queue at the visa application window.

There was no one giving out visas. We stood for twenty minutes, waiting. Eventually, once the queue had grown big enough to start causing consternation amongst the other Border guards, two people turned up to give out visas. Fifteen minutes later, after denying association with H!tler's N@zi Party, being fingerprinted, having my photo taken, I was issued with a brand new visa. Valid until February 1st 2009. Wait. What? 2009? I pointed this out to the border guard. She tutted, took out a pen, scribbled the 9 out, squeezed a 1 in between the zeroes. You know, that's not going to cause any problems every single fucking time I try to cross. From there I was sent to join the queue at the payment window.

There was no one at the payment window. We stood waiting for twenty minutes, waiting. Eventually, when the queue for people waiting to pay for visas was longer than the queue for people waiting for visas, someone turned up. Paid for the visa, ran out the building, jumped into the car, set off to see the match.

We stopped off at the post office to check our mail. We'd got the book for the book club we are in. Whoot! Back in the car, North up the freeway, into the pub carpark. Sorted.

In the pub there is a man, wearing a Newcastle United shirt, sat in front of the television. The match hasn't started yet. We'd made it. On time. How awesome is maria? Drinks ordered and served, I start to lubricate my vocal chords. Soon the mighty Blades would be taking to the field, to the theme tune of Star Wars, and then it would be time to sing The Greasy Chip Butty Song - a song described by maria as the gayest football song ever (roll over link for the lyrics). The television came on, the teams ran out. West Bromwich Albion and Watford stood side by s...Hang on. WTF? The Newcastle fan looked at me, I looked at him. We both looked at the chalkboard on the wall where it announced Sheffield United v Newcastle. Everyone looked at the television again. Setanta had decided to switch matches. They would be showing the Blades v Magpies game at 5:30pm. At exactly the same time that the NFL game was going to be shown in the pub. We both knew what that meant, no footy match for us. Three hours. Three hours to get there, on time, to watch a footy match. What could be worse? Well, being the bloke in the Newcastle shirt. He'd taken the day off work to watch the game. It was even his birthday. Yep, he thought the gods had smiled on him, putting a live Newcastle match on his birthday, so he'd taken the day off work.

He left the pub. They promised to record the match and he could come back any time to watch it. We ate (I had fish, chips, and mushy peas. maria had chicken pot pie, chips, and mushy peas.) and left. Went to IKEA and bought some picture frames. Got home. Checked the final score on the internet.

Sheffield United lost, 1-0. And the goal? It was an own goal, scored off the foot of team's captain.

Dodged a bullet there.

viva la vida

Hi, you might remember me from such posts as...oh, did I mention I did a couple of guest posts over at Alan's blog? Not that I ignored you, gentle reader. Nope, last week I was pumping out double posts. Unfortunately this seems to have sucked all the 'good' writing out of me. I realise that this sounds totally stupid but I think it's a much better excuse than the usual: life, don't talk to me about it, brain the size of a planet and here I am, doing all this other stuff.

Anyhoo...

The Tudors. You know when you suddenly discover something, something that grabs you by the very short hairs (the ones in your nostrils) and rips your attention away from anything else? Welcome to The Tudors. Did I mention I'm a history geek? I love history. Did I mention I'm a tele geek? I love tele. So, The Tudors is excellent. Well written, well acted, and full of historical reality that I spend twenty minutes on Wikipedia for every 50 minute episode. So, The Tudors, been dragging me away from here. However, I do have a desire to use so many quotes from the series that I'm surprised that I haven't posted more....

We've had the kids for the weekend. Yes, I know, we have the kids every weekend, but this time it was for the whole weekend...and on into Monday/Tuesday. Suddenly, living in the flat becomes a whole different ballgame. This flat is perfect for maria and I. It is fantastic that we are never, very far apart. However, when we are four, it is a whole different thing being never, very far apart. We spent Saturday out of the flat, at the zoo - but you already knew that because you read maria, donchu'. Spent Sunday watching NFL and the Emmys Emmies some award show hosted by Neil Patrick Harris. And then I was into exam week at school. Oh, and it is hot. Have I mentioned the heat? It is fucking hot. New record temperatures hot. I get home from work and really all I want to do is siesta. Dunno who invented the idea of "mad dogs and Englishmen" but this Englishman wants to sleep, not go out in the midday sun!

Got me an email over the weekend (look away now Croila) from Helly:

[stuff about Sheffield United beating Sheffield W*dnesd*y and ManUre beating ManShitty and stuff about her cable provider and the fact that she gets a load of sport free and then] Right now rugby is on, Leicester vs. Newcastle.  I don't understand rugby, not really, but we're watching it anyhow...maybe you could give us an Americans' Primer for rugby, assuming you even watch it.  All I know at this point is that I think "scrum" is an absolutely wonderful word.

In passing, maria likes the word scrum as well. (In theory) In 1823 William Webb Ellis is supposed to have picked up a football, in the middle of a footy (soccer) game,and thus was invented the game of Rugby football (did I mention he was at Rugby Public [Private to you] School). The aim of the game is to move the ball down the field and carry it over the end of the pitch. Oddly enough, you can only pass the ball backwards. Unlike NFL, once you are tackled the game doesn't stop, you keep going. So, the idea is to get tackled, suck in the defenders, move the ball, suck in more defenders, move the ball, suck in defenders, make a whole in the defence, score a try (touchdown). In rugby you really do have to touch the ball down! This is called a try because, in the old days, it meant that you could have a try at scoring a goal - kicking a goal. During the game, if you are given a penalty you can also have a kick at goal (a field goal). Scrums happen when a foul is committed and it isn't that big a foul (passing the ball forward, dropping the ball, running into your own player). At that point all the forwards (eight on each side) wrap their arms round each other, and push against the other team. The ball is rolled into the middle of it and the hookers try to hook the ball backwards, out of the scrum. I could explain more but Croila's head will explode. So....

Coldplay's Viva La Vida. Do you have young people in your house? Do you know young people? Have you ever seen a young person? Can you hang around a municipal park without getting arrested? Want to see something weird? Play Coldplay's Viva La Vida to a young person. I don't know what it is, why it is, how it is but, for reasons that are beyond me, young people cannot stop dancing to Viva La Vida. Try it. Play it once. Play it twice. By the third time they will demand it 24/7 and make up their own dance to the song. Be warned but please try it. And report the results. Prove me wrong (or right).

burst that bubble

As a child I wanted to play football for Sheffield United, I wanted to play cricket for Yorkshire, I wanted to play rugby for England. Oh, there was nothing special about rugby, I just didn't know any rugby teams. And I knew, if I played for the Blades, as captain and top goal scorer in the league, I was bound to play for England. As for the cricket, well as eny fule noes, England are only good when Yorkshire are strong - my batting and bowling would ensure that other countries would probably stop playing cricket, just until I retired - to avoid the humiliation.

And I was good. I am naturally coordinated, I have very good spacial awareness (I know where people are on a field of play), I have a sporting background (which means that I understand the games I play), and I'm not stupid. I was good.

And I got nowhere.

I lit my first cigarette at the age of eleven. I had my first serious girlfriend at the age of 14. I chose life. I admire sportsmen/women, I admire their commitment, the fact that they devoted their lives to getting to where they got. It doesn't just take natural skill, it also takes a ruthless determination, and single tracked vision. The closest I got to sporting glory was when I ended up at an England U-16 trial - possibles v probables. I didn't even make the substitutes bench. The sport? Hockey. Field hockey. Hockey on grass. Not a popular sport amongst kids, but I'd been playing for four years, which gave me a head start on the majority of England, yet I still blew my chance.

But I love sport. There are moments that make maria laugh. We can be driving along, I'm paying little attention to my surroundings as I am looking at number plates (CNPS), and then suddenly (according to her) I'm like a dog who senses a squirrel. (According to her) I'll sit up straight, stare out of the window. It is at these moments she knows that we have passed a sports field/a local park, and I am checking out the game that is happening. I love sport.

But every now and then, I have my heart broken.

In 1994 Sheffield United were demoted from the Premier League. I was upset, I was devastated, I cried, but this didn't break my heart. Hell, I support Sheffield United, I'm used to losing. No, what was totally crushing was that three years later, five footballers were brought up on match fixing charges. One of the matches mentioned as a "fixed" match was played on the same day as Sheffield United went down. On the day, there were two teams that could have gone down, the other team won, by three clear goals, stayed up. Oh, the guy in the match fixing case? Goal keeper for the team that lost. My heart broke a little bit.

In 1993 Mike Atherton was made captain of the English cricket team. This is the man who had the nickname FEC. Legend has it that FEC stood for Future England Captain (reality has it, it stood for Fucking Educated Cunt). Either way, who would complain about a cricket player whose colleagues complain that he's educated? As far as i was concerned (apart from the fact that he is a Lancastrian), he was my kind of captain. Hell, this is cricket, and he was educated. And then he had dirt in his pocket. One year into his captaincy, television cameras caught him taking dirt from his pocket, and rubbing into the ball. My heart broke a little bit.

Dean Richards was a wonderful rugby player. He didn't have an athlete's physique, he was a farmer, and looked like a farmer. As he played his socks would fall down round his ankles. He lumbered around the pitch, didn't run, didn't glide, lumbered. And yet, when he had the ball it was like everyone else went into slow motion. He had all the time in the world, even as he lumbered along. The ball would find him. He was my kind of player. You felt that he played the game because it was a game. You felt he came in to games, only after milking the cows, and dealing with the silage in the top field. You knew he played with his heart on his sleeve, and you felt he always played as well as he could. He (finally) retired and went into coaching and management. Deep down inside, every England rugby supporter wanted Dean Richards to become the England manager - he was our type of player. He knew that winning was everything, but he also knew that winning wasn't the only thing. He was the personification of what rugby stood for. A game that doesn't have rules (it has laws). A game that accepts a referee's decision immediately (or is marched down the pitch). A game where, after the match, teams will drink/celebrate together. A game for ruffians, played by gentlemen.

Earlier this month Dean Richards resigned as Harlequins Director of Rugby. (Harlequins are the richest rugby club in the world.) He resigned, hoping that the scandal, that was about to break, would disappear, and his name would would still mean something. It didn't, disappear. Over the last couple of days stories have emerged of fake blood capsules, a doctor slicing open cheeks in the dressing rooms, players picking stitches out of week old wounds. Players cheating. Cheating because winning is everything and there is nothing else.

Last night, thanks to the t'internet, I followed the story of Dean Richards's cheating. His bullying. The fear that players lived with. His desire to win at all costs.

Last night another little piece of my heart was broken.

mañana

We've been without water most of the day. I've been hoping that no shower might mean that I don't have to go to the dentist. Unfortunately the water has come back on and I've showered. This means that at 5pm I will be sat outside the dentist's surgery, waiting for her to turn up. In theory it should be a quick, (fairly) painless visit. I'm being fitted for a crown - which will be placed next week - and just having my teeth cleaned. In practice, who knows what will happen.

I slept badly last night. Actually, I probably slept well for the first part of the night, but I was woken, at 6am, by the noise of the screen, on the bathroom window, banging in the wind. It took me some time to work out what had disturbed me, and then to realise that a drug-crazed-axeman could not fit through the bathroom window, so I was ok to go back to sleep. That was the bit I slept badly through. Dreams full of dentists, going back to work, not being able to find maria, coming second in an important competition. Unhappy, uncomfortable dreams.

I've spent the day sitting around in jim-jams, being fed up, not a lot of fun. maria, as usual, has been an angel. Trying to distract me, reading stuff out loud, attempting to keep me amused and unfocused on the dental/work-related nightmare I seem to be dragging my subconscious into.

This afternoon Mexico played the USofA in a World Cup qualifying match (footy). Against the run of play, USofA managed to go a goal up. Mexico really, really needed to win the match, which meant that the next two hours charged past as I sat, waiting for the equaliser, and the winning goal. They came, the final whistle blew, the water was back on, I could shower, and I was two hours nearer my meeting with the ex-entertainment-officer-from-Guantanamo-Bay dentist.

It'll all be fine. It'll be quick. It will be easy. It will be painless. (I'm writing this for me, not you.)

I don't want to go back to work. I really, really don't want to go back to work. So there is a chance that tomorrow will be awful. Me, wandering around the flat, annoyed. maria trying to cheer me up but also annoyed because she doesn't want me to go back either. Tomorrow isn't looking like the bestest of days. Except...

Before I came to Mexico we would talk about all the places we would go, all the things we would see, all the things we would do together. One of the places we said we would go to was San Clemente pier. And we did. May 13th 2006. In fact I wrote about it here. In fact, it was on that day that I actually proposed to maria. Later, we drove to San Diego and bought rings. (I still have the receipt in my wallet.)

So tomorrow we will be going to San Clemente (except that you already knew that because you read it here first didn't you?). It is going to be good for several reasons. The first being it is San Clemente which is always beautiful. The wings and the oysters are fantastic. The beer is Fat Tyre. It isn't going to be sat around the flat bemoaning the activities of the next day.

But the bestest thing is that we will be together, and at this moment we are so very, very close to being married. maria is divorced, she is just waiting for October 31st when it is finalised - Mexican courts give a months waiting time, to see if anyone changes their mind. And, if everything went according to plan on August 10th, I have moved to the second stage of getting my divorce, a Decree Nisi (this is information I'm not privy to until mail turns up telling me how [or if] things went).

Anyhoo, tomorrow we'll be at San Clemente. Eating wings and oysters. We'll walk out to the end of the pier and I'll probably propose again. And maria will probably say yes again. Except this time life won't carry on as normal. This time we might be married before the end of the year. Now, I bet that's taken your mind off my dentist visit? Bet you're all excited now? You might want to start saving for those plane tickets!

random stuff 'cos it's random

It's almost 8pm on Sunday night. I'm back at work tomorrow. I've already had a shower and a shave because tomorrow I might be short of time. Yesterday maria fell, tripped, and smashed her knees into concrete. Last night was not a great night, she was in a lot of pain, and kept disturbing. This, of course, disturbed me. We aren't going to go to bed until 11pm tonight (it's the final of Celebrity Apprentice and yes, we are this sad). I'm pretty sure I will fall asleep quickly but there is a chance that my brain is already thinking about tomorrow. Worse, I haven't woken up before 7/8am for two weeks. When the alarm kicks in at 6:15am it is going to be a struggle to get up. There is a chance that I really don't want to shower and shave. Plus, maria's knees are really hurting her, she can't drive. I'm going to have to drive to work tomorrow. This isn't a particular problem except, except maria is in pain, her knees hurt, and the only way she can distract herself is to think. Thinking about me driving in Mexico causes maria an immense amount of pain. In theory, she's not worried too much about me, it is every other eijit on the road. In her mind, she'd be happy if I set off to school at 4am, when there is less traffic. So I have to leave early. Now do you understand why I've showered and shaved already?

We've got neighbours. All of a sudden the block of flats has moved from only one occupied flat (us) to full (all four occupied). Last night the two students downstairs, in flat one, had a party that went on until 5am. The good news is, it wasn't that bad. The music was awful but it wasn't too loud - we could hear it but (in those moments when maria wasn't crying) we could still fall asleep. The woman next door, in flat four, moved in this weekend. We think she might have a dog. We aren't sure because it is a small, whiny, yappy-type dog if it exists. We've heard weird noises and not been able to put our fingers on it yet. We've been warned told that flat two is also to be occupied this week. All of this is good news/bad news. The bad news is that we are now surrounded by people who will have parties, will make strange noises, will annoy us at some stage. But the good news is that we are now surrounded by people - which makes us feel safer.

Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Just received a phone call from a friend. He's convinced that his company is going to fold within the next couple of months. Some people would freeze at this moment, my friend just sees it as a world of opportunity. How much opportunity? He's invested in a taco stand and has spent the weekend selling tacos on the street. Absolutely fantastic!

It was Mother's Day today. May 10th is always Mother's Day in Mexico. It isn't a Sunday, it is May 10th. Got that? Mother's Day is a big event in Mexico. I realise that Mother's Day is a big thing world wide (because Hallmark has made it so) but in Mexico it isn't commercial, it's honest.  Example: after dropping the kids back off at their dad's (yep, even though they've been with us for two weeks they had (HAD) to return and spend time on Mother's Day with their mother), we parked the car and the guy who lives on the other side of the road was walking into his house, shouted at maria: "Felicidades!" Congratulations on being a mother. It is an important thing in Mexico.

I've never liked Joan Rivers. This is not important in the whole scheme of things, and I'm pretty sure that she isn't losing sleep over it. However, I've had Joan Rivers thrust upon my every Sunday night - we've been following Celebrity Apprentice. The one thing it has done for me is to move my feelings for Joan Rivers, change them totally. Now, I no longer dislike her...I actively hate her. Hate is something I don't do a lot of, I really don't have the time or energy for it. But, this moment, I hate Joan Rivers. The good news is that by tomorrow I'll have reset back to dislike. Which really is shorthand for "don't care".

Not mad keen on Dennis Leary either, always thought of him as a poor man's Bill Hicks. However, give him his due, every time I come into contact with him (normally via the boob-tube as he rarely visits) he manages to change my opinion of him. As much as it grieves me to say it, I kind of like him (that noise you can hear is Bill Hicks trying to hunt me down, and kill me). Anyhoo, he's doing an advert for Hulu at the moment. We loved the Seth MacFarlane Hulu advert - how freaky is it to hear all those different voices come out of one perso's mouth. But the Dennis Leary advert includes a line that, every time we hear it, we repeat to each other:

Your bliggity blogs, your facey spaces, your tweety pages.

Which reminds me, in case you missed it, we are no longer on Facebook. Simple reason (and it might be a warning to you), maria wasn't happy with the privacy. She had blocked someone from her page, ticked all the correct boxes, even visited the page to make sure that her updates weren't appearing there..and then that person commented on an update. Privacy/security is important to us. Facebook failed maria and, even though she loves her farm(s), it was goodbye to Facebook.

We had sushi today. I had my first curry at the age of six/seven. I didn't have my first Chinese meal until I was 18. I had my first McDonalds when I was 21 - yep, honest truth. It wasn't until 1982 that a MickeyDee opened up in Twickenham. I didn't have sushi until I was 35+. Today we had sushi. I'm crap with chopsticks. Do you know how weird it is to watch an eight year old, a fourteen year old be so much more coordinated with chopsticks than this here 47 year old? Hey, ho. I love their rice by the way. Bought an extra portion so that I can have it for lunch at school tomorrow...I'll be using a spoon.

[Look away Croila] The Mighty Blades drew on Friday, drew away - so the away goal counts double if it is all level at the end. Monday (tomorrow, in fact in less than 12 hours as I look at it) the second leg takes place at BDTBL (that's Beautiful Down Town Bramall Lane). Positive thoughts (you're exempted Mr. TLC) would be appreciated.

I realise that my love of reality programmes (Hell's Kitchen, So you Think You can Dance, Celebrity Apprentice) probably demeans me in your opinion but that's just the way I roll. Anyhoo, I'm one advert break away from the winner of Celebrity Apprentice being declared and I am so fucking annoyed. Why do some people think they have a given-right to demand they should win, just because...some people need to be slapped. So if anyone wants to go round and slap Joan Rivers, count me in. And then I hear that the Miss California is about to be stripped of her title. This means nothing to you (and should mean nothing to me) but the woman has been mocked, ridiculded, and attacked for her personal beliefs. When asked, in the Miss America final, her thoughts about gay marriage, she answered honestly. She accepted that it was legal in her country (although it isn't in her state, the state she represents) but was not for her or her family. Now, my politics aside, this is a fair answer - it isn't for her and her family. Unfortunately, her questioner was a gay man, annoyed about the fact that a vote (a free democratic vote) went against gay marriage in California. Now, it doesn't matter how wrong I, or he, thinks this vote is. This was the choice of a state in America, a state that has the fifth largest economy in the world. Of course, I disagree but let her say what she believes (I am that liberal), he has a blog with millions of readers, and she becomes a national target. And so, weirdly, I find myself not only defending a beauty pageant winner, but also a person against gay marriage  - there are moments when being this liberal really freaks me out.

a real post - are you excited?

I started a post a week ago but never got round to finishing it. I don't really want to post now, there's stuff to do, people to punch, feet to smell - you know how it is. However, it's Sunday afternoon, NASCAR is on the television (and it'll be Numb3rs after), so maria won't object too much if I am on the laptop. (Which makes her sound bad but, to be honest, if I ever receive an email from anyone demanding that I post, it is normally from her.) So that post that I started, the title was:

this is california babylon my man

Mr. Bean, Benny Hill, The Beatles, James Bond, football hooligans, tea, those soldiers that stand outside the Queen's house and don't move even if you tickle them, rain/fog, do you know [insert name here] he lives in England, Harry Potter, and teeth.

I have a new toothbrush - yes, I can hear your gasps of astonishment from here. The excitement that I am actually posting suddenly dampened with the news that I have a new toothbrush! Well, it is an exciting toothbrush. Not just your run of the mill toothbrush.

And that was as far as I got. I was going to write a long, rambling post (nothing new there then) about teeth and toothbrushes. However, it's a week later and the desire to tell you about my brand new (a week ago) sonic toothbrush has slightly diminished. Just to say, woah! my teeth are clean. There's also a function on the toothbrush called "whiten", which gives an extra 30 seconds (15 seconds for the top, 15 seconds for the bottom) on the front teeth. That, combined with some "whitening strips" seems to have made my front teeth whiter.

Teeth and breath are a thing with me. There is nothing more hurtful than children - they can get straight to the heart of the matter. maria has a saying: kill one dog and you are known as the dog killer. Kids can come up with nick-names or observations and then you are stuck with them for life. As a teacher this can be worse. I was taught by a guy know as "Bill Breath" and he was known by this moniker 15 years before I got to his classroom. Kids can be bastards. So, standing in front of them, I've always made sure that I have breath fresheners/mints on my person, check that my fly is closed, don't eat spinach for breakfast. But, this is California Babylon my man. Teeth aren't just clean, they sparkle. Suddenly, I feel terribly self-conscious about my English teeth. So, I have a new sonic toothbrush and some whitening strips.

Swine Fever - it's in Mexico City. Yep, I realise that many of you will hear "Mexico" and will/might think that we are in danger but (in European terms) Mexico City is Rome, while I'm in London. Until you actually leave Europe, you ever get to realise how big the rest of the world is - it is fucking massive! That said, Mexico is fucking massive. Yep, there is Swine Fever in Mexico City. Yep, 80 odd people have died. And yep, there are 10 reported cases in New Zealand! Here in Tijuana there are no reported cases and we are doing fine, thank you.

CNPS - and so it begins. CNPS is Consecutive Number Plate Spotting. It is dull, it is boring, it is geeky, it is nerdy. It is me. CNPS is exactly what it it says - you spot a number plate that has a 1 on it, just a 1, then you look for a 2, then a 3 - it is consecutive. But you have to spot a 1 to start it all off. I've been over here for 3+ years and I haven't been playing CNPS...except I have. On the journey over here (from England to Mexico) I spotted my last number plate in England and thought I'd never complete the game (never get to 999). It was just one of the things I gave up. And then yesterday, in a car park, I came across this:

Can you see it? Yep, it's 001. It's the start. Am now on the look out for 002. Only three years to spot 001 - I'm pretty confident that I can find 002 in under a year. (That strange noise you can hear? It's maria, quietly sobbing.)

Art for Arts Sake - Yesterday we went on the San Diego Art Walk. Once a year the San Diego authorities close down all the streets in "Little Italy", and (up to) 1000 artists display their work. It ranges from a wonderful experience, to a mind-boggling experience, to a wonderful experience. The first stand we came to was the work of a sculpturer. There were some excellent pieces, one - a wine rack that was also a coffee table - that was stunningly beautiful, gob-smackingly wonderful. maria, 'cos she is wonderful that way, wanted to buy it for me. We agreed no, and moved on. There were some amazing pieces, stuff that made you just stop and stare. There was also some awful stuff - score 17 for picture of nekkid woman with horse, score 13 for nekkid woman holding a flower in front of her groin, score 25 for nekkid woman with butterflies. There was a fantastic stand, full of the greatest "pop art" (their title) I have seen - and the artist was there, which totally wrecked the moment (she was a bit older than my mum!). And there was this one picture that was so amazingly, emotionally moving - the way the tears flowed from the three eyes was brilliant! A good day!

Anglophile moment - we went to The Shakespeare's Pub for a meal. I had fish, chips, and mushy peas. maria went for the gammon steak (but chose an egg on top rather than the pineapple ring). After, we went into the shoppe [sic] and bought (the despearately needed) two jars of Marmite. I also picked up a Caramac bar (it is in the freezer), a Wispa, and a packet of Flying Saucers.

Anniversary - April 17th 2005. maria sent me the first email in November 2004. That was the start of us "talking" to each other. In the next five months we wrote, back and forth to each other. On April 17th I signed off, in a messenger conversation, with "I love you". It was the first time I actually said/wrote the phrase. Now, four years later, I love her more than I loved her then. The best thing about this is that I am certain that I will love her even more in four years time. Which is nice.

Sport - the year is over for Santos but there is still all to play for for the mighty Blades (Sheffield United). Next Sunday is the last match of the season. If the Blades win and Birmingham lose then we are Premiership bound. Any other results mean that we are play-off bound. Our records in the play-offs aren't good, so I'm hoping for a win/lose situation on Sunday.

Duplicity - we went to see Earth on W*dnesd*y, Earth Day. However, it all went wrong and we ended up watching Duplcity instead. Don't bother going to the cinema to watch it, wait until it is on DVD. But when it is, get it. Sit back with your partner and enjoy a fast, witty, clever, film. There are no "big" action moments but it is a film that expects you to think, which is always nice. Tell me you've seen Michael Clayton? This is Michael Clayton with a sense of humour. Seriously good fun.

Obviously, this is the moment that I apologise for not blogging and promise to blog every day from now on. However, threeleggedcat will tell you that that s a pie crust promise, made to be broken.

I'll post when I post. 'Til then, avoid people who have been playing with pigs!

random stuff

I have the day off school today, maria has just popped out to visit Nikos at school, so I'm home alone. The desktop is overloaded with downloaded crap - tele programmes that we didn't quite get round to watching - so I'm burning all of that. Which means I'm sat here with nothing to do.

There's an advert running on Fox at the moment "Make My Mom An Idol". Every time it runs my brain translates it to "Make My Mum A MILF". When the adverts run I tend to zone-out, but my brain listens in the background. Sometimes I get zoned-in when I hear something preposterous (normally the side effects for some drug that sound incredible worse than actually dying from the primary disease), and I will question maria on the validity of what I think I've just heard. If it is a bad idea to turn round once to your girlfriend and ask if you heard the phrase "Make My Mum A MILF", when clearly you didn't because there is no way on god's green earth they would say that on Fox (or would they?); it is close to criminal ineptitude to turn round twice/three/four times and ask her. Really? Where is your brain if you are thinking that is what you heard? Maybe this is TMI and I should delete this paragraph?

The phone just rang. It was a parent. At the beginning of the academic year my class all went to the cinema to see "Beverley Hills Chihuahua" - I wasn't invited. Not that I was upset about this or anything, however I might have said I was upset. I might have mentioned it once or twice in lessons, once or twice a day, for the last six months. I wasn't upset...just very, very bitter. Anyhoo, that has come back to bite me. The phone call was an invite to go to the cinema with my class. The are all meeting up at 1:30pm to go see something about an egg? Yep, there appears to be a Mexican character, a famous Mexican cartoon character, who is an egg, and they are all going to see the film. I might not go.

There is a strange noise from the flat below. I think it is the flat below because where I am sat it sounds like it is from there. However the flat below is unoccupied. All the flats in our building are now unoccupied. So the only strange noise should be from our flat. I've been outside. Wandered round the building. Peered in windows. Can't see anything and, of course, when I'm out there I can't hear anything. It's a bit freaky. No wonder maria doesn't like being alone in the flat.

I am back on Twitter. This has made maria really happy in a way that I don't understand. She loves the fact that I am on Facebook and adores the fact that I have gone back to Twitter, and I don't get it. I don't understand why she is so deliriously happy about it all. Oh, I get the fact that my non-participation smacked a little like grandpa not understanding how to work a video recorder, but I'd been on Facebook, I'd been on Twitter. Hell, I was there at the beginning, it's just that I can't keep up - damn that does sound like grandpa! I've just sat here for an hour. I'm constantly getting updates on my Tweetdeck and I'm replying. I keep looking at my Facebook page. I've done nothing else in this hour. Oh, I've written this much of a post, walked round the outside of the building, had two telephone conversations, scratched myself inappropriately, eaten three Oreos (the biscuits not the birds). But I've done nothing! Nothing except Facebook/Twitter. Ok, it works today, when I have nothing to do. But tomorrow? Mind you, in less than five days vacations (NOOOOOO! It isn't vacations it's) holidays (stop being American) start, so I suppose I'll have time.

It was sports day yesterday. We had to be at the sports field at 6am. This was because the parents/kids would turn up at 7:15am for the event to start at 7:30am. (yes, you too can wonder if anyone was going to turn up before 8). To get to the ground by 6am, we would have to wake at 5. I say we because the wonderful, beautiful maria was coming with me, 'cos she is like that, very supportive. Anyhoo, alarms were set and we went to sleep. Except, I woke up at 3:50, woke up in that arrrghhhh, have I missed the alarm way. I then couldn't get back to sleep. I lay there, watching the time tick by, desperately trying to fall asleep. By 4:50 I realised it was never going to happen - hell, it was 4:50 and so, according to all the rules, I should fall asleep now just to be woken at 5. But I didn't. I watched the clock tick up to 5 and...nothing. No alarm, nothing! wtf? So I checked the alarm and realised, In my weird and wonderful way, that I had set it for five past - genius! So, I fell asleep. Just so that the bloody alarm could wake me up.

At the sports ground we all sat around until 6:30 when the van with all the stuff to set up arrived. As our small little truck arrived (filled with a couple of tables, some chairs, a small sound system, a helium tank to inflate a couple of balloons, two water dispensers, six large bottles of water, three brooms, three dust pans, and some bunting), a huge truck arrived (filled). It appears that the sports ground had been double booked. We had booked it for a sports day - 350 kids and their families n a fun day out. The Race Against Breast Cancer had booked it as their finishing line for 3000 women who were racing through Tijuana. Fortunately, considering it was 6:30 on a Sunday morning, we didn't have any difficulty contacting the correct people - mainly because the head of sport for Tijuana was actually there! We lost and got sent to the other end of the sports ground. It was still a fun event and (wonderfully) it went a lot quicker - mainly because there was nowhere to sit, so no-one got the chance to settle down and relax.

Right, stuff has finished burning - got six episodes of 30 Rock to watch, five episodes of The Office - and I have a cinema trip to avoid.

Colours. Mast. Nailed.

I'm sorry, Croila, but it has to be done. Yes, I realise that I very rarely post these days, and then when I do, it turns out to be about sport. However, part of the joy of sport, is that moment when you can say "In your face!", which of course means, on the flip side, I have to be ready to have my face "inned".

Sunday, there will be a match of much super-ness. This will be played in a stadium that is bowl shaped. Two gladiatorial sides representing the whole world - or maybe just a little bit of the whole world, but certainly the bit that thinks its important - will meet to present all that is best in athletic ability, tactical acumen, and advertising revenue. Yes. Sunday. February the 1st. It's the Super Bowl.

For those of you who don't care (that'll be at least Croila and the other one of my two readers), this battle of the giants battle of the quite good teams game between the sixth placed team and the ninth placed team is the moment that I show my interest in all things sporty. Obviously, some of you have no idea who the two participants are, so here you go: It's the Pittsburgh Steelers vs. the Arizona Cardinals.

"So! Which way are you gonna go, Will?" I don't hear you asking.

There has been, over on Helly's blog, a mild flirtation with the Arizona Cardinals, and why not? an ageing quarterback, a Cinderella story, and Helly (using her unfailing method of prediction, which she ignores as she pleases) tells me that the Cardinals have two Notre Dame players (which is essential to winning, according to her method), which is two more than the Pittsburgh Steelers. Added to this is that, that minx, maria, toying with my emotions, once let slip a mild flirtation with "Big Ben", the Steelers QB. Now, it's not that I am as shallow as a puddle, the sort of person who would desire that any man who shone in the love of my life's eyes immediately failed, but, I wanted "Big Ben" to fail.

Anyhoo. It appears that dear, sweet, wonderful, lovable maria might have been fibbing about her love for Big Ben (she's saving that love for Payton who was roundly destroyed and smashed by the San Diego Chargers, Ha! In your face, maria! Not that I would ever say that outloud, it's a good job she doesn't read this), which leaves me in a bit of a quandary. Ah, those Arizona Cardinals, with their two Notre Dame players, their ageing QB, their Cinderella story, their... frankly, I don't give a fuck, because they are shite!

Yep. It's time to nail my colours to the mast. Sunday. Super Bowl Sunday. I will be sat in front of the television, I will be cheering on the Pittsburgh Steelers. I have made my choice, I will live with it. Come Monday, I will accept all "Ha, ha! In your face!" comments if, perchance, my beloved Steelers lose. However, be prepared for maximum gloating if the world conquering, galaxy embracing, universe ass-kicking Steelers beat win destroy the Cardinals.

Steelers by 24.

bloody confusing

Bloody Confusing: A Clueless American Writer Seeks Solace in English Soccer by Chuck Culpepper

You've got to lurve the title of this book just for its ability to use the word "bloody" in the title. Of course, there is something ironic (in a 10,000 spoons type of way) that the title announces the author's cluelessness (and why doesn't this word exist?) and then follows it up by calling English football, "soccer". Hey, ho.

I'm on a sort of American-sports-writers kick at the moment. I do love my sport, and I do like good writing about sport. In many ways I have found that American sports writers, taken as a whole, write about sport better than their English counterparts. This means that the other book I am reading at the moment, dipping in and out of, is an enjoyable read when it it is about baseball/American Football/basketball - basically American sports. The one place it falls down is in the article about cricket. It was, with this in mind, that I took on "Bloody Confusing" with a pinch of salt. How could an American really understand supporting an English football team?

And he doesn't.

Oh, he gives it a fairly good go. And as an outsider trying to explain what it is like being a die-hard supporter, what it is like to attend an English football match, what it is like to face promotion/relegation in a season, he does a fairly good job. But, as an English football fan, the book gets irritating eventually. It has no real soul. You can't become involved in his story because, well because you get the feeling that he isn't that involved. At one point in the book, as he is trying to explain to an Everton supporter how he chose the team he supports, the Evertonian exasperatedly explains: You can't choose your team, it chooses you. And this is something that the author fails to recognise - he became a Portsmouth supporter because Pompey chose him, not the other way round.

There are many reasons to dislike this book. It can be trite, it can be repetitive, it can be slightly anti-English (and not in a aren't-they-nice-and-quaint way), and the ending is so forced, so crow-barred in there, as to be annoying. However, it tries, the author tries, and I read several books last year that were a lot worse than this. So, I give it three stars out of five, but don't take that as a recommendation, that's just personal. If you really want to read a book about what it is like to be a English football fan, read Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch - now that's bloody excellent!

2008 gone and still no jetpack

In the James Bond film, Thunderball, BondJamesBond gets to fly around with a jetpack on his back! That was in 1965!! Now, I haven't read my Aldous Huxley but I'm willing to bet over 7 pesos Mexican that somewhere in "A Brave New World" we were promised jetpacks. Or mayhap it was somewhere else - but I'm bloody sure that by 2008 I was promised a jetpack, my own personal jetpack, and here we are, fast approaching the end of 2008, and no bloody jetpack! Ho hum! That said, there was a lot of other stuff that happened in 2008. (Did you see what I did there? Did you see how I got from there to here?) Yes, it's that time of year again, the time when I go through my hits and misses of 2008! Let's go...

Films
We have had the opportunity to sit through an inordinate amount of crap this year (in one case, twice at the cinema and another four times at home!!). It was only two days ago (three weeks after the event) that we worked out the plot to Quantum of Solace - and can I add, the film isn't improved by knowing what was going on. I still can't believe we ever wanted to see Wanted and 88 Minutes was approximately 103 minutes too long! All the way back in February we got to see There Will Be Blood and there was also the enjoyable Vantage Point. Somewhere, around the middle of the year, there was the wonderfully creepy The Strangers. The first 30 minutes of WALL*E were brilliant and the whole of Pineapple Express was genius. And last night I managed to see Son of Rambow which made me laugh, made me cry, and if you get the chance to see it - do so! But, drumroll, the single best film of the year is....

The Dark Knight

From a fantastically choreographed robbery at the start, through action sequences that were jaw-dropping and a plot that was multi-layered, to an ending that left you me begging for the third instalment, The Dark Knight was everything a film should be and more. Plus, the acting was exceptional - not just from Heath Ledger but from every actor: Christian Bale, Aaron Eckhart, and Gary Oldman were brilliant. 
[Turkey of the Year - Indiana Jones and the Something that was infinitely boring]

Books
Up until September this was an excellent year for me book-wise. I read loads. Loads and loads and loads. Of course, it is in this category that I cheat - actually, I probably cheat in all categories but, meh, it's my blog - and don't necessarily nominate a book that was written this year, just a book that I read this year! I've just scrolled through the book category on this blog and discovered that I've read over 30 books (I've reviewed 31)! Yay me!! And there are some wonderful books on the list. A couple of Michael Chabon; Mysteries of Pittsburgh and The Yiddish Policeman's Union. A couple from Ian McEown one excellent (Atonememnt) one ok-ish (Saturday). Three by Nick Hornby. Two by Roddy Doyle, both heart breaking. One by Palahniuk, disturbing. And several others, some good and some bad. Oddly enough though, the book I'm going to pick as book of the year was the first book I read...

Imperium by Robert Harris

There were other books that made me laugh more, other books that were more emotionally involving, other books that were better written. But, every time I go to Borders, I go check to see if there is another Robert Harris book out, hoping that he has written a sequel. Let's hope it comes before I get my jetpack.
[Turkey of the Year: Band Fags...the book that stopped me reading in September :^(]

Television
We are, at the moment, working our way through The Wire, all five seasons, and it is brilliant. Again, this year, we have continued to work our way through The West Wing (we've got to the end of season six). But actual television? We enjoy Chuck, love The Kitten Mentalist, like House. I have suddenly fallen in love with Jeopardy (but I'm hoping that won't last) and Maria has fallen in love with Gordon Ramsey (and I'm hoping it is just his programmes). But there is very little on television that decides our life. You know, that moment when you have to be in front of the tele? Which means that the only programme that did that this year, and is therefore the programme of the year...

So You Think You Can Dance.

Yep, I don't understand why it's there, but it is.
[Turkey of the year: Heroes. It just gets worse and worse and now, now that we've managed to cut the cord, when we see trailers for upcoming episodes we just wonder how? How did we spend so much time watching it??]

Sport
After last year's broken foot (good times), I finally got round to kicking a ball again this summer. Not too often and not too hard, but I was kicking a ball again. Obviously there was the Olympics but, unfortunately, that was covered by NBC for us, here, rather than the BBC. By the time week one (the swimming) was over, so was our interest. American Football-wise, the San Diego Chargers promised to start the year off with a SuperBowl appearance but failed at the last hurdle. Then started this season off promising so much...and failing. At the moment they are in the middle of a come-back. I expect my heart to be broken sometime on Saturday. Sheffield United also promised much and seem to be performing like Sheffield United - full of promise, empty on results. But I will hang in there until May. However, the Mighty Santos Laguna kept on winning!Sporting event of the year...

Santos Laguna winning Clausura 2008

Which, I suppose, makes me nothing other than a glory-fan! Don't you just hate those people who only support teams that win everything :^)
[Turkey of the Year: the Padres - nuff said.]

Music

This was a category that I missed off my review of 2007 and, to be honest, I could probably miss it off this year. I've heard several new bands, listened to a certain amount of new music, but nothing has really grabbed me by little cotton socks and made me go WOW! Of course, there have been two bands that have done that - so for their efforts they get a mention...

The Flobots and Vampire Weekend

Some very enjoyable stuff there.

[Turkey of the Year: Phil Collins. I have no idea if he did anything this year but there was a night, a surreal night, this year, spent at someone's house, where they demonstrated their musical sophistication by playing Phil Collins on repeat, all fucking night! Maria wants a special mention for They Might Be Giants but she can do that on her own blog!]

Food

This was the year that I finally got round to coming to terms with my IBS (thank you Maria). How far have I come? Well, two days ago I went to the toilet (hang in there, this isn't as horrible as you think), and my worst nightmare occurred! I flushed the toilet and it flooded out the bathroom. The fact is though, that our very luvverly hosts know of my problem, and so weren't phased fazed as concerned by the disaster that occurred as they could have been (they were wonderful). Plus, I didn't die! As it happened, it wasn't my fault! Someone else had managed to block the toilet before me and it was just circumstance that I was there to flush. However, this event should have killed me - from embarrassment - and it didn't. Which begins to show how far I've come. I do believe that we haven't been to San Clemente this year, which means that I can't mention either the oysters nor their buffalo wings. The fish and chips at The Shakespeare's Pub are wonderful. Maria took me out for a Kobe steak that just melted in the mouth. I had a great lamb dish (not having eaten lamb for nearly three years) at La Espadaña. However, the yummiest food of the year goes to...

The Outback

In theory this should go to The Outback for its fine steak. But I would like to nominate the restaurant for something else. The Bloomin' Onion is awesome. Maria would kill for the little malt loaf they give you, and I adore the string beans. They are fantastic - even for a vegetable!

[Turkey of the Year: Mandolino. Yes, the winner for the last two years has fallen this far. Suddenly the service fell apart, then the food. The service I could live with but the food? We were (on our second to last visit) presented with stuff we could not eat, and we left it on our plates. 

Drink

Every now and then I really like a margarita. I sit down at a table and think, yep, you know what I could do with now? A margarita. And then they are never as good as I remember - worse is when (even after saying NO!) I end up with a frozen margarita - is there anything worse than a slush puppie? Anyhoo, special mention should go to the bottle of Bushmills we consummed in record time - but it was so yummy - and I have to than my sponsors, Dos Equis (stay thirsty my friends). However, this year's bestest find was:

Dogfish Head

Luvverly.

[Turkey of the Year: Coors Light - why? and seriously...why?]

Place

Last year I actually did a category called "Place". Obviously I should still say that the bestest place is still bed! I love my bed, it is wonderful. However, to those readers who have followed my adventures this year (both of you), you will know there is a special place in my heart - read this - and so, my fave place of the year goes to:

Laguna Niguel Auto Center

Simply the bestest place ever (in the whole world) to take your car to!

[Turkey of the Year: Mandolino - I'm still annoyed how far that place has fallen.]

I'm sure that there are loads of other categories I could write about, stories I could tell about this year. However, I've been writing this post - on and off - for three days and it is now 4:30pm on New Year's Eve. I need to stop now because I'm in the middle of cooking and settling down for the night. I haven't had time to mention the new invention of "video-blogging" on here. Or the discovery of new friends, thanks to them finding my blog. Thankfully I haven't talked about my job. Nor have I mentioned how big my lemon tree/avocado has grown. These are things that will probably be discussed in the future...or not.

I hope that next year brings you all that wish for (and a little bit more). I hope that last year was wonderful - and the horrible bits you can put behind you.

Peace Out.