Europeans Love Obama

I was at the post office this morning sending out some post cards. The counter clerk asked me if I was from New York. (I don't think I've got a New York accent, but I guess all American accents sound like New York to the uninitiated.) Then he asked me about Obama. He asked what I thought about him and was very up to date on some of the foibles that they're seeing in the US political world with the battle over health care reform and about how the congress is causing problems when he tried to close Guantanamo.

I wish I could say I was as up to date on the politics of his country. Including the recent parliamentary spending scandal.

Worst Flight of My Life

As always, I pack too much and wrench my back a bit swinging the backpack off for inspection. Just the thing before a long plane ride. Then there's the guy that's sitting next to me: a nice gentleman from India with what I can only assume was restless leg syndrome. His Jimmy leg kept jumping - and it always seemed to be doing it more just before I was about to nod off. (Perhaps that was a sign that I was starting to snore? No clue.)

Then there was the medical emergency with the couple behind me. The husband was sure his wife was dying. She was unresponsive, hot and had a shallow pulse according to the flight attendant. Some oxygen helped her and she seemed fine later - I still hope she was going to be checked out by a competent physician.

Eurotrip!

Apologies: This post will be edited, when I get home. There will be links to restaurants and photos.

Coming back to a city where you used to live is a little like pulling on an old sweater in Autumn. It's comfortable, but there's a certain pull about things that aren't quite as you remember them to be. It was a little surreal, but much of that might have been due to the little sleep that I had managed to get on the flight from Boston. London still felt like home. The tube was hotter and more crowded than I remembered, but certainly familiar. The free daily, the Metro had stories about the global economic crisis and talked of possible sanctions between Iceland and England over bank collapses. I put that aside and rushed to meet with old friends. I dragged them to Soho to go to Garlic and Shots, it's a divey little Scandinavian bar that's a home to two things that I surprise myself by liking: the honey rum garlic shots and the garlic poppers -- a roasted garlic battered appetizer that I can't get enough of. I met another friend for breakfast, the next morning, before my train to Paris and we talked US politics and the news from the previous day about the economy. He was upbeat, but being unemployed, I was more worried.

Paris, however, felt a little worse for wear. The streets seemed grubbier, there were more homeless and lurid red headlines at the news stands that I couldn't understand only made me feel more anxious. The only word I could make out was 'Crisis'. The first day, when I arrived, I wandered around a little, but didn't do anything major. Had a bite to eat (how could you not eat in Paris?) and wandered. Did my best to fight off jetlag with more sleep. The second day was for sightseeing. I saw the Cathedral of Notre Dame and the city in Quasimodo vision from the towers; it was definitely something to remind you of your nascent fear of heights. The cathedral is absolutely spectacular. It is a tourist trap and a wonder of Christendom all in one. Climbing the bowed marble steps to the towers, you can feel the sometimes oppressive weight of history upon you, but the sight of the city on a clear day makes it all worth it. Fantastique. More of the marvelous French food and walking along the Siene. Relaxed in a French coffee house and coughed on the French cigarette smoke.

That brings me to Brussels. My first view of the city scared the hell out of me. Unlike Paris and London, the train station wasn't in the middle of the city. Here, it's off in a nondescript warehouse district. Looking around, I thought I had made an awful mistake coming here. Rather than walking, I decided on a cab to the hotel, which I thought might be a tiny little hotel, similar to where I stayed in Paris. (Not that the place wasn't clean or the staff very nice, but it was tiny.) The hotel that I found online was an enormous Marriott, under a different name here. The room is ginormous with all the amenities that I've been spoiled by in the States - including in room Internet and an on-site jacuzzi. After a day of walking around the city center and taking in the sites (and more than my share of Belgian fries), I used the jacuzzi to help with the sore muscles..

Insomnia continues to plague me. The only reason that I'm writing this now is because I woke up after three uninterrupted hours of sleep. I feel rested again and will try again to sleep. Slept for another seven or so hours, which made me wake up feeling fantastic. I'm going to miss the big comfy bed full of down pillows. Boy, do I feel pampered. The only problem is that I found out on Monday that all of the museums that I wanted to go to were closed on Monday. Another day of wandering around the city, getting architecture and municipal sculpture pictures and now I can go curl up on the bed and read. Heaven.

Managed to make my way into the city on Monday night. Had dinner in the gay quarter. Found a Chinese restaurant, mostly because they had pictures on the menu so I could point and nod. The Bear Bar was closed - I assume it's only open on the weekends, but I couldn't read the sign. I went to a tiny little bar called Homo Erectus. Saw a handful of very cute young men chatting with older men and drinking soft drinks. It's probably a sign of encroaching age-related pessimism that my first thought was that they might be rent boys. I couldn't make myself understood, when I asked for a cider, but the bartender understood beer. I had the local bier: Jupiler. It came in a small glass, rather than the pints I had in England and Ireland and it was good. Really good. Who knew that my friend was right. It's not beer, it's American mass-produced swill I don't like. Now I just have to find out more about it and find out if there's a microbrew like that at home.

Off to Amsterdam next. I have my travel documents and passport ready at a moment's notice. Time to saddle up and head down to the lobby to check out and wait for my taxi.

Do'h. There is a disadvantage to not speaking either of the local languages. They changed the track that my train was on, but I was blissfully unaware of it. I could have paid a little extra to get on the next train, but I had a book and an iPod, so I was perfectly happy to wait a little longer and take a free train to Amsterdam.

I got to Amsterdam without a problem. Happily, everyone here was used to tourists and they all spoke English. (Unfortunately, I kept lapsing into my meager French and kept saying 'hello' and 'Pardon me, do you speak English?' which didn't endear me to anyone. The bed and breakfast that I was staying at gave me clear useful directions, which helped me get right to the door without much trouble.

The B&B is spectacular and the room enormous. It was right in the heart of Amsterdam. A short walk from their equivalent of the flea market, or to the original gay hub, as well as being a longer walk from anywhere else I might want to go. Didn't go to half the museums that I wanted to, but had a lot of fun. I met a local and was squired around to the gay bars. The next day, I checked out the red light district and saw some scary stuff: prostitution is legal, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a rough job that takes a lot out of the people doing it. And some of the women that I saw working the day shifts definitely looked a little rougher than otherwise.

There was one surreal moment, when I was wandering around with my guide book in the drizzle and turned a corner to try to get my bearings. I didn't realize that I was up against one of the red light windows and a woman old enough to be my mother was inside tarted up and doing her best to try to entice me inside. Alas, some Oedipal fantasies I just don't understand. Sadly, the look on my face must have let her know that, because her face grew chilly and she waved me off.

Then there was a Thalys train from Amsterdam to Paris. There was an older man working on an academic paper with a gorgeous twenty-something boy that looked nothing like him. Again, my mind went into the gutter and I felt guilty about it. Once I got to Paris, it was a mad dash to the Eurostar gate. Twenty minutes between arrival and exit cut it a little close. Especially, with a labor strike at the train station. I got on my train and in my seat with only a few moments to spare. This leg of the train ride was a blast. I ended up sitting next to an Australian woman that was over in Europe on holiday. We chatted for the three hour train ride back to London. As always, I managed to put my foot in my mouth. She was talking about how much she wanted a nice shower, so I mentioned that I was going to my hotel to settle in, and asked if she wanted to pop over to take a shower before meeting her friends. I didn't mean it as a pick up, but unfortunately...

The next two days were in London, seeing friends, relaxing and in general having a blast. Then it was back home to Boston on Sunday night.

Packages from the UK

I sent an enormous amount of packages from the UK to the US over the last couple of years. Whenever the stack of comics was too high, send them home. When I moved back, everything had to go.

One package recently made it to my brother's house. It was sealed in plastic and duct tape and looked as though it had been broken apart more than once.

I opened it today. Inside were my comics, a couple of tee-shirts to pad the box and a floral dressing gown for a man that would have made me seem tiny.

As I've never owned one of those, I was sort of at a loss. Obviously, several boxes were broken together. And seeing the tee-shirts, the postal worker, or sailer on the cargo ship, naturally thought that the dressing gown was mine, too.

Oddness.

As Friggin' Usual....

I'm trying to shove all my things into my bags, so I can go and there's a handful of things that won't fit. I used to be so good at spatial recognition.

Now, I just suck. :)

I may have to do the one thing that I really really don't want to have to do. And go buy a cheap suitcase to make sure everything fits.

On the other hand. It's the simplest and most efficient solution.

Signs of the Times

From the Mudchute farm near the flat.

Greenwich for Christmas

Greenwich at night, by the walkway under the Thames. I'll have to go out and try to get better pictures.

London lights up for x-mas

I needed to go to the Apple Store and was stuck around the flat until 4 or 5, which meant that I had to head into Oxford Circus — one of the busiest areas of London commerce on a Saturday afternoon/evening just before Christmas. To say it was crowded doesn't even begin to cover it.

Sidewalks that you should be able to walk on three abreast were spilling out into the street. This building, which you can't see very well here was covered from roof to ground in lights. It was like something out of the Vegas strip.

Home Stretch

In the home stretch now. Only one more week of work, then I have a week free before flying home.

At the moment, I'm shipping most of my stuff home on Dec. 17th, which will leave me fairly light in that last week. My flatmate will be off for the holidays and I'll have the place to myself. One of the places that I wanted to see before I left Europe (or when I come back) is Amsterdam, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to pull that off in the last week, especially with my sleep study.

Still it'd be nice, if I could pull that off.

See everyone soon.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Mmmmm. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, veggies, gravy, biscuits, gorging myself until I waddle: these are only a few of the things that I miss about not being back home today.

Instead, I stopped by the post office this morning to ship some stuff home. I've used post offices around the world for years. Friends and family are postal workers. They're not all Newmans. Hell, I haven't seen anything like that in real life.

Then there was today.

In the UK, the royal postal service does more than just deliver mail. They also exchange currency, sell insurance, etc... I saw this gentlemen in the post office earlier in the week. Maybe I was a little short with him, when I said that I wasn't interested in getting flat insurance or holiday insurance. I have no idea. All I know is that I saw him again today, as I was going about my daily post office business:

• Find the box that I need
• Put in my books, clothes, stuffed animals, board/card games, whatnot
• Put in clothes, whatnot to pad it out
• Address the box
• Secure it
• Cart it over to the big scale to figure out the weight to save time
• Cart it over to the queue to wait to be called to a window
• Sign, pay and out the door

That sounds simple enough. I've got it down by this time.

Or at least that's what I'd think. The guy made me schlep back to the big scale to re-weigh things while he watched (because nothing helps the customer experience than to feel that you're being accused to lying), schlep back to the window and go over every piece of the paperwork to be positive that they were all filled out correctly. It took forever.

That said, he was also as anal-retentive with my package. He took time to tape up all the edges for me to be sure there would be no problems with anything getting inside.

Another Tale from the Dating Pool...

Just before Halloween, I had a date with a nice guy. He was a working medium and talked a bit about how the spirits share information with him and about the differences between clairvoyance, clairaudience, and the other extra-normal senses. He talked about himself a lot, but I chalked that up to nerves or something.

He finally got back to me a week or so after I said that I had fun and looked forward to another coffee date or something. Unfortunately, he didn't think we had any chemistry.

I'm not sure whether I should be happy or annoyed that someone that speaks with the dead doesn't have any chemistry with me.

And now Mesmo loves you, too...

I always love weird viral marketing or oddball posters.

WTF?!

First off NFL football here in London? Secondly, two story anamatronic robots to sell it?

Maddening!

Somewhere, something in the flat is beeping. One beep every five minutes. I have no clue what the hell is making the noise or how to stop it.

It just keeps on beeping. Looks like I'll be sleeping with the fan on tonight to get some white noise to keep from being disturbed.

Update: My flatmate just came home. It was his phone. He couldn't call and let me know that it might be here and beeping on low-battery, because he didn't have his phone. Oy.

At least the good news is that my back is feeling much much better, no twinge at all today and I didn't even take any pain pills. Go healing.

Fear

The last couple of days were interesting. Each time I went out, I was afraid that my back was going to act up again. My anxiety level would go up and I had trouble just leaving the house. I had to break it down it down, just to step outside.

When I started thinking about it, the issue was fear. Fear of falling, fear of being stuck on the ground, fear of not being able to help myself, fear of embarrassment, etc... It probably didn't help that I didn't have to face it for a couple of day. I was able to avoid work, by pointing out that muscle-relaxants and pain-pills weren't conducive to solid coding practices.

For two days, I slept, watched TV, read and slept some more. I did the stretching exercises that I was supposed to and did some walking. And I took my pain pills, hoping to hoard my last couple of muscle relaxants until I really needed it. Each time I kept the walking to a minimum near the flat.

This morning was tough. I was up for a couple of hours before the alarm, worrying about whether I would be able to make it, whether I'd fall again, etc... When the alarm went off, I sort of shoved the stupidity aside and got going. Pulled on clothes, groaned in pain at parts, sucked down my pills and got moving.

As usual, what I was afraid of was less than the reality. At times my back spasmed, but nothing as bad as it might have been. I walked when I could, stood when I had to, got to work, had breakfast and did my stretching exercises. Now I'm getting back up to speed on the last few days at work.

Oh the joy.

My London "Sicko" story

Earlier in the week, I hurt my back again. (I wish I had been doing something exciting when it happened, but all I did was reach for a book while I was lying in bed. I either felt something pop or just spasm, I can't really remember what. All I know is that I hurt. I popped some Ibu and did my back stretches and it was manageable.

Everything was not pleasant, but dealable and getting better. Until Saturday. It got worse and nothing was making it any better. Getting off the bed almost brought me to my knees. The pain helped make up my mind, I decided that I had to go to the doctor. I got the pullover on, put my stuff in my pockets and reached for the door. A spasm hit and I collapsed.

I couldn't walk. Hell, I couldn't even get to a kneeling position. Five minutes quickly became twenty and the pain hadn't gotten any better. I slowly made my way from my stomach to my back. I could reach my cell, but didn't have anyone to call other than an ambulance. The problem was that they wouldn't be able to get to me, because the front door to the flat was locked.

It took a half hour, but I got shoes on. (Well, Tevas, but let's be generous. At the time, it felt epic.) Then the long slow crawl to the closed door of my bedroom. Stretch, spasm, collapse, repeat. At some point, I realized that if I forced myself not to collapse during the spasm, I'd make slightly better time.

Out in the hall, the slippery wooden floor meant than I made a little better time as a human Swiffer across the floor. About an hour later, I was at the front door to the flat. Unfortunately, there I couldn't reach the lock from the floor. I was going to have to get to my feet. Getting my feet under me didn't work. Pushing my torso up, while trying not to bend my back was not happening. Finally, I got the idea to try to use the corner to get to my knees or my feet, so I could reach the lock. A door to my back didn't work; the door wobbled slightly, which set my back spasming even worse than before. I wormed my way back to a corner, where both were walls. It took forever—false starts where I couldn't get past the pain, then I finally got my legs beneath me and pushed up against the wall and stumbled off of it to stumble toward the door.

By this point, my back was spasming so badly that I had to lean against wall to keep from falling again. I couldn't even lift my arms without agonizing pain. I had come too far to just collapse and have to start all over again. After what felt like forever, I toddled to the door and was able to unlock it. Breathing rapidly to try to keep the pain down, I got the door locked and stumbled down the hall to get outside.

Once I was outside, I dialed 911 to get an ambulance or something. There was no way that I'd be able to make it to a place where I could find a cab; I needed the wall to even stand. I let out a groan and a young girl must have taken that as a dirty bastard moan or something and rushed inside.

In London, 911 doesn't work. I called my cell phone company's customer service line to find that you need to dial 999 here in the UK. I said I needed an ambulance and they redirected me to the ambulance service. They took my information, though I had to tell them my address three times—I can only imagine that my Boston accent must be indecipherable to her.

The wait for the ambulance felt like forever. (Now, anyone that knows me knows that I hate cats and clearly they hate me. A local outdoor cat made a bee-line toward me. Clearly, it's nemesis-sense was tingling and it could tell that I wasn't going to be able to shoo it away. It took this opportunity to rub against me and use my jean-clad leg as a scratching post.)

Finally, the ambulance showed up and the two EMTs helped me inside. At this point, things moved much quicker. It was a rush of taking my vitals, giving me an inhaled analgesic that made me light-headed, giving the EMT my history to expedite my entry into the hospital.

I wasn't in danger of dying. They quickly verified that it wasn't a kidney stone or appendicitis and moved me from emergency to minor wounds/problems. A nurse checked me out and gave me something for pain and told me to walk a bit while they waited for the pain meds to kick in. I don't think I was there for than twenty, thirty minutes on the outside, before I saw a doctor and was treated.

It didn't take him long before he realized that it was back spasm in my lower trapezius and not my spine. He said what I expected: pain meds and muscle relaxants, back exercises to stretch things out. Instead of a prescription, I got handed the pills I need. I had my Sicko moment, when I wondered about payment. There was no cost for the ambulance or the hospital visit. I even got looked at funny, when I asked about that.

The only thing I had to worry about was my cab ride home from the hospital and then the pizza that I ordered, because all my pills needed to be taken with food. At the moment, I'm on the mend and hoping to be mobile in a few more days/weeks.

Ramadan Is Not An Excuse For Weight Gain

Who knew?

Seriously, I went to the doctor last night to see about getting referred to a sleep study so I can finally get checked for sleep apnea — it's only been what 15 years since an ex said that I would stop breathing in my sleep as I snored. The doctor pointed out that I've put on some weight in the last month. The only thing that made sense is that my co-workers are fasting for Ramadan, because I don't think I've become any more sedentary in the last month or ate anything much more than I usually do. *shrug*

We'll see how well eating less and exercising more work.

And as to the sleep study. There's one place where it can be done in London. Add to that the rise in obesity — which I thought I heard was linked with sleep apnea — and it shouldn't be much of a surprise that they're heavily booked. My appointment is on Dec. 19th.

Also found that I'm getting some tax money back from the UK. (Am I the only one that feels guilty for getting an overpayment back when I'm getting free meds and medical care? That must be either a liberal thing or it has to do with the mindset that says that medical care must be expensive.)

Now Comes The Time of Decision

Hmm.... What to do... What to do... The iPhone is coming to UK, but only on O2.
Now comes the big question, do I want one enough to get tied to an additional two year commitment and all of the other bits of fine print that I'll have to sign up for to get one of them?
It's £269 for the handset. And the new plans are £35, £45 or £55 per month with unlimited data. All of that seems similar to what I've got now, except with a different handset and no unlimited data. The other bonus is that I'll have access to 7,500 wifi hotspots with a monthly plan. Can you say Starbucks anyone?
It certainly looks really cool and I've enjoyed playing with them in the past.
Hmm...
Dear God, I've become one of those obsessive Mac people.
At least I've got until 9-November to decide.

Playing Tourist With Friends

It's especially tough after a long sleepless night doing the London cancer walk.

Update: Unfortunately, they're gone. :( Hopefully, I'll get some more sleep tonight, because this week is going to be crazy with some writing classes after and instead of work, as well as all weekend.

I've Tasted Heaven....

And they're called Garlic Poppers. They're basically, roasted garlic on a skewer with a light batter on it, served with garlic toast. I went to Garlic and Shots to try a few things on the menu out.

They're not too bad. Shots don't do much for me, but I did try the buttered rum and garlic shot, which wasn't too bad. It seemed the least nasty of the choices. I can't wait to try to get people to try it when they visit.