Alexanders 8th Birthday

West Newton

Unfortunately West Newton station turned out to be a strip of tarmac with a yellow line and a concrete bunker beside a freeway. There was no taxi rank, no station building and no clue as to which was was the right way to go. So I started walking.... Eventually I came upon a couple of ladies who told me they worked at a local school and were out for their lunchtime stroll into town and I could join them. We talked for a while as we strolled and I learned that my destination was a mile or so away and that there might be a cab garage down the next hill. There was, and even better there was an authentic Irish pub around the corner from the cab garage and within 45 minutes I was fully replenished and on my way to the company I was visiting at a sedate pace chatting to a local taxi driver who was such a nice guy I stayed chatting with him on at the curbside when after the journey back. This was definitely the best part of my trip to the East Coast. Just gently traveling along, meeting local people, talking about stuff, getting where I needed to be on time and getting back again without any hassle.

Back in the concrete bunker at West Newton Station a lady rather timidly sat down beside me.

She opened the conversation with "Hmmm... Well you don't look like you want to mug me."

"But there is no one else here and who would see."

This was indeed true; a concrete shed facing the railroad tracks with a freeway full of speeding cars behind it. No one would see. I could certainly get away with it. I thought hard, trying to imagine the scenario, but couldn't quite manage it. Then I thought about her mugging me. That didn't work either.

"Hmmm...Neither do you." I commented.

It turned out that this lady was from Pacifica about 40 minutes up Highway 280 from my house and so we shot the breeze about the Election, The City and Santa Cruz and she gave the name of new bookstore I simply must visit next time I am over the hill.

Boston

Today I decided to go to Boston and see another company I work with. I decided to take the train as I knew from the vacation we had in Rhode Island that there was a train direct from Manhattan to Boston. It was really enjoyable journey right up the East Coast with it's pretty coastal towns and inlets.

I struck up a conversation with one of the conductors who had come up from DC that morning and it was clear that he was very proud to be on this new express train which only took 3 hours and 47 minutes to do the run from New York to Boston. And so he should have been: It was a really nice, fast train and you could feel pride in every aspect of the way the journey ran. If I had done the journey from New York by plane it would have been a very different story.

The company I was visiting wasn't in Boston but in Newton which is another virtual town about 10 miles West of the city center. I decided not to give Boston's Taxi mafia any of my money- as past experience had shown them to be a nasty bunch who glare at you from behind an inch of bullet proof glass and give you a ride not dissimilar to Deathrace 2000. So I took the train to West Newton...

Not your typical London cabbie

I got up early, determined to prove last nights limo experience was bogus. I found the Taxi garage I had walked to from the train station on Google maps and gave them a call.

"Uh, we don't pick up from there!" was all I got and the phone was slammed down in classic NY style.

Oh well, back to the knackered old limo and its driver I thought. Luckily, I had hedged my bets against the fact that I would have to continue to use the guy if the taxis really didn't pick up- last night I gave him a decent tip.

When I got downstairs, sure enough he was there and I asked him if he could take me to the Javits Center on Manhattan where the conference was.

"Here, he will take you." and he pointed to another limo driver who had an even more vintage white stretch limo and off we went after he had given this other driver a lengthy set of instructions in his native tongue. Doubtless something along the lines of "I told this guy $39+tip so you play along with that and you will do well."

We went 2 blocks from the hotel...

"Cross street?"

"It's the Jacob Javits Convention Center"

"Cross street?"

"Javits Convention Center on Manhattan"

"Cross street?"

I pulled out my map and pointed to the Javits Convention Center and so the guy took me to the Port Authority Bus Terminal several blocks short of my destination. I wasn't amused.

Authentic Experience

When I got back I was seriously hungry. The Ignite NYC event was about free beer and cupcakes and neither of those really fitted the bill lunch or dinner-wise. I thumbed through the hotel directory, sure I would find somewhere that did pizza delivery at the very least. There was only one entry: The Bantry Bay Authentic Irish Pub. And boy was I luck because they delivered food up until 11:00pm at night. I dialed and no one answered. I dialed again: Nothing. I finally looked the place up on Google maps and flipped a coin as to whether I should risk walking to it or not. I decided I'd rather get mugged on a full stomach and headed off. It wasn't far and had authentic bars on its windows making it fit right in with its surroundings.
"Kitchens closed!" the authentic Irish landlady said and my hopes of anything else authentic apart from a pint evaporated.

New York Sucks!

Ancient Limo Scam

After checking in, I decided to head over to Manhattan to the first event of Web 2.0 expo: Ignite NYC. I called down and asked the guy on the desk to call me cab to go to the New York TV Center. When I got down to the front of the hotel I was presented by an ancient limo (presumably and escapee from the surrounding garages) and an equally old driver. The limo had a fish on the back which right away was a red flag. As we started out I asked how much this 2 mile journey would cost:

"Oh the standard rate of $39+tip and you can only use me because Taxi won't pick from the hotel... and God has ordained that I got a good fair this morning to go to the airport and God this and that."

By the time we had crossed the river into Manhattan my non descriptive vague affirmative grunts to this guys commentary had switched him onto how he extensively lied to his girlfriend and his co-workers.

By the end of the journey I hated the man at the wheel and wished him and his God serious harm.

"Here you are." he said giving me numerous receipts. "Write whatever you want on them."
I concluded that this guys God was a crook and so was he!

I rode back from the NYTV center in a yellow cab and it cost me $15

Long Island City Lincoln Graveyard

After 5 hours of flying I was looking forward to getting to my hotel. ARM of course had decided that a hotel on Manhattan was too expensive and had put me on Long Island instead. I thought I would try public transport as a way to get to the hotel which turned out to be quite entertaining. The folks at Jamaica Station which now connects to JFK were really helpful giving me detailed directions and almost seeing me onto the train. I felt good about my decision until I got off the train... This wasn't some suburb of Tokyo. This was the place where you went if you couldn't afford Manhattan and it showed. I wandered around for bit with my pocket GPS and concluded that I really didn't want to use it, since it seemed to keep changing its route options. I think these units are great in cars but their algorithms rely on some kind of forward motion that is faster than being on foot.

I passed a Taxi garage and decided to loop back and ask them to take me to the hotel which they did. The hotel was isolated. Not isolated in the sense of being away from other buildings you understand. There were plenty of other buildings, but they all had bars on the windows and there was no one around. I looked about and found that I was in some kind of Lincoln Towncar graveyard. This was were all the old limos went to die and when they did their automotive Organ Donor Cards kicked in and they were stripped of their dignity and their pistons to keep other lincoln's on the road.

Artichoke, Artichoke, why do you exist?

This week I went to the Web 2.0 Expo in New York. I was really looking forward to the week away from home, immersing myself in the buzz and the technology. My trip started out rather early leaving Los Gatos at 5:45am for SFO. However I determined that I would at least get a decent breakfast at the airport before the 5 hour flight with JetBlue. I chose El Fornaio for breakfast and ordered what should have been the simplest of things a toasted Prociouto and Mozzarella sandwich. Simple Italian food which El Fornaio converted in to an artichoke and mustard and ham and random cheese sandwich which was vile.

I was on their website before the plane left the airport telling them what I thought of it, but didn't get a reply.

To say I hate artichoke is perhaps an overstatement and might get me expelled from California which seems to embrace this plant at every culinary opportunity. I just don't see the point of it. I first came across it when Paul and I were Inter-railing and passing through Italy when I was but a youth. Artichoke featured heavily as the pizza topping of choice in Rome. Why? It seemed to serve no useful purpose providing no protein or in fact any calorific value as far as I could see. Since then I have treated it with the utmost disdain.

Wish you where here?

Family Camp

For Dena's birthday weekend we had decided to go stay at a family camp with some friends we knew from Fiona's pre-school. I was sorry to miss Elan's wedding which was the same weekend, but we had booked this some time ago (before I had noticed that Elan and Chris were tying the knot on Labor Day weekend). Camp Kennolyn turned out to be an amazing piece of 1950's Americana. Built around 1947 it comprised of a series of wooden shacks (one per family with a shared wall), a communal dining hall, pool and series of outdoor activities such as rock climbing, shooting and archery. Normally I am not fan of this sort of thing at all, but the place had such historic charm I must admit to immediately unwinding and enjoying myself thoroughly.



We had expected Alexander would go off with a group of kids his own age and do all manner of activities from dawn till dusk, but he chose to stay close to his parents, determining that this was family place and that he should try and get as much family time with his Dad as possible. (I have been on the road rather a lot recently and our father/son relationship has certainly gotten strained of late). All in all he was very well behaved the whole time we were there I really enjoyed playing tennis and table tennis as well as swimming with him in the pool.
On the Saturday Dena managed to get some time in to do some crafts with Fiona's help- making a mosaic stepping stone and a pot. Unfortunately the stepping stone teacher had given the class the wrong recipe for the mortar and by Sunday the stone was cracked in several places. Dena didn't faire well with her pot either- it breaking when it was fired. "Oh the pots really need to dry out for about week before you fire them, otherwise the often break like this." her pottery teacher told her. Needless to say having spent several hours of Saturday making stuff (during an oh so short interlude sans children) , all of which broke through no fault of her own make Dena rather angry and she went off and gave the camp director a piece of her mind. Sunday dinner was the last straw: Meatless lasagna and peas (Dena hates peas).

"Right I want to go out for dinner right now." she demanded so off we went to Bangkok West for a decent Thai dinner.
"You don't suppose the camp staff will try and sing me Happy Birthday over dinner do you?" she asked on the way out of the camp.
"No they don't they don't know it's your birthday. I never told them."
"Er.. well I might have told them it was my birthday for effect when I was complaining about my pot."
"Oh."
Sure enough, when we snuck back into the camp for the final sing song round the old camp fire the director (who had doubtless instructed all his staff to keep a watchful eye out for a certain AWOL camper), immediately asked who ever had a birthday to stand up and the whole camp sang her "Happy Birthday" very fast and very loud while she blushed.

The hard of flash can click here.