The Next Chapter: Boston

Whitney and I have just arrived in the flat. You just wouldn't believe how huge it is. And the best bit is that someone has a wireless network set up next door and hasn't secured it.

It's looking a bit empty at the moment, though. Objective for today: Get a bed.

A thought

I think I need to make another ZZT game. At least, that was the idea that came to me just now when I realized that I would be spending about a week in Boston with my desktop in bits and no Internet access.

I actually went to Z2 again to download some old ZZT games to keep me amused on the plane, only to find that is packing in adminship (he'd only just arrived when I left the community), and I understand the forums even less than ever. It's weird to see the changes to something that was practically my introduction to the Internet.

Berkeley Incompetence Centre

Extreme warning, team, this topic's draining your life force!

I recall hearing a (quite possibly fictional) story of someone who was annoyed with his bank for refusing him a loan, so he went off and changed his name to "Yorkshire Bank Plc Are Fascist Bastards". It seemed quite an extreme solution, but after dealing with the Berkeley Health Centre I'm beginning to understand how he felt.

Last Monday I went in with a heap of medical papers from my examination in Britain, only needing them to sign a bit of paper saying that I had had all the vaccinations I needed. During the appointment, a blood sample was taken from me (which had been happening so much recently that I didn't question why it was being done) and a tuberculin test was given, even though I'd explained to the nurse about eight times that I had been vaccinated against BCG.

The Wednesday after, I came back to the health centre to have the ghastly bump that had developed on my arm read. Naturally it was a positive, and I thought that it would not be a problem - but instead the doctor told me that I then had to go and get an X-ray just to verify that I hadn't got tuberculosis, and that the test had been unneccessary. That cost us $120, as it happens.

I had the X-ray done immediately, on the understanding that they would receive it and have my form ready in three days.

On Monday, they hadn't received it.

On Wednesday, they still hadn't received it. Then they told me that it wouldn't be ready until Friday anyway, and if not that, next Tuesday. When I'm at the other end of the country.

This morning, they phoned Whitney's father saying that they had received them. I phoned them to verify it, and they couldn't find them at all. However, Malcolm (who is an absolutely terrifying man when he wants to be) had annoyed them enough to drag the civil surgeon in to the clinic, and they said that he would be in later in the morning.

I phoned them at noon. The civil surgeon hadn't been in and they had no idea where he was.

After going to lunch, we finally got a phone call from the health centre. They said that I hadn't filled out one of the forms and couldn't get it signed. So Whitney and I had to drive straight there to get it signed before he left.

I arrived at the health centre as the civil surgeon (who was a hundred years old) was talking with the receptionist about my papers. He clarified the receptionist's story about the form, saying that he couldn't sign my papers because I hadn't had a medical examination in America.

I showed him the letters from our immigration lawyer, and repeatedly explained to him that I only needed the vaccination supplement. He understood absolutely none of it, and Whitney couldn't get hold of the lawyer. Eventually Whitney managed to convince him that we only needed one sheet of paper, and he suddenly seemed to understand perfectly. "But," he asked confusedly, "If you only needed that, why did you have the blood sample and X-rays?"

I'm beginning to understand why Americans kill each other so much.

The stupid are everywhere

You know, I joined the Clickteam forums a while ago in the hope that it would be populated by at least mildly clever people. I don't know if it's just me running out of tolerance over time, but the stupid seem to be everywhere.

I wasn't very impressed with whoever was on the other end of the phone when I phoned up to ask about renting a van from U-Haul, either - we need one for moving furniture around when we get to Boston, but I only have a British driver's licence. I'd like to present a short LJ production of the conversation in one act:

Me: Hello. I wanted to ask if I can rent equipment from you if I have a British driver's licence?
U-Haul Man: Mumblemumble hold on?
*Four minutes pass.*
U-Haul Man: Mumbletymumbletymumble.
Me: What did you say?
U-Haul Man: Can I help you?
Me: ...Pardon?
U-Haul Man: Can I help you?
Me: The question about my British licence?
U-Haul Man: What?
Me: [Giving up slightly] I didn't hear what you said. Could you please repeat it?
U-Haul Man: Can I help you?
Me: No... before that.
U-Haul Man: Is it an international licence?
Me: No, it's a British licence.
U-Haul Man: No, we don't do that.
Me: Right. Sod off and die Thanks anyway.
U-Haul Man: Mumble mumble click.

Despite not being licensed to drive in this country, I have been learning to drive automatic cars for the first time. I used to mercilessly mock those who couldn't cope with manual transmission (particularly if they used the term "stick shift"), but after trying the alternative I'm beginning to realize just how superior the whole system is.

When learning to drive a manual car, you have to concentrate on your clutch control, avoiding stalling, remember which gear you're in and where you want to be next, and balance to avoid rolling where you don't want to go. Automatic cars have two states - stationary and moving. That's all you really need to know. It's like what would happen if Apple made a car.

This means that I've been able to practice driving the family's van, which is what I'd regard as an immensely heavy vehicle (but is probably considered a lightweight runaround in most of this country) with the difficulties associated with driving on the wrong side of the road easily compensated for. Even though the driver's seat is surrounded by buttons and switches that make it look like the cockpit of an X-Wing, all that the driver needs to do is select "Drive" on the lever next to the wheel, disengage the handbrake that is actually a footbrake, and move off while avoiding all the other suicidal drivers who don't know how to use roundabouts. You don't even have to worry about rolling back on hills because the car automatically keeps you steady. It's amazing.

The speed limit laws are still the most confusing thing, though. While in Britain you drive at the speed limit, in California I can only express the expected speed as MIN(65, MAX(Posted speed limit, Speed of surrounding traffic)) - in that it changes depending on how many people are breaking the limit anyway. Enough of this, I'm going to help pack.

Disneyland

I did say that I was going to post about the honeymoon eventually, but I had the problem that I didn't know how to write it without being phenomenally boring. Nevertheless, I'll do my best. At the moment we're watching a judge show on TV, which is like a zoo of the stupid being shouted at by a ghastly Home Economics teacher, so it's something to distract me from that.

The most memorable thing about the flight over was the entire plane singing "Happy birthday" for a six-year-old a couple of rows in front of us - complete with the blinds closed and the overhead lights on to create a candley mood. That took an hour, then there was a further hour in a taxi delivering people to various hotels.

Our hotel was the Hilton Anaheim, and I had never stayed in a hotel quite that upmarket before - a large fountain and pool stood in the middle of the foyer, and there were a couple of floors with balconies looking down on to it. Interestingly, there was no tenth floor on the lift, but I eventually asked them about this and the disappointingly normal answer was that it was the floor that held the telephony system.

The first evening, we went to collect our tickets from Downtown Disney, a shopping centre-like place between the two parks. After an unsuccessful search for an Abu doll for my sister, we went to the Build-A-Bear factory. I couldn't help but feel the place had a Frankenstein-like sinisterness underneath the fluffy exterior. After putting together a rabbit that was made in my image, we were given a printed and signed birth certificate and read a large pledge on the wall that was even worse than our wedding vows. It felt like we'd just had a baby.

The next morning, we went into the Disneyland park for the first time, and I'll make a separate entry about the attractions that we visited. It was pretty much what you would expect from a large park - a lot of children, many hours of standing in queues, and spraying each other with a water bottle to prevent death from heat exhaustion. We went back and forward between the parks, and ended the day by watching the large firework show.

The second day was spent in the California Adventure, a slightly less child-oriented park opposite the main Disney one. We didn't get there until about noon because we stopped for breakfast at the IHOP, which I nearly spelled iHop. It was rather like the worst-named restaurant in the world (The Eating Place), but more American.

That night, we used the hotel's on-demand film service and watched Silent Hill. Unfortunately it was coloured blue, and after calling the front desk we found out they had been installing a new system that day. I convinced them to allow us to watch the film for free, but it wasn't that inspiring. It felt like two independent directors had stuck two halves of a film together - the first wasn't terribly good at filmmaking but wanted to stay faithful to the game, and the second one had got the idea of Silent Hill exactly right but wanted to make a new storyline. I had thought it would be the first good game-to-film conversion, but it was just mediocre. And blue.

On the third day, we had an early pass, which meant we could get into the park for 7am - an hour before the queues formed. We spent this time going on a couple of the more popular rides, then Whitney took me round the children's rides for a couple of hours. By far the most memorable of these was "Small World".

I had thought that it was a normal slow boat ride. When you float into the tunnel you're greeted with a lighthouse bobbing in the water with a flag saying "HELLO THERE", which made me laugh out loud for some reason. Then the song begins. "It's a small world, after all" is played at you when you turn the corner, and keeps repeating over and over. As you go through the ride, various puppets trill the words to you - again, over and over - while dressed up in some outdated or just plain offensive national dress. (Scotland is represented by tartan hills and a man on a tower playing the bagpipes). The song is played on various instruments throughout, culminating in a room with puppets from every country singing it together and spinning around in a perpetual dance of the damned. Once you've finally escaped from it, the same tune is blasted at you through a set of speakers above the ride until you're halfway across the park. And it stays with you for the rest of the day.

That night, as the last thing to do on our honeymoon, we visited the Blue Bayou restaurant, which is situated in the middle of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride - the boats sail around you as you eat. It's extremely expensive, but at least you get to keep the menus - and apparently the crab is amazing.

After that, we looked in the glass shop across the road for a moment. A music box caught my attention, so I picked it up and wound it. It played "It's a small world". And I fell over dead.

Sharks on a Rollercoaster

Or, as you can see here, Points on a Graph.



I don't think the film was quite as silly as it could have been, mostly due to the middle section - it starts off slowly and builds up the atmosphere of silliness for a while, only to hit you with an absolutely traumatic half-hour or so. During this time I stared at the back of the seat in front of me and reminded myself that at least I wasn't watching Braindead.

After that, the daftness of it all returns. Having been urging the on-screen Samuel L Jackson to "Say it!" under my breath for most of the film, I was very pleased that the famous added line got a round of applause that would have done an NPH audience proud when it eventually appeared. Then it hits you with a final scare, and once you think that's over, there's a final final one, just to make sure.

Nevertheless, you have to admire a film that gathered such a huge cult status before it was even released.

Furnitured out

It took a look at my Calendar page to realize just how much I've been neglecting this livejournal recently. The old routine of getting up and spending hours wasting time on the Internet has long gone (but will probably start up again once we're set up in Boston). Meanwhile, I'm still updating the minisite for my latest project, so have a look at that to see what I'm doing. You can even comment on some of the entries if you like. It took me ages to write that feature.

I'm absolutely exhausted just now because we've spent seven hours looking at furniture and household items to order for the flat - this will genuinely be setting up home this time, rather than living somewhere that feels borrowed. The biggest problem (both in literal size and in difficutly getting it) is the bed, because we have to either order an expensive and untested mattress online, or go without a bed for a couple of days while we choose one in Boston.

We're going to see Snakes on a Plane, the most hilariously-titled film in the world, tomorrow for Whitney's birthday the next day. The All Your Base-type following that it's generated on the Internet before even being released is something of great fascination to me.

Yes, I will make a post about Disneyland soon.

Medical form

If the level of competence of the US health service is normally at the level I've experienced over the last couple of days, I really hope I don't get ill any time in the next three or four years.

Wedding photos

Here are some photos for you. Two albums are up at the moment, totalling about 20MB already. I'm expecting to get some more photos from my family soon, but they all seem to have forgotten how to use email at the moment.

Highlights include the complete lack of composure at the blessings, the ceremony photo on the front page, and my dad evidently having drunk a bit too much. (He's the one that's the same colour as David Dickinson.)

I'd really like to know what was going on here. Has anyone got any suggestions?

Married

David Newton and Whitney Leader-Picone were married at 7pm on Sunday August 6th, 2006. That's what the blue marriage certificate we've got says, anyway. And we've just come back from four days honeymooning in Disneyland. Because so much has happened since I last wrote anything here, I'm going to have to make a few separate entries.

The wedding took place in the Brazilian Room in Tilden Park, about ten minutes away from Whitney's home in California. About a hundred people attended - most from Whitney's group of friends and family, but I had my immediate family over as well as neighbours and my family from Germany.

We wrote the ceremony ourselves to combine Jewish, Celtic and Christian traditions. It began with reciting the kiddush in both Hebrew and English, then sipping from a glass of "fruit of the vine" (usually wine, but we used grape juice). Unfortunately Philip, my best man, was a bit overenthusiastic and poured a full glass rather than two mouthfuls, which I had to finish it off myself - and got a round of applause, as everyone thought that I was swallowing wine at a vast rate.

After signing the marriage document (actually a fake ceremonial one, as the real document looks like it was put together on a typewriter in the 1940s), seven friends and family members were called forward to give their blessings. None of us had heard them before, and we completely failed to get through them without bawling our eyes out. With the exception of Philip, that is, who found the whole thing absolutely hilarious. A tissue was passed between the two of us, and had virtually disintegrated by the time the blessings were over.

The most difficult part of the ceremony was the handfasting, where Whitney and I had to exchange rings, then tie our left hands together with only our right hands. We had practised this at home, and managed it much more smoothly than you would expect - prompting more applause from the onlookers. We both forgot the list of vows we had prepared, but improvised an out-of-order set that sounded pretty convincing, and I don't think anyone even noticed. Finally, the glass was stepped on - this had also been practised, because it took me ages to get up the courage to put my foot down on a cheap IKEA wine glass that would instantly shatter, potentially sending shards of glass into feet, into brain, and dead. But the napkin around it held, and prevented any hospital visits.

During the dinner, several members of the family and friends gave speeches. Philip's was probably the best, saying that I shouldn't be let near DDR machines, my brother should be kept away from karaoke machines, and that our marriage would work out fine so long as Whitney wasn't a Mac user. Afterwards, the tables were cleared and we proceeded to teach the Americans how to ceilidh. The ceilidh band (which was surprisingly led by an old Chinese man) came up with a surprise in the form of the Wedding Reel, a dance that had been specifically written for the occasion.

A bouquet and garter toss later (which were caught by the maid of honour and best man, respectively), Whitney and I drove off to spend the night in the immense honeymoon suite in the Rose Garden Inn. Whitney's dad had given us the MGB for the occasion, which I navigated through a cheering crowd of people, round the corner and out of sight just before stalling it disastrously. Three times.

I'm going to put up a photos page on my site as soon as I get them from the wedding photographer and family. And I'll tell everyone what went on at Disneyland later.