This is NOT the end, beautiful friends

So, my trip to the four corners of mainland USA is over, but that does not signal the end.

I’m still in the midst of readjusting to being back in the UK and working my way through getting in touch with my friends (apologies, if I haven’t got to you yet).  But, in the quiet moments, I reminisce about my time in America and I will post some thoughts and experiences in summary to draw the trip to an end on this blog.  I also have some video footage that I will edit produce a decent montage of my various experiences.

But, that is not all.  As one door closes, another one opens.  The USA road trip chapter is set to close, but the story continues.  I have many plans to put into practise and I will post progress on this blog: mainly, my attempts to become a professional writer and the completion of several scripts I have on the go.  I even thought further ahead than that and I will post scripts on the blog for people to read and offer feedback.  I also intend to film a short script, so the production diary will also be available.  And, if that’s not enough, I particularly enjoyed writing reviews while I was away.  If you think about it, most of my blog was reviews, whether it was a play, a show, a movie or a national park, a town, a journey, etc.

*Spotted* Season Finale

Whilst waiting at LAX for the check in desk of New Zealand Airways to open, a familiar face walked in and joined the queue.  It was none other than Darren Huckerby!

I’ve been a Norwich City fan for about 20 years, so I was quite gob smacked to see him.  There were rumours that he would move to the MLS after being released by Norwich at the end of the season with Toronto thought to be his destination.

I was only “quite gob smacked”, so I went over to speak to him.  I introduced myself and told him I was a Norwich fan.  H told me of his imminent move to the MLS and the San Jose Earthquakes (I can mention it now the story is out officially!) and general chit-chat about Norwich, the MLS and the fact that I would have to get a new shirt (I was wearing an LA Galaxy Beckham t-shirt).

As much as I enjoyed meeting him, I thought I’d give both of us some space.  There was a lot of time between then and landing at Heathrow.  I bid him farewell and all the best for the future.

I suppose it’s no great coincidence that I then bumped into him at the baggage reclaim area and he asked me if I’d had a good flight.  We, again, went our separate ways to wait for our bags and his came through before mine.  However, when most people would get the bags and go, he came over to me and shook my hand, wishing me all the best before he left.

Without wanting to sound like Tim Nice But Dim, “What a bloody nice chap!”

I thought it was a fitting end to the *Spotted* section, but spotted wasn’t over!  In a not so spectacular *Spotted*, I saw John Sargent (BBC political fella and reporter on the One Show) at Kings Cross.

I heart Huckerby?!

Homeward Bound

I returned the impostor to the car hire place – a measly 500 or so miles in that one.  Unfortunately, I left my TCB key ring with it too!

I stayed at the Marriott hotel at LAX.  They had some sort of big Jesus convention on or something, so it was full of priests and followers.

I found it amusing that, when the elevator came, a priest was in there and I asked him if he was going down.  He replied “No, up” and I thought to myself “of course”.  OK, you had to be there…or not.

The flight the following day passed without incident, except for a very special *Spotted* that I will post shortly.

Dean picked me up from Heathrow and the journey to his flat passed without incident, unless going the wrong way for an hour counts.

Of course, the whole point to my journey at this time was to get back to my parents’ in time to surprise my mum on her birthday.  I made it to Newark station at 2pm on the day and my mum arrived with my dad, under the impression they were there to pick up train timetables only to find me waiting.

Next up: the ultimate *Spotted*

4th July

With a thumping headache, I awoke to a day of celebration in America.  Independence day, we’ve all heard of it and from what I’d heard I expected a day full of fireworks and celebration.

Fireworks…just what I need with a hangover!

There was a huge celebration taking place at the Rose Bowl, but I had decided that, in my delicate condition, I was going to stay local.  I expected it to be a big deal.  America has a short but eventful history and I would imagine Independence Day to be their most treasured national holiday.  I also thought that I may be able to blag my way into becoming guest of honour…after all, without the English, America wouldn’t have had a revolution to celebrate!

I went into Westwood Village around 8pm.  It’s about a 10 minute walk.  It was an uneventful 10 minutes.  No fireworks, no dancing in the streets, no sign of celebration, but it was early.

I went to a bar and watched the celebrations at the Rose Bowl on the local news.  That was the nearest I got to 4th July celebrations.

A couple of nice girls at the bar started talking to me and I joined them for the evening.  Amongst a whole range of topics that were covered, they suggested that 4th July was not such a big deal other than a day off work and an excuse to start drinking in the afternoon.

That reminded me of every Bank Holiday back in England…the only thing missing was the rain!

Wild Child at The Whisky-A-Go-Go

The Doors made their name at the Whisky on Sunset Blvd, so it was fitting that a Doors tribute band, Wild Child, were performing while I was staying in LA.  If the blog title doesn’t give it away, I’m a huge Doors fan, so this was as near as I am ever going to get to seeing the Doors…apart from the gig me and Gaz went to last year, where we saw Ray Manzarek and Robbie Krieger with their band.

Is there such a thing as cool hobo bohemian chic?  It’s what I thought when I stepped out og the cab on Sunset, funnily enough, at sunset.  There are a few bars, shops and restaurants and it was either the light or the free wine I enjoyed at the hotel that made me really like the place. 

The Whisky looks a little run down and that suits it perfectly.  There were already a few people waiting outside, so I wandered up the street to get a beer and maybe something to eat.

After a couple of beers and a huge bowl of pasta, I went back to join the queue of people filing in.  There, I met Susan.  She was in front of me in the queue and started talking to me.  So, I had a friend for the gig, which was nice.  Even though I have been travelling on my own for 3 months, it’s still nice to have some company when I’m out and about.  I later lost her in the crowd (it got really busy), but she helped pass the time until the band came on, as did other people around me who were all keen to talk Doors which was great.

I proudly declared my Ray Manzerek/Robbie Krieger gig attendance, only to be out done by a girl who saw not only them, but also John Densmore when they toured with Ian Astbury, as the 21st Century Doors.

When the band finally came on, the place was packed and the performance was eagerly anticipated.  It did not disappoint!

You had to squint pretty hard to convince yourself they looked like the Doors.  It actually seemed like only he lead singer was really putting in the effort to look like Jim Morrison.  He had the leather pants, the boots, the shirt and the necklace, even the hairstyle.  He also seemed to mimic Morrison’s stage poses and actions.  But, despite his efforts, he didn’t really look like him.  Which isn’t the point anyway is it?

They sounded like the Doors and they steamed through a set that covered all of the hits and all of the fans favourites.  I think they did over 25 songs (the jack and coke has blurred my memory).  They were definitely on top of their game as musicians (the drummer was outstanding) and the singer, although not as rich in baritone as Morrison, hit the right notes and he seems to have perfected hi Morrison scream.  The crowd loved it.  I loved it.  It was great to see such a mixed crowd of Doors fans bouncing around and singing along in unbridled joy.

With the gig over and the crowd leaving, I decided to go into another bar where another band were just about to start.  Star Fucker – a band made up of people who played in other bands – I believe one of them was in Guns ‘n’ Roses.  They were crap.  I decided to call it a night and head home after considering a trip to the Viper Rooms, but deciding against it.  Technically, I did still see where River Phoenix died, as the cab went past the club and Phoenix did die on the pavement outside, I think.

And so it was with a bit of a headache I awoke on the 4th of July…

Kung Fu Panda

“Skadoosh!”

I always refer to going to the cinema as “going to the pictures” or “going to the picture house”.  It’s a generational thing – before multiplexes on industrial estates, there were picture houses.  Proper theatres that had perhaps 3 screens.  Before the film came on there would be an advert for the chippy across the road.  Your bum would be numb before the trailers finished.  That sort of thing.

In Westwood Village, next to Beverly Hills in L.A., there are several picture houses.  These picture houses have ornate fronts with lots of lights.  Think of the picture house in Back to the Future and you’re on the right track. 

Most of these picture houses have premieres.  In particular the Fox theatre.  There’s a premiere there just about every week and the stars roll up in limos for the screening.  So, think of Will Smith shuffling uncomfortably in his seat because his bum went numb before the opening credits.

If it’s good enough for those guys, it’s good enough for me.

I already had high hopes for Kung Fu Panda.  I like Jack Black and I like talking CGI animals, so it was sure to be a winner…and it was…sort of.

There’s a really heavy reliance on Jack Black to be, well, Jack Black.  I often wondered how much of Jackie Chan, David Cross, Angelina Jolie and Seth Rogen’s lines ended up on the cutting room floor.  Perhaps the character interaction between Black (useless at Kung Fu Panda) and the others (highly skilled martial artists) would have slowed the pace.  But it was the glimpses of it that left me wanting more, rather than the extensive action scenes.

The actions scenes were a bit of a blur, so it seemed appropriate that they were periodically slowed down to show you that it wasn’t just a cloud of dust with the odd fist or leg sticking out.  If anything, it was the action sequences that I found a little tiresome.  So the characters ping off walls and thump and kick each other, but, other than watching it take place, what does it give you?  The humour and, in particular, the attention to detail of Black’s character, so it mimics all of his facial expressions were the real plus points and, for me, gave me much more as an audience member.

On the whole though, it was good clean fun.  Entertainment for kids and adults and it had enough laughs in it to have me chortling to myself.

If you saw the disappointing Over the Hedge and expect better, then this is the movie to restore your faith in the whole CGI thing.  It’s a simple movie that follows a simple narrative and doesn’t try to be too clever for it’s own good.

I even forgot about my bum going numb halfway through.

*Spotted*

It’s been a while…

Brendan Fraser at the L.A. premiere of Journey to the Centre of the Earth.

Finally, I have a picture to prove it…just not a very good one

 

Dude, where’s my car? – part two

The guy on the desk said I could choose any of the cars in Area 1.  Excellent!  Hopefully, there’ll be a Chrysler.  I’ve seen a lot of them around and it’s a model that can be bought in the UK and I think they look pretty cool.

I turned the corner and into Area 1.  A shiny white Chrysler was there!  It was the only car there.  It also had a couple putting their luggage into the trunk.

After a short wait another car was left by the staff ready for pick up.  It wasn’t a Chrysler.  Should I hold ou for another chance at a Chrysler?  Hmm, no.  I’ve got a 130 mile drive back to Palm Springs and I only really have the car for a week or so.  I’ll take it.

It’s a Dodge Caliber.  It’s red.  I get in and set up all of my stuff: seat position, mirrors, sat nav, Jesus picture, Alfredo Garcia ornament, ipod.  I catch sight of the car in the reflection of a shiny car in Area 2.  It dawns on me:  I’m sat in a car trying to do an impression of the car with no name.

It is the same and yet different.  Like a police sketch artists impression of a suspect.  It seems to want to be the new car with no name.  But it already has a name…The Impostor.

 

Dude, where’s my car? – part one

Farewell to the car with no name!  After 9,218 miles, I had to return the car with no name to LAX.  He was a lot dustier, smelled of me and, according to the dashboard, needed an oil change.

I’ll miss it.  I’d grown fond of it despite it’s funny looks.  It was a comfortable to drive and managed to get me through hail, high winds (not a reference to it smelling of me), snow, mud, dirt roads and much more.  It had negotiated freeways, huge bridges, inner cities, spaghetti junctions and much more.  And had done so without receiving so much as a scratch.

So, it was a fond farewell to the car with no name, as I dropped it off.

 

 

Palm Springs

Palm Springs is in the middle of a desert.  It has mountains on 3 sides, but this does nothing to shield the city from the intense desert heat.

I arrived a few days ago.  Happily driving the 2 or so hours from San Diego in the car with no name with the air conditioning on.  It’s an easy enough drive; generally on the freeway heading straight through the desert and into Palm Springs through a huge field of windmills. 

It was only when I exited the car with no name that the heat hit me.  It’s like walking into a sauna or steam room.  The air you breath in is hot air.  Despite my obvious lack of fitness, the heat makes it difficult to do anything without being out of breath.  Sweat pours off you.  All this before I reached the reception of the hotel, a whole 20 yards away!

Palm Springs used to be a hip and happening place to be.  You can tell by my choice of words that this was quite a while ago.  In the 1930’s film stars started to buy up ranches in the area and the tropical heat and cool bars and hotels continued to attract stars right through to the 1960’s and 70’s.  For a while such luminaries as The Rat Pack (Frank Sinatra owned a house here), John F. Kennedy, Elvis Presley, Nancy Sinatra and Victor Mature stayed here.  In fact the last three names stayed at the very hotel I am staying and lounged by the pool that I am often lounging by.  I only lounge in 10 minute spells, due to the brutal heat.

The city still manages to have 2 links to the old days.  The nearby Betty Ford clinic ensures that plenty of celebrities still stay in the area and, back in the day, it may have been considered a gay place to stay.  Apparently, according to various guidebooks, the Palm Springs community has moved with the times and adapted to the change of the use of the word gay.  So much so that, according to my rough guide book it “has become a major gay resort.”

The temperatures at the moment are hot for the time of year.  Palm Springs almost closes down to the point of being a ghost town during the summer months of August and September, when the heat becomes virtually unbearable.  At the moment, similar temperatures are being encountered and it is mid-June.  One local told me that the heat in the summer is not as bad because it is dry heat; the heat at the moment carries a humidity that makes it that bit more stifling.

On the day that I arrived, I checked the temperature, using the car with no name’s sensor and it read 114F, which is about 45C…it was 5:30pm. 

Forgetting about the heat, the place is really quite quaint.  There is a main street with boutiques and restaurants lining the blocks either side.  The rest of the place seems to be suburban bungalows in neat blocks with palm trees lining the streets, which in a contrast to the deep blue skies overhead, looks quite beautiful.

As a little excursion from poolside, I went on the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway – a 10 minute, 2.5 mile long, rotating cable car trip that takes you up to the 8,516 feet elevated mountain station on the Mount Jacinto Sate Park.  The cable car trip is great.  It gives fantastic views of the desert and the valley where Palm Springs sits.  It also sways about when passing the pylons keeping the whole thing up, which provides everyone with the chance to moan and groan in nervous excitement.

Once at the top, the station gives way to a vast expanse of state park.  There are numerous trails and campgrounds and the temperature is much more pleasant (around 70F).  Plus there are viewing areas for the valley and the desert.  It was easy to spend a few hours wandering around and taking photos.  And the cool part is you get to ride the cable car again coming down, which seems a lot faster, but we were assured it wasn’t.

It’s just outside Palm Springs, so it only took up part of the day, leaving me free to pay my own personal homage to Victor Mature, by sucking in my gut and lounging poolside.