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Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts

Tuesday, 28 May 2013

California time Table

Hello California friends. I am in your state. This is my schedule for the next few days:

Tonight, 28 May, I am going to the SF Sound show. Maggi Payne is playing, so it will be awesome. It's at 55 taylor :: san francisco :: $10/7 :: 7:49p.

29 May, I will be going to see ReCardiacs Fly at the Hemlock Tavern. This is Polly Moller (and friends) new project, so it will be awesome. It's at 1131 Polk St :: san francisco :: $7 :: 8:30p.

30 May, I will be playing as half of the duo No More Twist at the Berkeley Arts Festival Space. Jörg Hiller is also playing, so it will be awesome. It's at 2133 University :: berkeley :: $10-20 (sliding scale) :: 7:30p.

I have a minor injury which makes it slightly painful for me to bicycle, so I'm being intentionally vague about my schedule. I hope to head down to the South Bay for a short while and available for socialising.

On June 3rd, my girlfriend flies in to San Francisco, so I'll be back in the SF/Oakland part of the bay and doing tourist stuff and available for socialising.

On June 6th, I will be playing the piece Cloud Drawings at the Luggage Store Gallery. It's at 1007 Market Street (by 6th) :: san francisco :: $6-$10 :: 8p.

On 7 June, I will be playing the piece Cloud Drawings at the SubZero festival in San Jose and will be around the South Bay and available for socialising. I also want to do some touristy stuff down there, so if anyone has any suggestions or wants to go to something, please let me know. I think we should probably see the Winchester Mystery House. We'll also head for scruz at some point.

More details as they arise. contact me if you want to hang out.

Monday, 8 April 2013

Air Travel Letter

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing to inquire as to the rules for your airport and the TSA in general in regards to what constitutes inappropriate touching. Yesterday afternoon, 7 April, I passed through security at JFK in Terminal 7 and opted out of the scanning machine. The office who patted me down touched my genitals twice through my clothes, once per leg pat. This experience left me feeling humiliated and angry. I want to determine if I what I experienced conforms to the law or if I should file a complaint of assault.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Dr. Charles Hutchins

So that happened.

I don't want to go through the naked scanning machines partly due to concerns about radiation. The machines are not regularly calibrated or inspected and are not held to any kind of standard even approaching how medical devices are regulated. Even if they're safe when they're first installed the lack of maintenance is a major cause for concern.

And part of my concern with the devices is that they're invasive without actually increasing security. That the newer machines, such as the ones installed at JFK, do not actually allow somebody to look at naked images does not allay these concerns. Operators pick a pink or a blue button depending on their guess as to the passenger's primary and secondary sex characteristics. The machine then takes a scan and compares the passenger's naked body with an idealised form of naked bodies. Areas of difference are then highlighted for additional scrutiny. Therefore, anyone who has a hidden disability that impacts their physical form or otherwise has an atypical body configuration must disclose this to the TSA workers.

My choices would therefore seem to be discussing my genitals with a TSA worker or having them felt by a TSA worker. Because this discussion would likely be extremely triggering, embarrassing and exposes me to the possibility of harassment, I've always chosen to opt out of the scanning machines, as is my right under US law. However, while the screener hopefully was not entirely aware as to the shape of my genitals, having them touched by a stranger under these circumstances also turns out to be more disturbing than I would have expected.

While I understand that not all genital touching is necessarily sexual in nature, this is a fundamentally different experience than one in a medical context. When examined by doctors, they explain what is going to happen immediately before it happens. While the TSA agent did mumble through a list of his prescribed actions, I was not warned of what was about to happen as it arose. Also, medical examinations always at least offer a chaperone or else provide one automatically. Finally, medical examinations are concerned primarily with my health and well-being, which is exactly the opposite power dynamic. Because consent is somewhat unclearly explained and is effectively coerced, this kind of invasive touching invites comparisons to sexual assault. And honestly, I don't know if I was assaulted, as this has never happened to me before.

One of the oldest rights in the US, even before the Bill of Rights applied to individuals, is the right to travel unmolested. The TSA agent clearly violated that right and my person, so my only question is whether this is condemned or compelled by the law, as it certainly does not fall in between.

In frustration and unhappiness, I asked the agent if it would be easier if I removed my trousers. I then immediately apologised for this comment, saying he was just doing his job, which I assumed to be true at the time. He replied threatening me with arrest if I did so. Even after explaining several times that I was not intending to remove any clothes and regretted my choice of words, he kept repeating threats to escalate, advising me not to make things more difficult for myself.

I deeply regret that I've planned two separate trips to the US instead of combining everything into one trip. There is no question this experience will effect how often I visit home. I am a stage where I am not easily triggered by things related to being transgender, but for a lot of people, this situation, if the screener's action was legal, would be so triggering that it would effectively ban then from air travel. Other travellers are also likely to avoid visiting the us, including tourists, which obviously has economic impact, and academics attending conferences as well as those travelling for business. This thus then increases an intellectual and economic isolation of the US.

For all the people I missed in New York who are wondering when I'll next pass through, I'm afraid it's not going to be for a very long while.

Friday, 9 November 2012

Leaving

Apparently, people disappointed by the recent election results in the USA are so upset they are thinking of leaving the country. I know just how they feel. I was greatly dismayed when Bush won re-election and and also decided migration was a good course of action.

If you want to move, I strongly encourage you to go for it. Not because it effects me, I'm already abroad and you'll vote from wherever you are, but because immigration is an excellent opportunity for personal growth. It's also a logistical challenge but manageable. Don't let property concerns stop you! I own a house full of furniture, but found very reliable tennants.

Where to move? I wanted someplace adequately foreign and distant but that wasn't bewlidering. I was fairly monolingual. My first choices were EU countries where English is not the dominant first language. I won't lie: the language gap of living in France was extremely challenging. I've ended up living in England and, although this is not because of language, it is really a luxury and a relief to be able to communicate in my native language.

Those of you who have political issues now will have additional concerns, of course. Basically, every developed and many developing coluntries have socialist prgrammes in place, such as healthcare. Still, one of the privileges of being an immigrant is that bizarre or poor chloices of your host country are not your problem. You're just a guest. Don't let naysayers stop you when they point out your choice country is lead by an atheist or has social programmes you disapprove of. There is no stable country that has a libertarian government which means that there is no utopia to go to. So what? We live in an imperfect world and you can at least get away from the meltdown of your own homeland.

My advice is to start thinking about how you might immigrate and where you might go. Do you have skills that are in demand? Does your employer have overseas operations? Is there an educational program you can enroll in? (Some countries do not charge fees for students and may even cover your living expenses, although this is pretty socialist and there are usually age restrictions.) Look out for fellowships for career development as many of these are industry funded. Some countries will allow Americans to set up businesses, so if you own a bakery here, you could instead have one there. Many countries have shortages of people in skilled trades, like plumbers and nurses. Some just have demographic worries and will take anybody willing to work. If you're American, there is definitely a country that will take you!

Once you arrive, don't ghetto-ize! It's a good idea to make some American friends where you go, as they'll celebrate Thanksgiving with you and can help show you the ropes, but make sure to have non-American friends as well. Expats who live entirely in American bubbles seem to get kind of bitter. And no wonder as they are perpetually in between places, niether in America or fully in their new country. Remember, whether your migration is temporary or permanent, you will live where you live. Try to have at least half your friends be non-American and at least a few native friends. There will be people around who want to practice their English or who have experience of living abroad and will have empathy for your moments of confusion. Join a local church. Meetups are also a good way to meet people.

It took me a couple of years to organise my move, so don't worry if you can't rush. Moving abroad isn't easy, but it can be very rewarding. Your ancesgtors thought so! Give it a go.

Monday, 18 July 2011

BiLE in Venice

Juju and I flew in a day before the Laptops Meet Musicians Festival, because we wanted to go to the Biennale. Our flight was at 6 am, so we slept about 2 hours before having to leave my flat at an ungodly hour. Once arrived in Venice, the first thing I noticed that it was about 15 degrees warmer than London. And I wondered why I thought it would be a good idea to wear steel capped boots!

We found our hotel, which said it could get us a 35% price reduction on tickets for the Biennale, starting the next day, so we spent the first day wandering the narrow streets and looking into churches. It was my 3rd time in the city, but I have always gone during the art show, so had barely been in any of the churches before. They are astounding.

Covered in marble and monuments many metres tall. The Basilicas have no shortage of relics. I saw St Theresa's foot! (Random aside: My mum had a piece of St Theresa in a tiny envelope, which I accidentally dropped into the carpet. Some bit of her was hoovered up and is now sanctifying a California landfill)

We walked down to San Marco square. It used to be described by The Rough Guide as "pigeon infested," but this has improved vastly since I was last there. Street vendors no longer sell pigeon food, thank gods.

At about 10, the lack of sleep and the heat were too much for me, so I went to go lie down in the hotel. I had booked a hostel bed, but they had reassigned us to a tiny hotel room with a double bed. It was theoretically a step up. I thought about asking for twin beds, but then didn't want to bother, as it was only for one night. I lay down on the bed and turned on the fan and lay awake sweating, wearing nothing but my shorts. For hours.

Juju came home at 2 and we both lay on top of the bed in nothing but shorts. It was not the best night of holiday ever.

Shelly and Antonio arrived the next morning, so we checked out and went to meet them at the bus station. We went then to the Island of San Giorgio Maggiore, where we were going to be lodged by the Foundazione Giorgio Cini.

Even though it was early in the day, they gave us our room keys and let us check in. during the long process of photocopying passports and signing documents written in Italian, the festival organisers happened by and told us where to meet them for dinner and gave us a sneak peak of the concert hall.

We took a vaporetto boat back to the rest of the islands and went into some of the national pavilions for the Biennale. This year, they're scattered around the city and largely free. The one that I liked best was Taiwan. Theirs was focused on sound. They had a large listening room and then a smaller room showing two movies side by side that were different perspectives on the same scene. Two sound artists were recording the harvest and processing of some grain or rice. They started in the fields and then tracked it's harvest, it's transport by train, the processing in a factory, the distribution, the processing of the chaff. They worked directly with the workers and got recordings form insides the cabs of vehicles and very very close to things. It was amazing, especially the sound, but also augmented by the video. I think it was my favourite thing at the Biennale this year.

The Festival took us out to dinner that night and the two subsequent nights, always to the same nice restaurant. The food was fantastic.

Antonio was talking about how he always buys travel insurance because he always accidentally eats something that he's allergic to. Then, moments later, he confused a fish for a chicken. Fortunately, medical intervention was not required, although he is allergic to fish. People teased him for this, but I totally understand not recognising something that you never eat. I don't really know many French food words for meat items because I never ate them, so I never made a strong association with the word.

The next day, we had the early sound check slot, so we did our technical stuff and then had some rehearsal time. We switched to using a BT home hub, in the hopes that supercollider would beachball less often. This was semi-successful. Supercollider just has a major issue with wifi, as far as I can tell. Also, when there were two iPhones running touchOSC on the network, data transmition got really blocky and jerky for SC users. I don't remember if the Juju was effected on Max or not, but we had to have one of them switch to using an adhoc network to talk to their phone. That fixed that. So after endless faffing, we had a not overly inspiring rehearsal. Then they took us out for lunch at the one café on the island. It ended with coffee and ice cream, as all good summer lunches should.

We spent the entire afternoon writing our 10 minute presentation on the ensemble.

The evening started with a presentation from David Ogborn about the Cybernetic Orchestra, the LOrk he runs. He spoke about how he uses a code-based interface for some pieces. He described this as Live Coding, but I think that term is much more specific and refers to a particular type of on the fly code generation, whereas, the players in his group start with a programme already written and make changes to it.

Code-based interfaces are, of course, entirely legitimate ways to write and control pieces. They also do have some pedagogical value, however, I think it's easy to overstate that case. For example, I can open a CSS file and make a bunch of changes to it in order to get roughly the look I want out of my website, but I cannot say that I know CSS and would not know CSS unless I actually studied it by reading a book or several help files and coding something from scratch. However, by being able to modify code, it does make the user into a kind of a power user and does demystify code, so it's a good thing to do, but one needs to keep it in perspective.

After the longish presentation, BiLE then played for about 20 minutes. We played XYZ first and Partially Percussive second. I think that musically, they work best in the opposite order, but Antonio decided he thought it would be best to do my piece without graphics and as the projection screen was on the other side of the room than where we were playing, we had to do that order or nobody would look back to see the video for XYZ.

Shelly's piece is normally for 4 audio players, so it scaled down very well for 3. I accidentally hit the mute button instead of fading out, so the end was a bit abrupt, but it was ok. It came out well enough that another band wants to cover it!

My piece is normally for 6 audio players and probably should have been practiced more for the smaller group, as it came out a bit more roughly. One thing that came out very nicely is that the piece ends with a bell sound and as that rung out, the church bells all over the city were ringing, so the bells sounded like a part of the piece. That was really nice.

Then we gave out presentation which probably went on for a bit longer than the allocated 10 minutes. I'm not sure if I said anything useful, especially after Ogborn spoke for so long. Normally, I want to differentiate between LOrks and BiLE, which is a laptop ensemble, but every band at LMMF was a LE, so I think this distinction was just confusing.

After the concert, they took us all for dinner again and then a bar. We all slept in a it later than intended the next morning, except for Juju, who flew to France. Shelly and I poked around the Foundation's buildings and then went up the church's clock tower in time for the noon bells ringing. I set up my zoom recorder, put in ear plugs and waited for the bells to ring. I could feel the vibrations of the big bells on my body and there were amazing partials after the ring. I haven't listened to the recording yet, but I'm hoping it's good.

After lunch we went to the Biennale at Giardini. We didn't see much of it, actually. There was an unfortunate tendency for the national pavilions to have art pieces that were self-referential and about themselves. Or worse, about the Biennale. I get that it's a lot of pressure and whatnot to do something for such a prestigious show, but maybe that pressure could be let out via long, rambling blog posts rather than via the art.

One high point was the USA's pavilion, which had what seemed like some very smart critiques of consumer capitalism, all with a million corporate sponsorships. They had the symbol of liberty in a tanning bed, for example. Given the number of sponsors and the apparent popularity, I am slightly afraid I'm attributing irony and critique where none exists, but for the mean time, I'm impressed by an upside-down army tank with a treadmill on it.

The big pavilion there had a bunch of stuffed pigeons on it. There were some cool things inside, but I was not blown away by anything. We didn't get very far in before we needed to go back for a concert.

The second night of LMMF was all music and no talking, which is good. All the bands were very good.

After dinner and the bar, we went to the old greek-style amphitheatre on the foundation grounds and opened a couple of bottles of wine. I crashed out around 4 am, but most everybody else stayed up until 5. Or at least, most everybody younger than me.

We were hanging out a lot with Benoit and the Mandelbrots, a live coding quartet from Karlsruhe, Germany. They were signing songs from youtube videos. At one point, we were walking along and everybody was singing the theme song from Super Mario Brothers. They have their finger on the pulse of pop culture, or at least internet memes.

The final day, we checked out and then went to Arsenal to see a last bit of the Biennale. Like in the last 2 times I've gone, I've like Arsenal more than some other parts of the show. (Although, this year, the stuff in the city centre was really the best.) There were a lot of pieces made out of trash, and dealing with waste and refuse and the disposability in general of pop culture seemed to be a major theme this year. There was a large hanging dragon made of discarded truck innertubes and fine embroidery, it was cool.

One very impressive piece was a giant statue, in the style of ancient Greece or Rome. It was as tall as a double decker bus. But instead of being made of marble, which it resembled, it was made of candle wax, was full of wicks and was actually burning. Already the heads of the figures had come off from the burning. The whole thing was gradually being consumed during the course of the exhibit.

Another piece that caught my attention beastiaity video from Germany called Tierfick. The animals involved were taxidermied. The video was disturbing but also silly. I actually do like stuff that tries to be shocking.

So, I heard a bunch of good music, ate a bunch of good food, stayed in rooms that were a reasonable temperature, talked to a lot of good people and saw a lot of art. I hope gigs like this become a trend for BiLE!

Saturday, 18 December 2010

I wasn't dreaming of a white Christmas

Yesterday, I sat on an airplane for five hours and when I got off the plane, my ears were uneffected, I had no jetlag and my carbon footprint was minimal! Unfortunately, this is because my flight was cancelled.

I was worried that forecast snow might stall all trains to the airport, so I'd arrived hours early. I knew they had de-icing equipment at the airport, so I wasn't too worried about the planes. But as I was eating lunch, I glanced out the window and saw whiteout snow. I could barely see the airplanes at all and couldn't see across to the adjacent terminal. It was beautiful, but also alarming. Then, after abuot 20 minutes, the skies turned blue and the sun started shining again. Amazingly, there were a few minutes where the sun was shining and it was snowing at the same time. Does this cause rainbows ( or snowbows)? I wondered.

It was all over very quickly. I wasn't surprised when my plane boarded a bit late and also not surprised when they said we had to wait for a de-icer. I was, however, surprised by how long we sat at the gate. I read in news reports later that they couldn't deploy all their de-icers because they had no place to park planes while they were being de-iced. So planes were ordered to stay at the gates. However, this caused a problem for landing planes, since the gates were all full. Thus planes full of arriving passengers sometimes waited for 4 or 5 hours to get to a gate. In the mean time, they parked them near the de-icers.

It might be because I have an undergraduate degree in Computer Science and thus have studied logistics a wee bit, but I could think of a solution to this problem . . ..

After five hours, our plane was delayed so long, I was started to get worried about arriving after BART shut down and this may have been why, with only 4 planes ahead of us in the queue, our flight was cancelled.

It wasn't all bad spending so many hours on the plane. The cabin crew was helpful and polite and people chatted amicably with each other. The in-flight entertainment system was working. It was exactly like being in the air, except that we weren't. I think that it would a perfect thing for somebody who was afraid of flying. They could have the whole experience as a kind of a dry run.

Once I got off the plane, however, things were a bit more chaotic. I had to clear immigration, which was a long queue and then the baggage reclaim area was chaotic. It was mobbed with hundreds of people from cancelled flights plus all the people who were finally getting released form their planes that had been waiting. The computer screen which said what carousel to go to was not giving any meaningful information, so I asked an employee and he seemed on the brink of hysterics, from not knowing anything (while at the same time being as friendly and polite as possible). After maybe an hour, there started being announcements, "If you are from a cancelled long haul flight, you baggage will be on carousel 3, 4, 5, or 6 . . .." Some enterprising traveler and his friends split up, each monitoring one carousel, so when bags marked SFO started appearing on number 4, he got a call and then walked around the reclaim area loudly announcing "San Francisco bags are on number 4!" This is what I love about Bay Area culture, actually. Friendly, helpful and loud!

I went through customs and then got to the arrivals lounge which was heaving with people, who had been waiting for hours for passengers who had landed but not alighted. Frequent announcements indicated that the airline was very sorry that nobody had been given any information whatsoever. Other announcements encouraged those on canceled flights to sort out rescheduling on the BA website instead of queuing at the airport. I decided to follow that advice and got on a tube.

I texted Paula and she told me to come around fora cuppa, so I did, despite it being quite late. I brought my laptop and searched in vain for the rebooking link that British Airways kept claiming existed. I couldn't find it anywhere, so I handed my laptop to Paula and started trying to call the airline. Paula couldn't find the link either and a recording at the airline's phone number told me they were very busy, so I should try calling again later.

Finally, after 2AM, I got hold music! Yay, I was on hold and they hadn't hung up on me! I stayed on hold for an hour, while trying to find out any information at all about what was going on. I discovered that the best and most reliable way to get information from the airline was via twitter, but their tweeters had all gone home an hour or two earlier.

I use twitter. I think microblogging is fabulous and I'm glad to see somebody making good use of it, but in this case, I have to say that they really needed to also update their actual website and/or their phone message. It took quite some time before it occurred to me to even check twitter. And, indeed, if they're going to make that the only reliable way to get any information, then they need to announce that someplace else, like on their website or their phone message. It was at this moment that I began to get a bit annoyed. I was even more annoyed when I realised, after 3 am and more than an hour on hold, that their call center was closed and nobody was going to take me off hold until it reopened at 6 am.

I went home and set my alarm clock for 5:59, but when I called, the phones were already overwhelmed and hung up on me. I kept retrying until 7 am, when I finally got through to being on hold. This time, the hold music was accompanied by spoken messages actually telling me that I was on hold. I put it on speaker phone and tried to stay awake until somebody finally picked up at 9:30.

I will be on the same flight on Tuesday, 21 December. This should land before 18:00 and give me enough time to get to Emeryville to catch me 22:00 train to Oregon, which arrives in Portland in the middle of the afternoon on 22 December. I am going to have an alarming odor by the time I arrive. Fortunately, I should be able to sleep on the train and I will still get to see my family, which is what motivated me to wake up after so little sleep.

And now I'm typing this out, in a haze of exhaustion. But hey, no jetlag, at least.

Tuesday, 16 November 2010

Body Scanners

Passengers who wish to fly from the UK have no choice as to whether to allow the government to peek at their genitals. However, in the US, you can opt to allow an agent to feel them (through clothes) instead. Speaking as somebody with an unusual genital configuration, I would rather allow myself to be groped than photographed, for a few reasons. One is that nobody can keep a copy of a grope to look at later. Another is that it's highly possible I would be groped anyway and I don't want to be singled out for special attention based on an unusual scan. Finally, I don't wish to increase my risk factors for skin cancer by stepping into a beam of ionising radiation, if I can at all avoid it. For those who are fertile, there are also issues with exposing germ cells to radiation, especially those with testicles, as these would normally be shielded during an X-Ray.

There is a movement afoot to try to get people to ask for a grope instead of a scan, especially on the Wednesday before thanksgiving, when many people in the US will be flying. The TSA is making ridiculous statements about this helping terrorists, however, I'd like to posit that when getting on an airplane necessitates security agents looking at or feeling my genitals, the terrorists have already won. It is your right to ask for a "pat down" instead of a scan. This may be inconvenient for TSA agents, but this is a normal tactic of protesting. It would hardly do any good to launch a protest that nobody noticed.

Today, I read an article in the New York Times, which stated, "Do the imagers, for example, detect sanitary napkins? Yes. Does that then necessitate a pat-down? The T.S.A. couldn’t say." So some security worker at the airport knows whether or not you're menstruating. Charming. And they may or may not decide to grope you as a result of that. "Screeners, the T.S.A. has said, are expected to exercise some discretion." They have little training, no union, low pay and no job protections, but a lot of discretion, I'm sure.

This is just too much. I wrote a letter to my senators:

Dear Senator --,

I am wiring to oppose the new body scanning devices that have been installed at airports. Today, I read in the New York Times that the devices are able to detect menstrual pads and the TSA "couldn’t say" whether this detection would necessitate a pat down. (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/16/business/16road.html?_r=1) This level of grossly indecent privacy invasion is unAmerican. It is an outrage.

As I'm sure you're aware, the pat down one receives if they opt out (or potentially, if they're menstruating) involves a TSA agent feeling the passenger's genitals. All aspects of this policy are horrifying and I hope you take action to change it.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Charles Hutchins

Ok, yes, I did actually call something unAmerican. I know this is problematic. But Americans are, by and large, a prudish people and this is really not prudish at all and hence violates the national character. Also, I am exceedingly annoyed.

I wrote a different letter to my Representative, Barbara Lee, who is a proper leftist and involved with the Progressive Caucus in the House:

Dear Representative Lee,

I am wiring to oppose the new body scanning devices that have been installed at airports. As a transgender person, I am concerned about how these machines peer unnecessarily and invasively at my genitals. I am also highly concerned that once a security screener becomes aware that I'm transgender, I may be subject to discrimination or be publicly humiliated.

I intend to opt to be patted down instead, but as this involves an agent feeling my genitals, it's hardly better. There is little evidence that any of this makes us safer while flying but it certainly causes me and many others quite a lot of distress. I'm faced with a terrible choice between not seeing my family over the holidays or having my genitals looked at and/or touched by a TSA agent.

I hope you can do something to improve this situation.

Sincerely,
Charles Hutchins

Thursday, 12 February 2009

Will be in California . . . for a funeral

Timanna Bennett died. I don't really know what happened. T was a good friend for a long time. I'm flying out tomorrow. T's memorial service is at the Mills chapel on Saturday, 14 February, at 11am. There will be a potluck reception afterwards. As far as I know, T was the first of my Mills friends to die. A lot of people who knew her then seem to be planning on coming. I think some of them fell out of contact since, but T was just such a remarkable person.

I will post more about her later, but right now I just can't. I should be packing to travel anyway or washing some of the many dishes that I shouldn't leave in my sink for two weeks. I'll be in the Bay Area until the 23rd. I hope to be able to see as many friends as possible while I'm back, especially if I haven't seen them for a while. I didn't see too many people when I was home for Christmas, but I did see T, thank gods.

My cell phone number is 917 355 5064. That's a New York number, but it rings in my pocket.

This is all very distressing.

Wednesday, 24 December 2008

On the road to Oregon

I'm on my way to Portland via car and there's a wee bit of ice on the ground. Which is to say an epic amount. Brother Bob and I have stopped at a motel in Salem.

On my first two days back in the states, I started my day by biking on the wrong side of the street. The first day, for a few blocks until I was confused by oncoming traffic. But returning to the customs of one's birth are never confusing for long (except when they are (i love tautologies)) and I look forward to many days of biking to wrong way in England.

Today was my first time driving a car since last July and only the second time in the last year. But I've got several hours under my belt from today. Brother Bob is from Los Angeles and has no experience on ice. It's truly an alarming situation when I am considered the more winterized driver.

This area hasn't had a significant snow storm for the last 50 years and therefore: no plows. No salt. No sand. Just bare packed ice. The blizzard was days ago and as far as I can tell, there has been no effort to clear the roads. Oregon is some sort of asinine libertarian paradise, which means the state has no resources to deal with anything. And to enhance our freedom, it's our own personal liberty whether to use snow chains or not. For x's sake, I want a nanny state to tell me about how to most safely use the roads. If chains are required, a bloody sign of some sort would be nice. And I swear, nobody can drive here even under the best of circumstances, so a layer of bare, packed (un salted, un-sanded, un-gritted) ice on the freeway is not helping matters.

So despite being less than 50 miles from my destination, I am spending the night in a naff hotel in the naff town of Salem. Because it's the capital of this low-tax utopia, it is probably worse off than any other town in the state, but it's also the southern end of the ice. So hopefully, in the morning, I'll be able to slowly roll to a place that has heard of the idea of snow plows.

The airport here has been closed. The Amtrak stopped. Greyhound, put to sleep. This actually the only way I could have come to see my family. And despite all the many wrong pronouns, I'm sure it will all be worth it.

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

I am in Califronia

I am here until the 23rd, when I'm off to Oregon, and then back again for a few days after xmas and then back to London.

If you want to hang out, call my cell phone: 917 355 5064. That's the same number I've had for the last year or so. Heh, but I'm using the physical phone that I bought in 2003. It doesn't take pictures, but it does calls and SMS which is all I really ever want to do. People look at me funny when I pull it out though. I feel dinosaur like. That and the only sweater I have here is one owned by my dad in the mid 80's. I'm very retro with the prehistoric phone and the Cosby sweater.

My plans for this evening have fallen through. Everybody is busy for the holidays, which is reasonable and to be expected. It's really weird being here for some reason. When I left last February, I wondered if maybe I was making a huge mistake leaving someplace where I so thoroughly belonged for someplace that I so totally didn't. Now I don't feel it here either, but maybe that's jetlag.

I wish other people still blogged. It was easier to keep up with people when we were all reading each other's blogs. Twitter is just not the same.

Saturday, 20 September 2008

Long time no blog

I haven't been posting much lately. Things are not going all that great and I don't really want to talk about it. I blogged a bunch when I got divorced about love and relationships and blah blah blah. It was a big learning experience of navel gazing wisdom. What I've learned lately is that I suck at relationships. And that testosterone seems to cause belly button lint.

I'm trying to pull myself together, so I'm going to a shrink next week. And I'm going to Rome next weekend, on a whim and an invitation from a stranger. Yeah, so I'm nuts and also somewhat extravagant.

When I was getting divorced, I discovered that was poorly individuated. I'm still really fuzzy around the edges. I need to be ok with being alone. I feel a little Peter Pan-ish. I appear to be about 19. I've never really been by myself. I'm perpetually a student . . .. I don't know what it means to be an adult, but it's time I got on with it.

At the same time as I'm having angst, I'm settling into London's queer scene which is large and friendly. I am not settling into the music scene as quickly, nor am I writing much. I understand it can be problematic to block out one's woes in bars, especially if one isn't getting much work done. But it's better than sitting home by myself having angst, right? If I'm not going to write anything, I might as well not write anything in Rome for a few days. It's all good until the money runs out.

Tuesday, 10 June 2008

I'm in Brum

I got to the ferry terminal before 9:00AM on Sunday. The check-in supervisor agreed to check in my dog then. She gave me a hard time about the dog having two chips and her rabies certification. At the time, I was alarmed that there might be an issue with getting on the boat, but I think the woman was just annoyed and wanted to give me a hard time.

I was super, super, super grateful. I expected to be told no or to have to pay a high last-minute fare, but neither of those things happened. Apparently, I had a very flexible ticket. So, it was with great joy that I learned I could get on the boat and wouldn't have to buy a new ticket. Huzzah.

Checking in to the ferry means biking up to the check in booth where you present your travel documents and receive a cabin key. If you have a dog, they have a chip reader you must use. Then you bike up to the Dutch border patrol who inspect your passport and give you an exit stamp. The agent frowned at my passport and turned to her coworker and explained in Dutch that the picture looked like me, but the passport seemed to say I was a woman. There was obviously some kind of problem! She turned to me. "I'm transsexual." I said in English. She asked if I had any documentation proving that. I offered to show her my testosterone ampoules. "You must have this problem with your passport a lot." she said. Actually, a panhandler had called me "mevrouw" in the train station that morning. The agent looked shocked. How could anybody think that?! She let me on the boat. "Have a good trip, sir!"

One advantage of biking onto a ferry is that immigration at Harwich is not nearly as awful as immigration at the airport. I think this is partly because there are not conveniently located holding pens. If detaining somebody is really easy, then they're more likely to do it. If it requires leaving your booth, finding a supervisor, etc etc etc, well, it's too much trouble. I was barely hassled at all. Alas, the gender marker on my passport was not any kind of an issue.

But the problem with biking onto ferries is that they're really meant for cars. Especially the daytime ferries. I was the only biker at all. I biked over to the train station to discover that no trains were running. I talked to somebody. "What train were you planning on catching?" she asked. Um. I wouldn't think it would be making too much of an assumption that you could just get off one of the twice daily ferries and then get on a train at the attached train station. That's just crazy talk! Finally a bus came by and refused to take me unless I folded everything. He came back for me an hour later. I've now been all over East Anglia by bus. It's lovely country. Narrow country roads. Rolling farmland. Pretty little pubs. Bed and breakfasts. We went from tiny shut-down rail station to tiny shut-down rail station where nobody got on or off the bus.

We finally rolled in to a working station. I asked for an itinerary from the agent. "You can't get there tonight." he said. I could get as far as London, which my ticket specifically didn't cover. Note to travellers: do not buy tickets between Brum and Harwich which say "not London" for the route, as such a route does not exist. The agent said I couldn't go that way. I whined. He relented.

I called Paula and explained my predicament. She was not exactly thrilled. She had to go to work in the morning. I whined. She relented. It was a warm night at midnight, when I stood ringing her doorbell. I pondered pitching a tent on the grass in her courtyard. Presumably, the neighbors would complain. I kept ringing the doorbell. Mine wouldn't wake me up either, actually. But hers finally did and she let me in.

The next morning, after peak hours on the train had passed, I biked across London to the cheaper station to Brum. My ticket still said "not London" and as I was on the second day of using it, I was not entirely sure about it. The station agent didn't want to let me past the fare gates. I whined. He relented. Note to travellers: when facing disasters in the UK, try whining.

I called Eric, who had my keys. He was at school. So after my train came in, I biked to school from the train station. Brum is hilly once you get off the canal path. Also, all my stuff for gigging + bike touring stuff + dog. I got to school and drank some water and got my keys and then went home where I put on clean clothes. I desperately wanted a shower after sweating so much, but Nicole's train (from the airport where she arrived that same morning) was past due. I just wanted to wear socks that hadn't been worn for three days previous.

Nicole was not pleased at my lateness, but I whined and she relented. It took me voer 24 hours to get home. I've flown inter nationally and made train connections, etc and been home faster. Every time I try to cross the UK, something goes horribly wrong or near wrong. Also, biking down Oxford street really sucks.

People I would like to thank: Kendra for letting me sleep on her futon unexpectedly (and lending me a SIM card), Paula for letting me sleep at her apartment unexpectedly, Eric for being around with my keys.

Monday, 3 March 2008

May Plans

Spring time is nearly upon us. As are several cons, which is always a cause for joy. A con is like a festival, but better because there's also stuff during the day. Music festivals are nifty, but they're usually only in the evenings. I'm thinking it would be fun to do a small tour of the continent in May.


May 2 - 4 is Transgender Europe in Berlin. I used the feedback form to ask if they were interested in booking some music. I think they have an obligation to present work by ftm composer/performers of 'art' music. As I type this, I'm drining water out of a cup with cartoon of Tigger on it. I want to find out if, like Tigger, I'm the only one. Anyway, they haven't written back yet, which is frustrating, since I'd like to try to get other gigs around Germany if they take me. And now is the time to be trying to get booked.


May 6 - 8 is the fêtes de Jeanne d'Arc in Orléans, France (an hour or so away from Paris by train). I'm several centuries too modern to play at this event, but I've been going to it every yar since I moved to Europe and I'd like to go again. And do some biking around the Loire. Last year, I decided not to go to Cherveney, despite it being the origin of my lap tuba - and some fine wine. I don't know how cool it would be to do a bike tour like that by myself. I think I'm looking for people to go along with me, if I go. Joan of Arc, of course, got burned at the stake rather than dress like a girl, so she's close to my heart.


May 25 - 31 is /ETC in Amsterdam, a feminist con that I played at last year. They're women-only, which, obviously, makes me nervous, since I'd rather be burned at the stake than dress like a girl. I had a lot of angst about this last year also and contacted them about whether or not they discriminated against trans people. They do not. This year, the group hosting it is called "gender changers" and they've had FTM participation in the past. They seem supportive, and last year was super-awesome, so I hope this works out. I'm thinking of doing a duet with somebody, if they'll take me, to sort of up the female quotient of my act. ha. I'm going to the con whether I play or not, I think, since last year was so great and I really miss Holland. I want to take Xena, but I think I can still find lodging with a buddy in Den Haag and commute in to Amsterdam on the train. I can imagine that I can find lodging for Xena easier than for myself. She's popular.


I have a friend in Bremmen, Germany, so I'll email him a CD shortly. There's a strong noise scene there. And, if I'm going to be in France, I'd like to play in Paris again. Of course, that's much, much, much easier said than done. I'm going to see what contacts I can get there through school here and California, since my contacts form living there aren't great for gig-getting. And, obviously, I'll see if I can play more than once in the Netherlands. Berlin to Paris to Bremen to Amsterdam is perhaps overly circuitious. I will be travelling by ferry, bike and train, to keep my carbon footprint down as that's easier for Xena, so the best timing for Bremmen might be late April.


I'm working on a piece about gender issues and sexuality that I'd like to premier in Berlin, if they take me. It's the drag king piece, which features a crotch-mounted joy stick and moaning sounds. I'm going to add in some videogame samples (specifically, I want World of Warcraft). I also want to use samples of people talking, of course. Because all my political pieces use speaking. Because I'm unsubtle, alas. I think I want to interview people and ask them the questions that I got asked on transgender clinic intake. "What's your first memory of having a gender?" "How long have you known that you are a man/woman?" "What makes somebody a man?" "What makes somebody a woman?" I think these questions are actually quite stupid. Especially the last two. But the answers are potentially very interesting. I kind of think of it as performative queer theory as much as music.


So if you want to record yourself talking about how you became aware of your own gender and what that means to you, email it to me! Otherwise, I'll be pushing microphones into other students' faces. I just came out to them last week, so it should be delightfully awkward and stressful to do this.


Also, if you can get me a gig in France, Germany, BeNeLux or nearby, please drop me a line! I'll have everything I need to to do electronic noise, live processing, and/or laptop pieces. And a dog! And my bike touring gear. Heh. This is managable, but insane, so perfect. If I can't get any other gigs, maybe I'll bike from Berlin to Amsterdam. I wonder if there's some way to organize a bike/music tour, like, to promote environmental causes . . .


In other news


For those of you in the San Francisco area, Other Minds 13 is very nearly upon you! I am jealous of you, because I wish I could go. The sampler CD for the shows is awesome. There's a lot of great music. It's March 6 - 8 in SF. There's a sudent discounts avilable. I think it's possible to get in free by volunteering. This year is especially great for fans of the cello. Fracnis-Marie Uitti will be plaing. She's a friend of Ellen. Her music is incredible. She's playing on the 6th. If you can only go to one night, go to that one. And then leave me taunting messages about how it was sper awesome and I'll be sad. I was going to come home for the festival, but the way my student visa ended up working out, I just couldn't. Alas.

Friday, 22 February 2008

Crossing Borders

The first time that I realized that I was consistently passing was the San Francisco airport. It's an odd thing to realize at an airport. I further realized that it meant if I had to go, I had to go to the men's room. I start rationing fluid intake at that point. I've used men's rooms before, but not such high traffic ones. It would be just my luck, the first time out, to end up next to Larry Craig, who got busted in an airport. Right.

In general, it was really, really weird. I was walking around the non-secure parts of the airport, holding hands with Nicole and straight people smiled at us. Later, a straight, older woman acted flirty with me. Nobody treated me like a criminal. I forgot to take off my hat before going through the metal detector. The TSA guy asked if he could see my hat. I apologized for having forgotten it. He said it was ok and just peered inside it. Later, when a TSA person checked out my synthesizer, she apologized for the inconvenience. Either SFO has changed for the better recently, or TSA agents treat white guys with a lot of respect.

I was not suspicious or threatening or criminal or degenerate. I was a pillar of society. I was . . . I don't even have words. I wasn't even dressed that nicely. Being middle class white guy is really different than being a middle class dyke.

Fortunately, as soon as I got to England, I resumed criminal status, by nature of being a foreigner. Or maybe it was the 'F' on my passport. Who knows. I thought I was being all smart, as I put my landing card in my passport next to the page with the student visa. In any other country that I've travelled to, a visa gets you a stamp right away. And it seemed to be going that way when the border guard scanned my passport through the computer. "Why were you denied entry in November?" he asked. Shit. "Because I didn't have that student visa yet." He told me to wait and I did for about an hour. Then he came back and asked me again and I repeated my answer. "Doesn't the computer tell you?" I asked. "Yes, but it says medication was found on you and maybe you were returned because you were sick."

The whole brouhaha where I had to get a doctor to let me take my zoloft last time. . .. Augh. Jetlag makes me feel like shit and I didn't want to have Zoloft withdrawl at the same time, so I had to jump through a bunch of hoops to be allowed to take it. And now it's in my permanent record. And of course, I felt a slight wave of panic. If they searched my backpack this time, they'd find a collection of hypodermic needles. Augh. I imagined the exchange. Was I planning on coming to England to get free medical care? Yes. But damn it, I'm a postgrad student and postgrads are fucking people and people have fucking medical problems. I'm not some kind of fucking money-bearing robot here to stimulate your fucking economy and get nothing in return.

Anyway, I was admitted, obviously. Later I saw a news story saying that immigrants seeking citizenship would have to "earn" their rights by taking a test to prove that they were worthy. What the fuck? First of all, rights aren't "earned." The whole point of rights is that they're not earned. You have rights by nature of being alive, by being a human, not because you somehow earned it. The whole concept of "rights" is meaningless unless they're bestowed intrinsically.

Secondly, I'd have to take a test to prove that I'm as good as the fucking Brits? Why do they think people want citizenship? Do they think immigrants are just hopeless anglophiles enthralled with every stuffy, tawdry aspect of British culture? Do they just wish we were? Of course, the reason they want us to pass a test to prove that we're maybe (never) as good as them is because they hate us. They know we don't worship them and wish we did. I'm not opposed to tests for immigrants gaining citizenship. I'm against the presumption of unworthiness. I'm against the presumption of criminality and guilt. I'm against being treated as a suspect every time I try to come into the country. If I wanted citizenship, it would be to avoid harassment and to make bureaucratic processes simpler and so I could vote. So I could come and go with my benign prescriptions without having to disclose my mental health issues to a fucking cop every time I try to cross the border of this tiny country.

So to prove my Britishness, I plan to get so fucking pissed that I fall into a canal and then have drunken, sloppy sex with an 18 year old and regret it the next day. Then, I'm going to riot after a football match. Um, and I don't know. I don't want to be treated like a criminal, but I don't know what to do with the straight, white, male privilege that Americans were suddenly foisting on me. I was anticipating the actions of the border guard during my whole trip. In North America, I thought, "Any second and they'll read me and I'll go back to being a dyke. These aren't bad people. I mean, it's not just the TSA agents. It's the guy the other day at REI. It's everybody. They're good people, or at least as good as anybody."

I don't get it. I don't get why Nicole has always been invisible when standing next to me. I don't get why even women and POC are immediately ready to treat a white guy like he's special. Why don't they treat everybody that way? Of course, I knew that sexism and queerphobia existed. I mean, I'm 32 years old and have been read as a dyke for a long time. But SFO was astounding. White guys: you have no fucking idea. Dress in drag for a day for comparison.

Monday, 17 December 2007

Amtrak

Ghost Town

The Capitol Corridor Rocks

There exists a really great Amtrak train that goes from Sacramento to San Jose - right by my house. It is the fastest way to get from my home to downtown San Jose - way faster than driving in most traffic conditions. (Only a little faster than driving when traffic is really, really, light.)

I love national rail trains. This one is a good example because it has a cafe car that sells coffee, tea and beer and snacks and discount BART tickets (20% off). All of the trains have a bunch of electrical plugs so you can use your laptop. Most have wifi. I dig sitting in a train car, sipping tea and checking my email while speeding towards my destination. Or I can stare out the window (at a real ghost town in the south bay (see picture)). It's really low stress.

And once I get to Diridon in San Jose (or Great America in Santa Clara, I usually get on my bike. The trains have a couple of bike cars, each of which can fit at least 4 bikes. I've never seen these filled up. It stops at a couple of BART stations, one of which is the Coliseum in Oakland (the other is north of Berkeley). And the final stop in San Jose is a light rail station as well as a Caltrain station, so you can continue on to Gilroy, head back up the Peninsula towards SF, get on a bus to Santa Cruz or to Santa Barbara - Diridon is a major transit hub, as is the Emeryville station and a few others on the route. When I was a kid, the public transit in the South Bay sucked, but it has gotten a whole lot better. I could live down there without a car now.

You can buy Capitol Corridor tickets with credit or ATM at any station and get a substantial discount if you buy a 10 ride pass. Or, if you want to pay cash, you have to go to a station with an office, like San Jose or Emeryville.

I want to tell everybody I know about this train. You can get to San Jose in an hour! with your bike! And lunch! And beer! It's so civilized! I started a facebook group for the route (shut up, you're a geek too).

Of course, nothing is perfect. The train should come more often. There are only around 7 trains a day between the East Bay and South Bay. Increased ridership would help with this. And, of course, more trains would increase ridership. The board is rumored to be responsive to rider concerns, so asking for more trains may well cause there to be more trains. So give it a ride and ask for more!

The route is a joint project between Amtrak, the state of California and the counties which it passes through, so it has it's own governing board made up of representatives from all these groups. Ok, every other (foreign) rail that I've ever ridden allows people to take dogs - sometimes making them buy expensive dog tickets. Dog owners shouldn't be trapped in cars any more than anybody else. They should start selling dog tickets for this train too. Since it's run by a representative government and whatnot, they will allow dogs if enough people ask for it.

In summary, the Capitol corridor is awesome and I only wish I could use it more. You should ride it too.

Wednesday, 14 November 2007

Continuing From Where I Left Off

When last I typed, I was sitting on an airplane which I had been placed on by British immigration agents. I wondered if the cabin crew was aware of my situation. They didn't act like it. They offered me wine when they offered everybody else wine and did not treat me differently than other passengers. When I asked if they had any extra vegetarian meals, the woman handing them out found me one and then started to give me a form to request one for my next flight. So perhaps she didn't know.

When we landed, I hit the call button. The airplane aisle was was jammed with people. One of the cabin crew caught my eye and made hand symbols to ask if I was asking about my passport. He told me to go to the front of the plane. So I guess they did know.

I got off and there was a man there holding the envelope that I knew to contain my passport. I asked for it back, but instead he brusquely told me to follow him. The people working in detention in Britain had all been fairly friendly and scrupulously polite. They explained what was going on and what was about to happen. Nobody got cagey until I asked who was paying for my ticket home. This man, however, did not explain anything, but walked ahead with his lips slightly pursed. He wore an airline uniform, but seemed to consider himself some sort of diplomatic, immigration agent. He took me to American immigration, and gave the border agent my passport. He spoke about me to the agent as if I was not present. I began to detest him. Some people are just doing their jobs and some people see themselves as above you. He was the latter. Since he treated me as invisible burden, I will do the same to him for the rest of this story as a sort of a petty revenge for having to spend time following his wordless, brisk-walking arrogance.

I had to go to a secondary interview to get back in the US. I had hoped that I would just get back my passport and be on my way, but alas. I was told to sit in a big room with many chairs and two or three american immigration agents, seated behind tall desks. There were only a few people in the room. I looked at them and guessed they were foreign. I wondered what would happen if the US wouldn't take me either. Didn't they have to? After a short wait, I was called forward. A sympathetic agent said, "so what happened?" I explained about how the NYC British consulate's web page gives incorrect information as to how they accept visa applications and my mistaken belief that I could get in with a tourist visa. She was entirely empathetic, but then pointed out that America would have done the same thing. "I know!" I said, "you have to stop doing that! Well, I guess it's what you have to do by law, but still." She blamed George Bush. For being required to hassle foreigners and for my having experienced the same. Damn him.

She stamped my passport and returned it to me. Huzzah. It has a refusal stamp in it, something that will probably cause me problems in the future. Or not. I think Britain has a reputation. From immigration and customs, I went to ticketing. To pay for a last-minute transatlantic fare. Well, that answered that question. The fare was a bit over $1000. My credit card was denied. I called them and they asked, as a security question, for the cell number I had when I was in Connecticut. I failed security. Finally, the officious jerk who had been leading me everywhere, and seemed to think my fare to be far too low, grew impatient and left. The ticket agents didn't like him either. The guy I was talking to, who was clearly family, said it happened to everybody. The woman next to him said her niece had been sent back when she went to study at the London School of Economics. And she had a visa! The friendly ticket agent said even some cabin crew had been caught up in British immigration. He blamed George Bush. The other agents concurred. Damn that guy!

My credit card company relented and I paid my ticket. The guy I was paying told me to fly west with Jetblue, since they would have the cheapest tickets and the most flights. Then he took me down to the baggage office. He was so nice. "It happens to everybody!" he kept saying. Then he said that he used to live in San Francisco and if I did fly an affiliate airline, he would tell everybody to be nice to me. I gave him a bag of reeces pieces.

The baggage office, also friendly and polite had more bad news. My bike hadn't made the flight. I explained that I was continuing onward via an out-of-network airline and they took my address. My bike will be arriving via fedex delivery, probably tomorrow.

I went over to the Jetblue terminal at JFK airport and walked up to a customer service agent and purchased a ticket for the next flight to Oakland. "Do you have any bags to check?" "No." I said ruefully. The last minute ticket was $120 or $130, I forget which. I was amazed at my good fortune. I spend two or three hours waiting in the airport. I called Nicole who empathized and Ellen, who offered me a ride from the Oakland airport and finally my dad my said, "You know what you should do?!" in the tone of voice he gets when he's got an outside-the-box idea. "You should go see if there's an Irish consulate in San Francisco." He left a pause, waiting for my reply.

"But I'm trying to go to England."

"You should find out how Irish you have to be to get an Irish passport." He was giggling now, very taken with his suggestion.

"I've got just as many British ancestors, but that didn't seem to help much." Indeed, I had mentioned them to the immigration agent who interviewed me.

"But Ireland needs labor! You might have to promise to work in Ireland!" he giggled more.

Suddenly, the exhaustion of having gotten so little sleep and then being up for so many hours hit me. I told my dad that I regretted not having his phone number memorized, since I therefore couldn't have called him from detention. As I type this, I wonder what suggestions he would have had for while I was detained. Mostly, I think I wanted somebody to know where I was. We hung up.

I got on the next airplane. It was a much nicer plane than the last two. I had a row to myself and lay down across it and slept for the entire 5 hour flight. Ellen met me at the airport and took me home, where I now sit. Still tired. I need to contact a consulate, either the one in New York or the one in Los Angeles or both and ask what to do. I need a copy of my Mills College transcript, to send it with my visa application. I need to make copies of my house keys, since, of course, I didn't bring them, since I wasn't going to be in Berkeley at all. I need to take a nap.

Detained

I am sitting on an airplane, waiting for a transatlantic flight. It's my second in less than 24 hours. I don't have my passport. The captain of the plane is holding it until we get over the ocean. The passenger next to me has just told me what time the flight arrives. It's the first time that i've been told. I haven't paid for the ticket, but am concerned that i might have to.

Alas, i am not describing a confusing dream, but rather my current situation. After a red-eye flight and 6 hours of detention, i'm totally exhausted. I've been refused entry to the uk and am on my way back to new york, where i'll have to find my way back to san francisco. My tearful parting with my girlfriend last night is fated to be shorter than we either anticipated.

I was in new york to apply for a student visa. They no longer accept in-person applications. Their web site, though, allows you to file for one, but not to make the appointment. I was flattened with stomach flu before i could discover why their appointment-making system was constantly broken. My time scheduled in the us was drawing to a close and i had not submitted. I decided to mail in the documents from the uk and get the visa during winter break. I bought return tickets yesterday morning, so i could prove my plans if asked.

Then, i got on my plane. Concerned about visa issues, i left my bass guitar with nicole. I didn't want to seem as if i was trying to sneak in to play gigs and earn money. However, i didn't make it as far as baggage claim before falling into detention.

The immigration officer seemed friendly and chatty. It was six-something am and i hadn't had coffee, but tried to be friendly in return. She asked why i came. I said i was visiting the university. This answer has been satisfactory on several previous occasions. This time, I had noticed signs up advertising delays. They noted that extra security takes extra time. The extra time in this case included her asking for some clarification on that. She seemed so personable that i didn't become alarmed when she began taking notes. It wasn't until she asked what kind of dog i had that i started to become alarmed.

She told me not to be alarmed, but to follow her to a waiting area. At heathrow terminal 4, there are some lines leading to immigration agents. In the very middle of the lines, there is a little pen with some seats. It would seem like it was just a waiting area for old people or folks with kids, if it weren't for the chair-height barriers surrounding it and most especially the door of the same short height. The door had a latch on it, so when the friendly agent lead me there, she flipped up the flimsy piece of plastic to let me in and flipped it closed after me to keep me inside. That non-lock was useless for imprisoning someone, but the psychological impact was clear. "Oh fuck." I said, as she left.

A man came around some time later to lead me to baggage claim. We got my bike and put it and my backpack on a cart. He had me follow him to the customs area, where he searched my bags. I thought this might be the end of a process where i would soon be on my way, but all he searched for were documents and his questions were repetitions of ones the first agent had asked. Then, he lead me back to the immigration area, but to a security door on the right of the room.

The door opened to hallway full of parked luggage carts with glass-walled waiting rooms on one side. He told me to park my luggage and then took me to a foyer between the waiting rooms, where i was asked to empty my pockets and patted down. I was allowed to keep my wallet and change and lip balm, but not my keys or cell phone. I tried to retrieve on of the many bags of reeces pieces that i had purchased immediately before my flight, but was told that candy was against the rules.

Then, i was deposited in the waiting room where i spent the next several hours. There were signs up indicating that pictures were disallowed and (perhaps to protect themselves against possible artistic talent) my pen had been removed, so i have tried to commit the room to memory as much as possible.

It had one exit door which was unlocked and lead to the foyer. One long wall was glass. The other two walls had many doors leading to small rooms where detainees could be questioned, finger printed, photographed. The room had two long rows of ugly chairs, facing each other. Near the middle were two small tables. It looked much like other police waiting rooms that i've seen.

I wished aloud for a cup of coffee and a woman, also waiting, told me that i could just ask for one. So i went back to the foyer and asked for it and got nescafe from a vending machine. I announced my intention to retrieve and take my zoloft, but was told that i could not. A doctor must be first consulted. Also, the door from the foyer to the hall was locked. This seemed to make my situation seem more serious, but, when i was told then to have my photo taken, i was called sir. I felt happy to be passing and a certain thrill of excitement at being held. This was kind of exciting! At least, when it wasn't incredibly dull. I felt homesick and had a perverse desire to be sent back so i could see my family. But then i thought of my boarded dog and other tasks in birmingham and hoped otherwise. I wondered what it meant that my happiness at passing surpassed my dismay at being detained.

I had to sign forms. I was given documents. I waited. I wondered if my passing was going to screw up my paperwork. I waited. I tried not to eavesdrop on other people's interviews which were highly audible through thin walls.

I heard my name from the foyer. "Not a man, but a woman dressed as a man." Laughter. "Why would she do that?" Laughter. Then, "I just patted her arms." amid more laughter. They were teasing the man who patted me down. I wondered how this changed my situation.

An officer came to interview me. He asked all the same questions. I complained about the new york consulate and stressed that i had a return ticket and that the dutch consulate told me it wasn't illegal. The officer said that he wouldn't have had me detained and he would recommend that i be let on my way, but that i had knowingly tried to enter with a tourist visa when i was aware of student visa requirements would count against me. Apparently, ignorance of the law was an excuse.

The officer took me to the medical officer to discover if i would be allowed to take zoloft. Somebody there took the pills from me and googled them or something to make sure it was legal and a reasonable dose. There was no doctor present. It was decided that i would be allowed to take my meds. I wondered if needing them went into my file.

The pat down guy acted the same as before. Another guard, who apparently missed that conversation, was very insistent at correcting the officer when he said "she". I guess clouds have silver linings.

I used the room's pay phone and my credit card to call my berkeley home number, since i had it memorized. It was late so i left voicemail.

The officer came back and told me that i was being sent home, but it would not hurt my ability to get a student visa. He gave me a document which stated this. I left another message with ellen and then called jean, who has a very memorable phone number. It was 2:30am at her location, but her tone changed when i explained the situation. I wished i had my dad's number memorized.

Some Quebecois were also detained. Most everyone sat in silence but the two animatedly shared their stories and opinions. The man had been detained because he was staying with a friend and didn't know the address. As it happened, he knew the friend's mobile number and that the friend was waiting for him at the airport. H was finger printed, photographed, questioned and then hopefully somebody thought to talk to the friend to get his address.

The canadian woman had come back too soon after a long stay. So much for the commonwealth.

And then more waiting. Somebody came around to collect me an hour before my flight. She had me take the luggage cart through security. My bike was xrayed. Then, she walked me to the gate. I was allowed to use my cellphone and to sit, while she held my passport and watched my luggage. I called my kennel, my supervisor and my afternoon date. When it was time, i was told to pre-board. My bike was left at the top of the jetway, to be moved to the hold. I was the first person on the plane.

And now i'm on the plane. Too much airplane food. Not enough sleep. Too many carbon credits in debit. The novelty of the situation long since worn off. My morale is low.

As he was giving me bad news, the officer said two things that stick with me. One was to imagine how america treats those with paperwork problems. I got this more than once, from different people. America's stupid anti-foreigner policies are hurting citizens.

The other thing was that britian had to be extra vigilant because other european countries weren't. He painted a picture that seemed to put britian as the outer defenses of fortress europe. The enemies were at the gate, but britian stood strong. I congratulated him on having successfully defended britian in this case.

Tuesday, 28 August 2007

Distances

And now, it's the math you've all been waiting for. How far did we go?

Den Haag - Emmen: 363

Emmen - Jels: 487

Jels - Slagese = 162

These numbers are arrived at by: For the first section, adding up all the daily totals from when we were still in the Netherlands and I was doing daily totals. For the second section, taking the numbers from the Jutland Fietsroute ("The Viking Route") book. For the third section, by getting distances from booklets published by the Dansk Cyclist Forbund.

The first and third sections are fairly accurate. However, the middle fails to account for many detours, including following a different cyclepath along the Wesser and taking several detours to fjords. Figuring out the actual distance is too much effort for my lazy self, but the number listed here is low.

No section accounts for wandering around for three damn hours looking for a night lodging that would take dogs, or side trips to campsites and grocery stores. I had a little bike computer that did real odometer readings, but it got dropped and broken in June.

So, in an idealized world where we did not get lost, go in circles or wander far and afield from the route to look at nearby cities, we went 922 km total. (I'm confident, therefore, that the real number is over 1000k, and therefore, I want to buy a touring bike, because I've gone far enough to justify it and cuz 3 geared Bromptons are no match for fjords. (Lovely, but dangerous. My sister got bitten by a moose once, for instance!))

By Country

Distance in The Netherlands: 391, in Germany: 374, in Denmark: 247

Tuesday, 31 July 2007

Travel Clips

More short movies! She first is from Austria. The first part is in Linz and the second in in the big cathedral in Vienna.

The second is an interaction I had with some animals in a nature preserve when I was biking in the northern part of the Netherlands.

Feel free to remix.

Wednesday, 11 July 2007

In Linz

I'm in Linz and darn tired. Wrote some music on the train. I'm doing almost all new stuff, but re-using the second half of my first supercollider piece. The piece is kind of klutz and doesn't work well in stereo, except for the second half, which is cool on it's own. I got a new joystick two days ago. It was really great when I first plugged it in. 0-255 for real. 10 bits. 4 channels of analog stick action. woot. But it's become flaky. Sometimes the range of the sticks is cut in half. Sometimes the buttons have different IDs. It's making me a little nervous. I thought I was buying a name-brand joystick, but the name is actually just similar to what I thought I was buying. Oh well. Maybe I'll get a third soon and in the mean time, I've got a bit of a challenge. Usually unplugging it and replugging it works. Or I could put my awesome joystick brain in it.

In other news, if you plug a Dell laptop into a step-down voltage converter, it fucks up the screen in MS windows. (wtf?)

MY clothes are mildewy. meh, I say. Also, I feel a bit weird about being in a women's event, even if the sponsoring group is called "gender changer." Hello, I am twice the gender changer that you are.

Overheard this morning: "somebody was playing the digeridu at 10 o'clock last night!" la la la.

The conference fees include food and lodging, which make it a really good deal, although I was kind of surprised not to be comped in, given that I thought they were going to pay me. We're staying in a haupt schule. This is a kind of elementary school. They have very thin matresses on the floors of the classrooms.

"Haupt" means half. It's a half-school. In Germany, and apparently also in Austria, they have really extreme tracking. College bound kids go to something called Gymnasium. At the end, they take a test. If they pass it, the can go to a university. If they don't pass it, the have they still have their high school diploma, equivalent to those who graduated from a real schule. They just get a diploma and don't have to take a test. Finally, there exists haupt schules. In high school, these kids go to school part time and spend the other half of their time apprenticing to be things like florists or auto mechanics. If you were going to try to figure out what was the most valuable part of every kind of schooling, the big test result is the payoff for the gynasium. The diploma for those in real schule. The apprenticeship for those in haupt shule.

The one that we're at is an elementary school. The tracking starts very early. Transferring from one track to another is virtually impossible. Unless you go to gynasium and pass the big test, there is no way that you will ever go to a university in your country. The American in me rebells to this. But the same sort of tracking also exists in American schools and is more subtle and probably, therefore, more evil. Also, we track kids straight to jail rather than in to apprentice programs, so we suck worse.

Interestingly, the school is an arts magnet. The kids must go on to art academy. I always wondered about the liberal arts value (or lack therof) of conservatories. This seems to confirm my suspicions. Also, I've seen the alphabet posted in all the classrooms, but not a single math-related thing. Maybe it's all on a different floor.

Friday, 6 July 2007

News, Plans, etc

News

I hope all of my American readers had a happy 4th of July. It was my cat's 10th birthday, but she's in California, so I didn't bake her a cake or anything. Actually, I'm alarmed by what sort of cake a cat would like. yuck.

Here in The Hague, I went to an expat BBQ. We grilled a bunch of expats . . .. ahem. It was fun. there was a guy there with a dog also from California, but from LA. She and Xena had the north-south rivalry thing going on. Anyway, the other dog was clearly a California mutt as it was half pitbull. It's the law that 90% of mixbreed dogs in CA are half pitbull. He said to keep it quiet because they're outlawed in the Netherlands, but further research on wikipedia seems to indicate that this is not the case. Anyway, anti-breed laws are stupid. I started talking about how pitbulls are nice to people, and are only risky around other dogs. Nicole says that was rude. She drug me out to the grill to make tofu kabobs.

It would have been Xena's happiest July 4th ever, as there were no fireowrks, except for two things. There was some sort of incident between the two dogs and the LA one bit through Xena's ear. It's just a little hole, but Xena was way freaked out. The other owner and the host pulled the dogs apart, something I tried to prevent. Folks, never stick your hands between fighting dogs! The host, Kendra, is from Alaska and says she has experience breaking up fighting dogs and knows how to do it without getting hurt. Anyway, it was probably for the best because Xena had already submit, but the other dog wasn't backing off. Which is why pitbulls are dangerous for other dogs - once they get started in a fight, they don't stop at the point most other dogs would stop. Most dogs just fight to establish dominance. Anyway, after being separated, the other dog reverted to being cute and friendly, but Xena was freaked. I felt kind of bad for the owner. He was really embarassed. It sucks when you beloved pet, who is almost human in your eyes, reveals their animal nature. Like barfing in a restaurant - which Xena did recently.

Then we got home and there was an incredible thunder storm. Way cooler than any fireworks. Xena tried to hide under the bed. Bad day for her. Yesterday, she barely wanted to leave the house, which was fair enough as she's been awake and scared most of the night. Poor dog.

Plans

I go soon to Linz for my gig. Tickets are quite a bit more than I expected. Why are trains more expensive in the summer? They don't cost more to run. I'll get back around the second half of July. Then I want to bike along the coast of the Netherlands and then inland towards a small town in Friesland. Nick will probably participate. Then I will come back and meet up with Kendra and we will bike to Copenhagen, leaving around August 1st. That should take about 2 weeks. Then I get to worry a lot about moving.

Biking with clips is awesome. I feel like I have way more control over the bike and could go way faster. Also, popping in and out gets easy very quickly. when I first started on a still bike in front of my house, I thought it would be really hard, but suddenly, like a clip, it just clicked.

I tried to buy a bluetooth PDA keyboard from a shop in Rotterdam, but they'd sold out earlier in the day. However, I was able to use my GPS setup to navigate. Maemo Mapper tip: after you load the route into the program, quit it and restart. This will save the route in non-volitaile memory and if you (software) crash on the way, you won't have to sorta head in the right direction while hoping to run into an open wifi network.

Also, I really love it when folks name their network linksys and leave it wide open. Seriously, it's great. I kind of want to rename my network to linksys. This si the closest thing to an open citizen's anarchist wifi net that we can reasonably hope for. So let's all do it! Unlock your networks! Rename them to linksys! Encrypt all your data going over the wifi! If you leave your own network open, then you don't need to feel guilty about borrowing anybody else's connectivity. I leave mine open for that reason. But I'm not renaming it right now, because I'm not sure how to configure my remote-controlled-only media server to connect to a new network, nor even if it's a good idea to let it potentially connect to the wrong one. So everybody except for me should rename their network, and we should leave them open. That is all.

Commission Music

Commission Music
Bespoke Noise!!