Author: DmentD

Petition And Declaration.

DmentD1 Comment

PETITION TO REVOKE THE INDEPENDENCE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To the citizens of the United States of America, in the light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today.

Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories.

Except Utah, which she does not fancy.

Your new Prime Minister (The Right Honourable Gordon Brown MP, for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a Minister for America without the need for further elections.

The House of Representatives and the Senate will be disbanded.

A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.  To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

  1. You should look up “revocation” in the Oxford English Dictionary.  Then look up “aluminium.”  Check the pronunciation guide.  You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘favour’ and ‘neighbour’; skipping the letter ‘U’ is nothing more than laziness on your part.  Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters.You will end your love affair with the letter ‘Z’ (pronounced ‘zed’ not ‘zee’) and the suffix “ize” will be replaced by the suffix “ise.”You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh’ is pronounced ‘burra’ e.g.  Edinburgh.  You are welcome to re-spell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you can’t cope with correct pronunciation.Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels.  Look up “vocabulary.”  Using the same thirty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as “uhh”, “like”, and “you know” is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.

    Look up “interspersed.”

    There will be no more ‘bleeps’ in the Jerry Springer show.  If you’re not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn’t have chat shows.  When you learn to develop your vocabulary, then you won’t have to use bad language as often.

  2. There is no such thing as “US English.”  We will let Microsoft know on your behalf.  The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of “-ize.”
  3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents.  It really isn’t that hard.  English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier).You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents — Scottish dramas such as “Taggart” will no longer be broadcast with subtitles.While we’re talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England.  The name of the county is “Devon.”  If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American States will become “shires” e.g.  Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.
  4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as the good guys.  Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters.British sit-coms such as “Men Behaving Badly” or “Red Dwarf” will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can’t cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness.  Popular British films such as the Italian Job and the Wicker Man should never be remade.
  5. You should relearn your original national anthem, “God Save The Queen”, but only after fully carrying out task 1.  We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through.
  6. You should stop playing American “football.”  There are other types of football such as Rugby, Aussie Rules & Gaelic football.  However proper football — which will no longer be known as soccer, is the best known, most loved and most popular.  What you refer to as American “football” is not a very good game.The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays “American” football.  You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football.Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls.  It is a difficult game.  Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American “football”, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies).We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2008.You should stop playing baseball.  It is not reasonable to host an event called the ‘World Series’ for a game which is not played outside of North America.  Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable.  Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls’ game called “rounders,” which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.
  7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns.  You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler.  Because we don’t believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
  8. The 4th of July is no longer a public holiday.  The 2nd of November will be a new national holiday, but only in Britain.  It will be called “Indecisive Day.”
  9. All American cars are hereby banned.  They are crap, and it is for your own good.  When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean.All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts.  You will start driving on the left with immediate effect.  At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables.  Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
  10. You will learn to make real chips.  Those things you call ‘French fries’ are not real chips.  Fries aren’t even French; they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium.  Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called “crisps.”  Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat.  The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat.Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.
  11. As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.
  12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling “beer” is not actually beer at all, it is lager.  From November 1st only proper British Bitter will be referred to as “beer,” and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as “Lager.”  The substances formerly known as “American Beer” will henceforth be referred to as “Near-Frozen Gnat’s Urine,” with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as “Weak Near-Frozen Gnat’s Urine.”  This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in the Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.
  13. From the 10th of November the UK will harmonise petrol (or “gasoline,” as you will be permitted to keep calling it until the 1st of April) prices with the former USA.  The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon — get used to it).
  14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists.  The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent.  Guns should only be handled by adults.  If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist, then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun.
  15. Please tell us who killed JFK.  It’s been driving us crazy.
  16. Tax collectors from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).

Thank you for your co-operation.

DECLARATION OF ANNEXING THE BRITISH ISLES AS PART OF THE USA

To the imperialist British colonizers.

In the light of your indecision over joining a common European Currency, your dissatisfaction with the European Union, your bickering with European Governments and the fact that you already almost speak our language and refuse to speak any other European languages, you are to be annexed as a State of America.  Your state code will be GB.  Zip codes will be assigned to replace your old postal districts.  The state capital will be Stratford-upon-Avon which is a lot prettier than London.  Princess Diana will be declared a saint.  You have already assimilated so much American culture that you are unlikely to notice the transition.  To aid in the assimilation, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

  1. Look up “aluminum” in any good American Dictionary.  Check the spelling and pronunciation guide.  We discovered it, we named it, you are mispronouncing it.  Learn to live with it.  You are, of course welcome to your idiosyncratic and illogical place-names such as Edinburgh, if you wanted it pronounced ‘Eddinburra’ you have spelled it that way in the first place.  You will quit using words such as “fortnight”.  The correct term is “a two week period”.  You will learn words such as “credenza”, “intern” and “chad”.
  2. There is no such thing as “UK English”.  UK English is the relic of a defunct colonialist power which attempted to impose British English linguistic superiority on a nation which has a higher number of English speakers.
  3. Your film-makers should learn to distinguish the American and Canadian accents.  American accents are not limited to redneck drawls or New York accents.  Mainland Americans have more than enough accents to cope with in our own country, so all British dramas will now bear subtitles, especially those made in impenetrable dialects such as Scottish, Scouse or Geordie.  To make life easier for mainland America, all British films and TV programs must use American vocabulary and accents; Scotch characters will wear plaid, Irish characters will have shamrocks on them, Welsh characters will not be used since we don’t have Welsh Americans, and English characters will wear bowler hats and pinstripes.
  4. The British film industry will no longer portray all Americans as cowboys, rednecks, trailer trash or Beverly Hills billionaires.  Hollywood will continue to use “Mockney” and “Posh” British accents as this makes it easier for viewers to identify which characters are British.  You can have Hugh Grant back.  He’s a lousy actor and we don’t want him either.  All British films will be made in Hollywood where the weather and scenery are better.  Your film industry is already unable to make a halfway-decent film which doesn’t contain a American in the starring role.  All American characters should be ‘good guys’.
  5. You will learn your new national anthem “The Star Spangled Banner”.  It shall be sung every morning at kindergarten, high school, university and your places of work.  Your Union Flag will be hung up any damn way we wish so stop bitching about it being upside down.  If there was meant to be a right way up you should have made it simpler.  All Union flags will be replaced by the Stars and Stripes over a 12 month period of time.
  6. You should stop playing soccer and rugby.  There is no need to have two games, one of which is confusingly like Football and one of which is called football but patently isn’t real football.  If it doesn’t require 45 pounds of padding, it isn’t football.  You should also stop playing cricket.  Americans can’t understand the rules.  If you insist on playing this game which is only played by former British colonies, you will introduce a simplified scoring system, timeouts, colored strips and cheerleaders to make it more interesting.  Any match which takes longer than 90 minutes will be declared a draw.
  7. In films, as in real life, we decide who the bad guys are.  The bad guys are those guys who don’t do as we tell them.  They are also the guys who attract the biggest audiences into movie theaters.  You will cease using the word “cinema”.  They are “movie theaters”.  The snippets of forthcoming films are not “trailers” they are “teasers”.
  8. November 5th is no longer a day for fireworks.  July 4th is the appropriate fireworks festival.  If you want a big fireworks party on November 5th, we will help you to blow up your Houses of Parliament.  You won’t be needing them any longer; Disneyland London will be situated there.  Hunting with packs of dogs is also banned.  Instead, you will go hunting with a pick-up truck, some six-packs of beer, two coonhounds and enough guns and ammo to equip a private militia.  There is also no such activity as “caravanning”.  It is properly called “camping”.  The thing boy scouts do with tents and bedrolls is called “tenting”.
  9. Roundabouts will be banned.  What is the point of turning left in order to turn right? They are confusing to Americans and are death traps.  You will start driving on the right with immediate effect.  Most of the world drives on the right already.  You will be allowed to turn right on a red light if safe to do so though you must check local county legislation as this is not permitted in all areas.
  10. Those things which you call chips are cholesterol-soaked abominations.  You will start to eat fries — light fluffy potato in crisp coating.  If you want to eat British-style fried potato sticks you will need a certificate from your doctor and good medical insurance.  Beer is to be served cold.  The warm, flat drink you call beer is properly termed ‘ale’ and the FDA have determined it to be unfit for human consumption.  You will also learn the difference between crackers, cookies and biscuits to avoid causing unnecessary confusion to mainland Americans.
  11. All inter-personal communications between family members, even if resident in the same house, must be through a lawyer.  It is compulsory to sue somebody at least once per year — be inventive.  It is compulsory to have therapy three times each week and to recover false memories of your childhood which allow you to sue your parents and/or your therapist.  Therapy will take the place of speaking to family members.  You will be given compulsory courses on how to become dysfunctional.  Name your children after interesting medical conditions.
  12. You will not have guns.  In the eyes of Mainland Americans you are wayward children.  Children are not permitted to play with firearms unless they have a legitimate reason to do so i.e.  they plan to gun down the population of a small town (self-defense) or slaughter every living creature within a mile radius (hunting).

Thank you for your co-operation.  You will be assimilated.

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 6.

DmentD1 Comment

Ok, double entry (heh heh) this time because I’ve been such a slacker.

Have been distracted by a number of things.  First and foremost, DmentD.com moved to a new server and needed a little ironing out before the full switch-over happened.

Second, and I think more importantly, the addition of a proper GALLERY to my arsenal of tools to bore the hell out of you all.  I’m going to be migrating the Cake Gallery over to there, and include more pictures of the various cakes as well.  I’ll also be migrating the Ghosts of Halloween Past as well.  Since it is so damned easy to add things to the gallery now, rather than having to write a new page for each event, I can actually catch up on all the missing years of Halloween.  Also I can add pictures for things I think you peeps would like to see.  If you register an account for the gallery (and I reserve the right to refuse anyone an account, I am restricting it to folks I actually know and keeping the random strangers off my lawn), you’ll be able to add comments to pictures, and that is the icing on the cake, so to speak… hearing the reactions from you chuckleheads.

So, having rationalized my recent silence, on with the post.

Journal Entry — September 17th: Finally and at Last!

The rest of the trip into Aberystwyth was uneventful — made all my connections, all trains were on time (a miracle if ever there was one, according to my hosts), and the scenery was wonderful.  I’m quite sure I was pegged as a non-European instantly, just from the features of my face, and I’m able to start to see some trends in the faces of the English and Welsh (can’t really describe it, just sorta’ can).

Was met at the station by Sweets, and never have I seen a more wonderful sight!

Had a brisk walk from the train station back to the house, made to feel even longer due to the fact that I was towing a large suitcase — with an even larger box strapped to it — behind me.  As prepared as I thought I was for cars to be traveling on the other side of the road, it still caught me off guard, and even now I still look the wrong way when crossing the street.

Made it back to the house, and let me just say that it is a universal thing for a house to look like a war zone when owned by two young men, specifically the two guys that Sweets rents a room from.  I knew this style of “house decoration” from years and years of knowing GonzO, Phreeq, and their brood — a sort of post-modern junkyard.  That’s perfectly fine.  Dropped off the luggage, spent some time reuniting, and relaxed until everyone came home.

I met Bob, who had been staying at the house for a bit.  Andrew, Phil & Meg came home one by one, we had a round of introductions, and then opened the box of fun that I brought with me.  Had a good time watching everyone open their gifts and playing with them.  We had dinner, and watched a little TV (that I was trying very hard not to fall asleep during — and failing miserably), then Sweets and I made our way to bed.

Journal Entry — September 18th: The Burgeoning Tourist

Had a nice lie-in, then Sweets and I took off.  After a pleasant walk into town — about 20 minutes to get pretty much anywhere by foot — we sat down to have some breakfast for lunch (a full English breakfast to be specific… two eggs, two sausages, bacon rasher, baked beans, mushrooms and toast — a meal to do a Southern boy proud).  After breakfast we walked to the Aberystwyth Castle ruins and I went into full tourist mode, taking pictures and gawking at everything.

We moved on from the castle and walked along the seafront for a bit and stopped in some shops where I bought some real coffee from a surprisingly ‘coffee-snobbish’ shop, for later in the week.  Instant coffee seems to be the standard ’round these parts as (ta-da! a stereotype comes true!) tea is the hot drink of choice.  I also picked up a metric ass-ton of postcards to send back home.

Went to a little coffee shop, and I had my own little cafetière (aka French press) of coffee, and we relaxed for a bit, chatting.  Had my first opportunity to spend my newly exchanged English money.  The bills are easy enough to sort out, but the coins still give me fits, except for the pound.

Walked home an visited with everyone for a bit then hitched a ride with Phil & Meg to a nice Indian restaurant in town.  Apparently “doggie bags” are not as universally common as I had previously assumed, as I got funny looks when I asked for a container to take my leftovers home — this was confirmed by Sweets, as she was a little surprised when she was here that we were pretty much asked at every restaurant if we wanted a box or container for our leftovers.

We had a nice walk home (lots of walking in this trip), and relaxed with a little TV before heading to bed.

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 5.

DmentD1 Comment

Journal Entry — September 17th: Touching Down Across the Atlantic

Holy crap!  I am never taking a long flight in anything other than business class ever again!  The seats were luxurious recliners, the food was awesome, the booze was free (had port wine and brie), and the service was top notch.  Lots of leg room as well.  Talk about being pampered.

The flight was smooth and uneventful.  I napped on and off for the last three hours (watched Fantastic 4 II and Hot Fuzz earlier).  The landing was fine and we disembarked onto the wet tarmac, and onto a bus in the wee hours of the morning.  Sailed through customs, was shocked that my box actually made it with me and was waiting for me at baggage claim.

Hoofed it to the train station, bought my tickets and here I sit.  On a train.  In England.  On my way to see my girl.

I’m so excited that I just want to dance and shout!

It’s raining and the countryside is gorgeous.  Instead of enjoying it, I’m sitting here writing in a stinking journal!  I’m stopping now so I can sit back and enjoy the view.

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 4.

DmentD2 Comments

Journal Entry — September 16th: Welcome to Hell v2.0!  “Now with 200% more lying assholes!”

Guess what?! Screwed again! Our plane developed “mechanical failures” right at the last minute.  We sat around while they tried their hand at repairs, then at procuring another plane, then it turns out ours was the best of the four available, so they had another go at fixing it.  Lots of ladders under engines and people climbing about.  I was surrounded by a sea of politely angry English folk, and had some good conversations while we all waited to learn our fate.


The broke-ass plane as seen
from the terminal.

We were pushed back from 8:25pm to 10:00pm to 1:00am.  We had till 2:00am before the pilots were going to leave.  The whole while we’re watching the ground crew scurry about like rabid little gnomes in orange vests… consulting their radios, their co-workers, even a thick sheaf of paperwork (schematics, I assume).  We were told it was a broken relay that controlled the reverse air thrusters on one engine (basically, the “air brake”).  I kept snapping out comments that were making the others giggle (“Hey, I think I just saw them pry a fried squirrel off of some wiring in the engine, that must be our problem.“) — and they were all thinking snarky thoughts, but were entirely too properly English to be rude and voice them… enter me, the big mouthed, frustrated American.  That’s me… Voice of the People.

At 1:00am they canceled the flight, and that’s when chaos erupted.  Hollering, pushing, shoving, cutting in line, torches, pitchforks, and burning the ground crew in effigy!  After much hullabaloo, they created a whole new flight just for us the next day, re-booked everyone, and issued hotel and meal vouchers, and sent us on our way.  It’s a sad thing that I was expecting this, and was — surprisingly — not near as distraught over the cancellation of another flight.  Pissed off, yes, but calm enough this time around to keep my head and do what needed to be done to ensure that I had a flight to be on the next day, and a place to get some rest for the night.  It’s a stupid thing to have to get used to.

More line waiting at the Holiday Inn (the hotel voucher I was issued), then an evening of sleep.  Woke up, checked out at 11:00am and went back to the airport.  Had a meal (for free), got a huge coffee (for free), then went and parked my ass at the gate and waited for the next disaster.

About an hour before the flight, they changed the gates and we had to hoof it all the way across the terminal to make the new one.  The silver lining: good weather, a plane that works and we were able to board!

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 3.

DmentD

Ok, I’ve been lazy, but I think I have two valid excuses to explain why I have been lax in fulfilling the never made — and therefore never honored — promise to post within certain time constraints.

First: Halloween.  This is the first year in many that I’ve been able to actually build things and participate in party plans.  My time was deliciously spent covered in sawdust, glue and paint.  Consider yourselves lucky to get that previous post on the 18th.

Second: Guitar Hero III.  Holy crap, this game is fun!  I’ve been fantastically absorbed in it, and trying to work past playing the (fake guitar) controller like a monkey with 6 thumbs trying to peel a banana.  I finally beat the easy level, and now I move on the medium.  I played the first song — which on easy is now a mere finger warm-up exercise — and I felt like three of my fingers were removed and I was scrambling around trying to hit the fret buttons with the remaining digits.  Still, it’s great fun.  Basically DDR for your fingers.  For a lively example of the game, HERE’S a video of a player in “expert mode”, playing the final guitar battle against Lou, the last boss.  Bear in mind, he’s also doing this while throwing, and having thrown at him, powerups that cause strange things to happen to the guitar (cut strings, amp overloads, reversed strings, etc).

So without further ado…

Journal Entry — September 15th: Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop.

Got seven hours of sleep in a cool, clammy room on pancake flat pillows — but it was better than sleeping at the airport.  Woke, shaved, showered and checked out.  Hopped on the shuttle and made it to the airport by 11:30am.

Stood in the international check-in line for about 45 minutes, even though I already had my boarding pass from last night.  I wanted to check on the status of my flight, and the status of the box I checked on.  The flight is still on time and the box is here at the airport waiting to be transferred to this flight.  I was told to check on it again at the gate about 6pm to make sure it is still on track.

I was also told I could go wait in the business class traveler’s lounge in terminal “E”.  Apparently I hadn’t noticed that the friendly, magical ticket fairies that helped me last night bumped me up to business class.  At least I’ll be a little more comfortable on this flight.  I swear they must have been fairies, at Babba Yagga’s ticket booth!  It was in the middle of nowhere, with no gate in sight!  That booth must grow legs and move around randomly.  Jeebus bless the magical ticket folk at the Atlanta airport!

So, after hunting down some proper food I go to the lounge, only to be turned away because I didn’t actually pay for my business class ticket.  Snobs! So, I got a large coffee and took the train back to “T” and to my gate so I can plant my butt in a seat and wait with the rest of the lowly commoners.

At 6pm I’m gonna check on the status of my plane and the box.  Been IM-ing with Sweets, talking to my mom, and making a short blog post from my phone — gotta love modern technology!

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 2.

DmentD3 Comments

Journal Entry — September 14th: Welcome to Hell

Let’s see, where to start?  Well, due to severe weather in Atlanta, the airport there was on full “ground stop” for two hours.  No air traffic in or out.  So, we sat and grew moss in the Austin airport.  Talked to the folks at the counter and was given bad news.  International flights are given priority, and more than likely because the plane I was due to get on was running late too, they were going to dust off another one from the hangar to get the Manchester flight out on time.  Joy.

Took off from Austin 2+ hours late, had an uneventful flight, but we ended up sitting on the tarmac, mouldering.  Apparently the plane at the gate we were going to had mechanical problems.  Forty-five minutes later, we finally pull in.

Coming off the plane I emerge into chaos.  People everywhere!  Went to the nearest check-in counter and asked what my options were.  Obviously the lady there wasn’t all too bright and she scared the hell out of me with her ill informed research.  She directed me to the main check-in counter for the terminal.  Arriving there I found myself in a line of hundreds.  Not long after I got there, some other employee came along and started pulling international travelers out of line and directing them to a different terminal desk.  A terminal so far away I had to get there by train.  By train.  Big damned airport.

Getting to the “E” terminal (from “B”) I find myself in a line of thousands.  THOUSANDS!! Jeebus, what am I in for?  I’m hungry, I gotta piss real bad, and I can’t leave the line or I lose my spot.  Twenty minutes later, an airline employee comes to us at the end of the line and says there are no flights leaving for Europe till tomorrow, and the wait from our point in line is estimated at three hours long.  She advised that we should go to “T” terminal (all the way at the other end of this monster airport) and talk to the folks at their master check-in counters in the ticketing area, that it’ll take much less time.

I bolt for the escalator — you don’t have to tell me twice — and make the train ahead of the throng.  Taking the train to “T” I notice the terminal map indicates that ticketing is by the baggage area, which is the next (and last) stop after “T”.  I go there, bolt up the escalator and see a big sign that says “Leaving Secure Area, No Re-Entry”.  Crap.  Can’t have that happen.

I decide to hoof it back to “T”, and a few escalators and an elevator later… I’m lost.  I eventually ask an someone that looks official (man, finding employees is a challenge) where to go, and strike out in the direction they indicate.

I come across a lone, lonely, and more importantly, free of passengers check-in counter.  They give me two options — a direct flight at the same time tomorrow as my flight was tonight, or a 5:30pm flight out of JFK airport.  I opt for the direct flight and fewer opportunities to miss another connecting flight.  I’m pissed, I’m hungry, my blood sugar is low and I feel like crap.

Now I have to find someplace to stay, and I’m worried that with all the grounded passengers, there will be no rooms available.  I make a few calls and find a room at a Quality Inn (truly and oxymoron) five minutes from the airport.  I jump on the shuttle and book my room.  The only food is pizza delivery… so I make an order.  The last time I ate was at 11:00am and that was over twelve hours ago.  I devour a crap pizza and feel better almost instantly.  Now here I sit, writing this.

Checkout is at 11:00am, so I’m gonna’ go to the airport way, WAY early.  I can get food there and I can take my time clearing security and getting to the gate.  I’m gonna have to buy new train tickets in Manchester and I don’t want Sweets to have to go out of pocket for hers.  This sucks, now not only is everything more complicated, but I’m losing a whole damned day with her.  I can only hope that the flight home is somewhat smooth, or I’m fucked again.

Time to get some sleep… I’m wiped out.

Aberystwyth Bound — Part 1.

DmentD8 Comments

Ok kiddies, gather ’round.  Here begins the tale of my trip to Wales, as written in my travel journal and transcribed here, on the blog.  As a guideline, I will do this on a journal-day-per-blog-entry basis, except where either the entry was very short — in which case I will combine a few together — or very long — in which case I will break it up.  Logical, innit?

In this first case, there was a large span of time, about 12 hours, between entries, and the events of which made it feel like a week or more.  So, I broke it up.

Here we go.

Journal Entry — September 14th: Departure

Sitting in the Austin airport, having fast-tracked (surprisingly) through check-in, sailed through security and procured a seat at my gate (#6).  I’m way the hell early, I have upwards of 2½ hours before my flight takes off.  I’m texting last minute details to Pandora, Lady and GonzO, IM-ing with Sweets and trying not to let my rampant imagination run off and think about all the horrible things that can happen to the human body when a plane crashes.

I was going to resume reading my book, but then I remembered this fantastic travel journal that Pandora just gave me.  So, here I write.

The airport is shockingly quiet and empty… I think everyone is at ACL.  There are constant announcements overhead that are so distorted that they may as well not even bother.  All the other waiting passengers seem to be business folk — laptops and Blackberries at the ready — typing, talking and taking space.  Every so often a dried-up biker chick will walk past, all tattoos, big hair, jeans and heels, looking for all the world like she was rid hard and put up wet.

I’m traveling to Wales to see Sweets.  I’m swallowing my inherent distrust of man-made things with potential to kill me (i.e. airplanes) and making this trip — likely the first of many depending on what the future holds.  In a year she may be living with me and going to TCA for more culinary training.  We’ll be playing house full-time and that will be the true test to see if we can tolerate living in the same space together.

Sweets is young but very mature.  I’m older and immature — a late bloomer in the grand scheme of things.  We meet somewhere in the middle, thankfully.  We have a lot in common, but a tremendous amount of differences.  The cultural divide is huge, but oddly serves to fuel our fascination with each other.  She bakes, likes to read (a lot!) and is a gentle spirit.  She’s a geek-girl and very feminine without being too “girly” — she has just a touch of tomboy in her.  She embodies many of the things I value in a girl, especially one I want to be close to.

And she’s nuts about me.

I’m as shocked as anyone!  I have to say, I’m equally crazy about her.

Gonna stop writing, my forearm is sore… I’m out of practice.

Pass The Port.

DmentD3 Comments

My girly-girl made it safe and sound to South Africa, and by all accounts is having a wonderful time.  I imagine it’s a bit of sensory overload, but hopefully she’ll be able to absorb enough to have memories she can relish for a good long time.

So, during my recent trip to Wales I kept a travel journal (provided to me on the trip to the airport by Pandora… thank you my dear!).  Every day or so I’d write in it, or more as I was stuck in airports and had nothing better to do anyway.  I’m going to transcribe the entries to the blog, on an journal-day-per-blog-entry basis, and include pictures and such to accompany them as well.  This will allow me to tell the tale of the trip to anyone interested in hearing it all in one, consistent go.

I have my thoughts as I had them at the time all nicely written down when they were fresh, and I don’t have to rely on my (famously) poor memory to recreate them.  I have an exceptionally visual memory, and I find that I do a very unsatisfactory job of trying to recall and relay experiences to folks verbally.  If only people could climb into my head and watch the movie my memory projects onto the back of my skull, then they’d see what I see.

At any rate, the tale of my journey wouldn’t be complete without the inclusion of the Terror of the Passport story, and that’s as good a place to start as any.

** WARNING — This is a very long post.  I’m not going to bother breaking it up into multiple entries so read it at your own pace, skim it, skip it… your choice.

So May 1st I went to apply for a passport.  The U.S. Department of State Bureau of Consular Affairs stated that due to increased volume, it would take 10-12 weeks for standard passport processing, and 6-8 weeks for expedited.  No problem.  My girl hadn’t made her first trip here yet (it was planned, but hadn’t come to pass), and I didn’t have a date for my journey, but knew that I should get things in the works because at some point I was going to go visit her.  I didn’t bother with expediting and went with the standard (why pay the extra $60 when you don’t have to?).  I downloaded, printed and completed the passport application, went to the main post office downtown, had them take my picture — a really good idea as they make sure it conforms to the U.S. DoS requirements, and only cost $15 — handed over my birth certificate, the forms, and a money order for $97 and walked out whistling a happy tune.

Not long after I finally picked a travel date, September 14th, and determined that it was 20 weeks from when I applied… plenty of time for them to process my passport.  Time passed, as it is wont to do, and about the 10 week mark I checked on-line, and the status was listed as “processing”.  Fine.  I also provided my email address so I could get status reports as things changed.

Time continued to pass.  Once I was well past 12 weeks I checked on-line again, and was still listed as “processing”.  I sent a formal inquiry to them through the website, and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.

Round ’bout the 16th week, I get an email saying

“Thank you for submitting your passport application!  It is currently being processed.  You should receive your passport within 10-12 weeks from the date you applied.  If you are travelling within 2 weeks and have not received your passport and have further questions about the status of your application, you may contact the National Passport Information Center.”

Wait.  We’re now at 16 weeks since I applied, and you’re just now processing my passport, and somewhat suggesting that the 10-12 week counter starts now.  And you’re telling me not to bother contacting you until I am 2 weeks from traveling (which was backed up by info on their site).  Great.

So I spend the next two weeks growing increasingly nervous.  At the 15-days-till-departure mark I call the NPIC.  I’m told by a very friendly lady (surprising for a government agency) that yes, my application is being processed (in New Hampshire), but that there was a problem with my proof of identification and that a letter was mailed out the day before requesting more proof from me… 5 pieces specifically.  I asked what was acceptable and was given a veritable laundry-list of things, all of which I could provide with the exception of a military ID.  I expressed concern that by the time I received the letter and turned around and sent them the info they required, that there wouldn’t be enough time for them to finish processing my application before I had to depart.  I asked if I could go to the Houston passport agency (1 of 14 in the country) and submit my proof of ID.  She said yes, that Houston could take over the application and finish it there, but that in all likelihood that I would be starting a new application and I had better go prepared with new pictures and everything.  I would have to make an appointment (via and automated phone line) because the agencies do not take walk-ins.

Surprisingly I was able to make an appointment for Friday (8:30 the following morning — was expecting it to be the following week at the earliest).  Woke up at stupid-o-clock in the morning and drove into Houston.  I parked and made my way through the metal detectors right at 8am.  After apparently stealthily tromping past the armed guards, into the elevator and up to the 4th floor, I found out that I had to wait downstairs, and to ask one of the alert fellows with guns specifically where.

Was shown to a room that contained about 50 other folks who lucked into the same appointment time (silly me, thinking that time was mine alone).  Scanning the room, I decided to sit in that one seat left in the first row.  After a half an hour of people slowly trickling in, and me wondering if I was going to actually see a human being any time before the afternoon, a guard poked his head in and told us that he was going to start leading folks up an elevator-full at a time, and would the first row kindly follow him.  Ha!  I just moved up from 50th in line to 8th (sometimes it pays off to sit in the front of the class)!  Upon entering the elevator, I slipped immediately to the side near the door and let the remainder of the people fill in the back of the car.  That little tactic pushed me to 3rd in line when we exited.

When it was my turn I stepped up and told my tale.  As I was talking, I could see the lady becoming more confused.  When I told her that the folks on the phone said they could just take over my application, she excused herself to go talk to someone about that.  Fantastic.  That was going to be my death knell, asking a government agency to do something outside of their normal parameters.  We’ve all been to the DMV, and know that even smiling at them is taken as some sort of an act of aggression, but asking them for something special was grounds to be attacked.  This was the Fed, and sure as shit they were going to send me packing.  She returned, handed me a printed “now serving” style number and was told that they could help me.  Really?!  Color me impressed.

My number was B166.  The digital board showed that they were serving A001.  Um, was I now behind 1165 other people, or was this a special numbering sequence for troublemakers like me?  About 45 minutes later I was called to a special window, the wonderfully nice lady there listened to me patiently, and laid out what she was going to do.  No, they weren’t going to take over or start a new application for me… I was already in the system with New Hampshire, and it would be faster just to resolve the issues at hand.  She took all of the 20 or so forms of ID I brought with me, photocopied them all, put her little rubber-stamp on them and signed it.  She said she was going to overnight that paperwork to them, to arrive on Tuesday since Monday was Labor Day.  It would be coming from their agency, so would be all official and such.  I filled out a FedEx overnight shipping tag that she could send along with it so they could expedite the passport to me on my own dime.  I asked if she had done everything from her side that could be done, and if I had done the same from my side.  Yes we respectively did, and there was nothing more to do but wait and check back every few days or so.

I left feeling positive.  I was in a good mood.  I even got to work in time to only lose half a day.  Checking my mail that evening, I notice that the letter from New Hampshire had arrived!  Ha!  I beat it to the punch… but upon reading it my heart sank.  Not only did they want a boatload of ID, but there was a 5 page “supplemental worksheet” they wanted me to fill out and return with the ID.  Crap.  The absence of the worksheet was a sure-fire way for them to delay my passport even further.  I scrambled to provide all the info they wanted: a complete work history, a complete education history, a complete list of every place I ever lived and a complete list of my immediate family with birthdates and the cities they were born in.  They even wanted my baptismal information.  Damn, I didn’t remember half of this crap.

Many calls and a stress filled evening later I had it all completed.  The next morning I schlepped myself down to FedEx and overnighted the worksheet, a duplicate copy of all the ID I provided in Houston, another FedEx overnight return tag, and a polite letter explaining everything again and begging them to please hurry the fuck up.  With any luck, they should get both FedEx packets at the same time.  I called the NPIC hotline and told them what I had done as well, and gave them the tracking number for the packet I just sent.  I was now just shy of 2 weeks from departure, with no passport — 18 weeks after I started this whole mess.

A few calls the following week let me know that they started re-processing the application on Wednesday, and the folks at the NPIC hotline fired off an “urgent” email to New Hampshire agency reminding them that my departure date was a little over a week away.  Come Monday, five days before I departed I called again to check the status.  The lady on the phone was phrasing things in a manner that hinted that she could see what the current status of my app was, and when pressed, she said she could not provide me with that info.  I asked her for an off-the-record forecast of my chances of getting my passport before I was supposed to leave on Friday — “not so good” was her reply.  Wonderful.  She suggested I go to the Houston agency and have them start the process over again.  I told her that not only did I take time off work to attempt that, but that they shot that plan down in favor of what they did.  I thanked her and hung up.

I called the airline and asked what my options were.  I had until 24 hours before my departure to reschedule my flight (at the low, low cost of an additional $200) or lose the tickets altogether.  That didn’t leave me much time to just sit and wait to see if the passport showed up.

Despondent, I talked to my girl and we came up with another date.  Unfortunately, it had to be in November as she was going to be gone all of October.  It would have been near five months since I saw her last at that point.  This was going to suck.

Eating lunch later that day I decided to do a little homework on the web.  I’d read lots of news reports in the last few months about how people were getting all pissed off about the exorbitant delays with passports, so I figured that people were mouthing off about how they got a few days from leaving and still didn’t have theirs, and maybe there were some clever solutions they came up with.

Bingo.  I hit pay dirt.

Consistently, folks were having success with two avenues when it came down to the wire: The U.S. Consular Task Force Watchdog Group and their local Congressman (and they provided the contact info I needed for the watchdog group).  The DoS’s Bureau of Consular Affairs is the agency that oversees all things passport.  The watchdog group are the folks who respond to abuses and neglect within the passport system.  I called them first and, again, told my story of woe.  The nice gentleman on the phone seemed gruff, but sympathetic, he took my information and vowed to see that something was done about it, and I might get a call the next day.  I then phoned the Congressman’s office, and was quite surprised to learn that they have staffers for this and other issues (like tax stuff) that would act on my behalf and light a fire under the Fed.  I needed only fill out a release of information form (to give them legal right to be my agent in this, and to provide all the details about my case) and fax it to them.  I did.

Literally an hour later I receive a phone call from the NPIC, with a chipper and very very polite woman on the other end.  She called to inform me that my application was complete, and that they would be shipping my passport out the next day via FedEx overnight, and I should receive it no later than Wednesday morning.

*blink*
*blink*

One of the two contacts I just made got a hold of the NPIC and jammed a size 13 boot clear up their ass so far they could taste shoe leather.  Jeebus!  If I’d have known that, I’d have called them a week ago and saved myself a lot of stress.

As it turns out, they got my passport to FedEx that day, and I had it in my hot little hands on Tuesday.

The first moral of my story is this: If you don’t have a passport, go and apply for it now.  NOW!! It costs about $112 (including the photo from the post office).  They are good for ten years, and you might just decide that you want to take a trip out of the country.  You need them now even to go to-and-fro from Mexico and Canada — and that is the exact reason for all the slow-downs… literally 10x the normal number of applications have been filed this year.  Also, they are the best form of ID, even more so than your driver’s license (a passport is a Fed issued ID, your license is a state issued ID, and the passport is much harder to get and more accepted).  If you had a passport and it’s expired, or about to, renew it now.  NOW!! See above.

The second moral of this story is: No matter how polite the NPIC people are — and trust me, every single person I talked to was friendly, intelligent sounding, compassionate, and oozed an aura of urgent helpfulness — they are lying to you through their teeth.  They are anesthetizing your sense of outrage at being bent over and sodomized dry by the system.  They are not your pals, so work the system to your advantage.  Make the calls and climb over their heads as much and as frequently as you can.  Here are the contacts you might eventually need:

National Passport Information Center: (877) 487-2778
U.S. Consular Task Force Watchdog Group: (202) 647-7948

Just check the web for whoever your local Congressman is, and call his office and talk to the helpful people there.  This is the one time I can happily say “this is your tax dollars at work”.  I suspect that they made the call that lit the fire and got me my passport, but hell, call everyone and let them race to see who helps you first.

This is the end of my long-winded story.

**MESSAGE ENDS**