Pining

An ongoing "discussion" throughout Hannah and my marriage has been about Christmas trees.  It's not that I'm against them per se, or the unsustainable environmental damage cutting a tree down to put in your house causes, or the ridiculous prices people charge for something that is, essentially, already dead, or the wanton, ephemeral consumerism that - yet again - obscures the true meaning of Christmas (mince pies).

It's mainly about the mess.  The last time we had a tree it sat by the side of our house in Durham until June, blocking the drain with its needles (those that hadn't been left scattered around the house), a six-foot skeletal twig until we...actually I can't remember what we did with it.  Maybe it's still there; apologies to the people we sold the house to.

On moving to California I decided to set the example.  An artificial tree was the way to go, one bought from a charity shop, no less, and so I triumphantly returned home with one that was 50% off in Salvation Army.  It was 7.5ft tall, but on unboxing was missing the top 1.5ft.  Who does that?  Luckily I found a much better one the next year, although Hannah continued to complain about the lack of smell (pine air freshener?)

Now, after weeks of grinding me down in charming Chinese-water-torture fashion, Hannah has a real tree. "I'll sort it all out," she said, and while it would have been fun to watch a six-and-a-half-month pregnant woman schlep a tree around I thought I should help.  We travelled to three different tree places.  "I can't believe these are so expensive!  I thought this was a good idea and now I think it's stupid," Hannah fumed, two hours later, in something not dissimilar to a tantrum.

Anyway, a week later we finally have a tree, from 'Trees 4 Less' in an abandoned lot in Pleasant Hill, obviously a front for something far more sinister.  We tied it to the top of a borrowed car in a manner that made the tree seller ask: "You're not planning to go on the freeway, are you?"  Ha!  We got home in one piece and the whole flat now smells of pine air freshener.  But if I find one needle left in this place after the tree has gone (roadside recycling collection on 7th Jan) then we are NEVER having a real tree again.  And what embodies the Christmas spirit more than another meaningless family ultimatum?

A fine selection.  Which forest did you steal them from?

It's all about the smell, Hannah says.  The smell of a planet dying!

Misusing Shauli and Anat's car.

It's the happy, expectant faces of the innocent that makes Christmas worthwhile.

After you're done with that you'd better be making my mince pies.

The finished article.  Looks...ok.

My first tree from all those years ago.  I can't tell the difference.

Replicant baby

I didn't have a doll growing up.  A shocking admission for a modern NorCal metrosexual man like myself, I know, but this was during the 70s when everything was beige rather than the rainbow sparkles of today.  I was more of a Lego child.  I did once use my sister's dolls as crash test dummies which, I'm told in the book I'm reading about raising boys, is completely normal.

Hannah had a doll, of course.  She and her sister each received one at the same time, and named them after themselves.  I'm still trying to judge exactly how unhealthy that is.  Anyway, dolly spent many years in storage, was transported to California with all our other stuff, and has been in storage here since.  I imagine the inside of a box looks the same in Durham as in Walnut Creek.

But recently: emancipation!  With the need to practice baby-based skills (all our foster kids could do stuff like swear and set fire to things on their own - it's unfair to expect the same from a newborn) dolly was removed from cardboard incarceration and put to work.

Given that it's a toy made from cloth and plastic, Hannah got surprisingly upset when I carried it around by one foot, or passed it like a rugby ball.  I was impressed by Hannah's level of concern for something that even roughly resembles a baby...until I took off dolly's babygrow and found a nappy that had been there since the 80s.  Thirty years without a nappy change!  There's a call to social services right there.  Also, regarding all that information about how disposable nappies do not decompose - it's true.

Dolly has been put to good use trying out a baby carrier I found in a thrift store, helping to size up cloth "diapers", and giving swaddling practice, although she is a bit feisty and doesn't like having her arms by her sides.  I can't fault her behaviour, though, and I was moved to put her clothes through the wash; they were probably last cleaned when the nappy was put on.

She's now sleeping snug and warm, rocked in my arms as I apply Happiest Baby techniques to try to stop her crying.  Seems to be working.  Who's a good little girl?  Who is?  That's right, you are!  That's right!

A top-of-the-range Baby Bjorn Active with lumbar support!  Only the best for my baby ($14 from local charity shop).

Sleeping soundly, due to my expert swaddling techniques.  This baby is going nowhere!



She didn't even wake up during a diaper change!  Parenting is easy.

Drifting west

One of the things this part of the world doesn't have at Christmas is snow.  How I miss those gentle flakes drifting down in Durham, turning a seven minute drive into a two hour ordeal, turning quickly grey and then disappearing into a sludgy stream.  Other people around here miss it too, which is why 10 tons of the white stuff arrived in Berkeley for a "Snow Day".

How much is 10 tons?  Well, it seemed to translate into a 10 by 15 foot square which was swiftly compacted by twenty thousand children.  As this was a Berkeley event an atmosphere of anarchic disorganisation pervaded - seriously, the chaos was breathtaking.  We escaped to look around some local trader stalls, where an "elf" (a clown wearing an elf hat) was making balloon animals, and where the Snow Queen (wasn't she a baddie?) sat for pictures on her thrown.  Winter wonderland?  Almost.

Snow wonder.



How many people can you fit onto 150 square feet of stomped snow?



I venture on.



Hannah cannot be tempted.



My stay was brief.

A valiant effort given the availability of resources.

There were ponies too!  But no refunds.

Santa might want to think about recruiting some new little helpers.

Street fighting man

It's always puzzled me that excellence in the Olympic Games is highly rewarded whereas excellence in computer games is often ignored. Should someone who can run fast in a straight line be more feted by society than someone who can finish Tomb Raider? The BBC recognises Sports Personality of the Year but nothing for arcade players.

Luckily we live in enlightened times, and in an enlightened part of the world, and today I got to attend the Street Fighter 25th Anniversary Finals here in San Francisco.

Street Fighter is an arcade game where you unleash fierce and furious punches, kicks, and "special moves" on your opponent as you attempt to knock them out. It was never my game of choice. My friend Gaz had it on his Megadrive but we were more into Mortal Combat with its gruesome "finish him!" moves. Street Fighter is far more cartoony - no blood or anything nasty like that. The characters look like friends having a bit of fun. In bonus stages you break up abandoned cars, which could be considered community service.

Today the greatest players from all over the world gathered at a hotel just south of SFO. I caught the BART then walked through the surrounding area, probably the first place that most people go to having got off their plane.  It's an odd introductory zone to US culture after the trauma of immigration - no one owns anything around here; the traffic is all airport shuttles and rental cars, the hotels and coffee shops are all chains.

But I quickly left this soft hinterland of unbelonging behind as I entered the Hyatt Regency where smackdowns and sonic booms were being piled up by one player on another. Free-to-play arcade machines of every Street Fighter iteration filled the lobby, but the real action was taking place in the massive conference hall.

Two huge cinema screens stood at the front and the challengers, sifted from competitions in London, Paris, Tokyo, etc. sat dwarfed on a stage in the centre. They were taking it seriously - each brought their own controller, lovingly protected in padded carrying cases. As they fought vicariously above, the crowd whooped and hollered in reaction to every Hadoken and Arutimetto Atomikku Baasuta.

I joined the hungry Colosseum for several grueling matches before moving off to the numerous booths and trade displays. The general demographic was extremely male and adolescent, but I was pleased to see that they're bringing out a Hello Kitty-themed version soon.

Freebies were at a disappointing minimum although I was handed a nice picture of Ryu to colour in. If you wanted to win stuff you had to throw your hat in the ring, which would have led to humiliation more painful than a Flying Barcelona Attack. Perhaps one day the most beloved game of my youth, Chuckie Egg 2, will receive its due and be recognised as a competitive sport. Then the real smackdown will begin!



Not the most impressive sign for one of the most important things to happen in San Francisco ever!

That's better.



Free gaming in the hotel lobby.  I was too scared to challenge.

For purists, there's really only one Street Fighter - II.



Inside the competition hall.  They've been doing this all over the world, and these are the finals.

Not sure what was going on here, you could probably win a T-shirt, hence the crowd.

You could also buy things like this for $$$s.

Hello Kitty - more violent than you realised.

The tournament winner got...wait for it...$125,000 and this car.  Now how silly does playing computer games look?

Some fans took it far, although Vega looks less tubby on the screen.

Contenders, ready!  Two joystick-wielding gladiators take their place on the stage.

Hushed expectancy from the crowd.

They think it's all over!  It is now.

Walnuts roasting on an open fire

It's the most wonderful time of the year, not least because our apartment complex held its annual Christmas party.  Quite early, you might say, but we're such an international bunch that a lot of people head home when the holidays actually approach.  Apart from us this year.

What can one do for a Christmas party but don an appropriate sweater?  My chosen attire (from famous designers "The Hospice of the East Bay Thrift Store") received a quick airing at the Muckers on Thanksgiving, but as we're missing their official competition I felt obliged to pull it out again.  I think most people realised I was wearing it as a joke...or was I?  Have I prematurely graduated from "creepy uncle" to "embarrassing dad"?  Help!

Wouldn't you like to find me in your stocking on Christmas morning, eh?

A small percentage of the massive spread.  Sweet outnumbered savoury about 3:1.

After some drinks there was a little bit of aggressive rutting, but Florin soon backed down in the face of the local alpha male.

Autumn comes to California

Three - three! - Pacific storm systems conspired to meet off the coast and rain havoc down on NorCal.  Apparently it rains in California too, a fact I was not made aware of when I agreed to move here.  Along with the rain fell all the autumn colours.

Drain drain, go away.

Blessed are the cheesemakers

It's all a bit quiet around here after the non-stop party of the UK and then Thanksgiving, so we decided to spice things up a bit by making some cheese!  Oh yes, we're putting the "mad" back into Edam, the "funster" into Munster...I'm struggling here, obviously ("no whey!"  Hahahaaa).

Anyway, it just so happens that I bought Hannah a cheesemaking kit for her birthday and as part of the ubiquitous nesting instinct she decided it was time to churn out some fine dairy comestibles, in this case: mozzarella.

Cheese is made from milk!  It all looked quite straightforward, from my position offering advice several feet away.  You heat things, then add some stuff, then strain it, then put it on pizza.  Hannah, being the perfectionist she is, was not 100% happy with her first attempt.  I thought it couldn't have gone any butter!

The vital ingredients.  And milk, obvs.

Warming up.

Curds and whey, but no spider.

Here it is!  Mozzarella!

The dream of any fine cheese.