The American Adventure - Vol 21

1 - 28 February 99

If you want to go straight to Vol 22, you may do so now!

...

February was a funny old month, one of those where we were certainly busy but it is hard to remember what is was that took up all our time. Don't worry, if we can't remember, we'll make up stuff.

The first week was pretty standard for that time, Kajsa worked heaps (you may recall that she worked overnight 31Jan/1Feb). The rest of us hardly saw her and when we did she was grumpy. In other words, the normal routine.

Hans and Petra were flying away to spend a couple of months in their house in the Bahamas (what a life!) and invited us to dinner the night before they flew out. Kalle has been very sad that he has not been able to see Max since and is keen to go "to the beach" with him. Petra is highly impressed with having friends with their own web-site. Apparently it is a bit of a status symbol down on their island. "Oh look, those guys have a bigger boat than us!" - Don't worry about it Hans, we've got friends with their own web-site!

On Friday, Tim flew off to the West Coast for a Workshop on a mindbogglingly dry and boring topic. The trouble with going to California is that the flights are so expensive, sometimes more than flights to Sweden! Actually, flights to the West Coast can be less expensive, if you travel over a weekend. Needless to say, Tim made the sacrifice and travelled over a weekend to save the Government some money. Not only that, but he didn't spend the weekend living it up in LA, where the conference was. Nope, he slummed it in a less expensive city.

When he arrived in Las Vegas (oops, didn't we say that he went to Las Vegas?) it was early evening but already getting dark so he got the full effect of all the neon lights. The airport is only a short distance from the main strip where his hotel was located but he spent some time just cruising up and down taking it all in. Eventually, he found his hotel (right up the far end of the strip furthest from the airport) and checked in.

Ironically the hotel that Tim was booked into was Circus/Circus. As these pages have explained before, Tim is not that keen on circuses but he figured that it couldn't be a real circus. Even it it was a real circus, he didn't need to go and see it. He could just sleep in the room and hang out in the other casinos, oops, hotels during the day.

There is a real circus inside Circus/Circus. No lions or elephants but all the rest are there, clowns and acrobats and dogs that do tricks. Luckily there is some distance between the circus bit and the hotel bit so you can remain totally oblivious if you have a mind to. It should be noted that to call Circus/Circus a hotel is a bit misleading. Circus/Circus is a hotel/casino/circus/theme park and it is absolutely huge, a little overwhelming at first.

When checking in, Tim was told that he had been upgraded. This was a pleasant surprise. A less pleasant surprise awaited him when he got to his room. He put his keycard into the lock and pushed open the door to find that it was already occupied by a scantilly clad couple. Luckily they were American so they were doing no more than watch TV. Tim's first comment was "I've been upgraded to your room."

After a quick check of his key, Tim found that he had in fact tried to enter the wrong room. Oh well, it was a good object lesson as to why you should never leave your door ajar when staying in a hotel!

The rest of the evening was spent checking out the town, including a little adventure all of its own when he strayed off the map and got thoroughly lost. The upside of this was that he saw a wild coyote. The downside was that he didn't have his camera at the ready when he saw it. Still he sat there for about a quarter of an hour just watching as the coyote went about its business (this sounds much better than "rooted through litter trying to eat some left over McDonalds").

The next day Tim drove to the Grand Canyon. It is a long way from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon, a lot longer than he had been told it was (four and a half hours drive, when he was told three). As advertised, the Grand Canyon was a big hole in the ground and, as rarely advertised, it was bitterly cold. The new gallery photos show that there was snow on the ground. In Las Vegas when Tim left, it was warm enough for him to walk around in a t-shirt. He was not bright enough to think about taking a jacket just in case he got cold so he was freezing when he his did the obligatory sight-seeing bit. His only excuse is "jet-lag". Still, the drive there and back was in a brand new little red Mustang. Life isn't all bad.

Impressions of the Grand Canyon? Big, really really big. BIG. Well worth a look if you ever get the opportunity. It is something that needs to be experienced rather than described so suffice it to say that Tim thought that it was worth the nine hour drive.

The rest of the time in Vegas was spent looking at the various casino complexes and losing money. In the last few hours Tim actually started winning. Embarrassingly enough he was playing on the pokies. At first when he was playing on all of the high stakes pokies (25c), he was losing rapidly. In one of the last casinos he visited, he decided to change tactics and lose more slowly by playing on the 5c machines. Not really cattle stations stuff but when you're playing with 5c you don't mind playing five coins at a time. When you play the type of machines that let you play five coins at a time and you actually do play five coins at a time, it seems that you have a greater chance at winning big and win was what Tim did. He started playing with a dollar and walked out of the place on top of the world with sixteen dollars.

In the next casino Tim found machines of the same type that took quarters. Walked out $40 up. Tim really, really, really wishes that he had cottoned on to this ploy a little earlier. It could have been earlier in the day. At least it could have been a little earlier than one and a half hours before having to catch the plane to LA.

(For those heartened by this tale of success and who are planning to put their fortunes into 5c pokies, we should warn that there are a couple of other little things you've got to do to ensure consistent success. We're not going to give our secrets away here, you'll have to wait and buy the book! If you'd like instant riches earlier, just send money. Once we have enough funds, we will travel to Las Vegas and mutliply your investment manyfold - for no more than 10% of profit plus expenses. Trust us. Sums less than $5000 not accepted.)

The biggest problem with getting on a winning streak just before you need to go to the airport to fly out is that when you are winning you start to get overconfident. Oh, no problem to get to the airport in forty five minutes. Then, a few minutes later you're thinking, Hey, I'm a lucky, successful person, I don't need more than half an hour to get to the airport.

Then, when there is only thirty five minutes to go you start to get nervous and it dawns on you that you haven't yet filled the hire car. So, you race to the car and drive like a maniac while desperately trying to remember where it was you saw a petrol (gas) station.

But, you remember, the last time you drove around this area you were lost.

Eventually though you stumble across a station, fill the car and then race off looking for the airport.

At this point, you have a quarter of an hour before the very last moment that you can book in (which is thirty minutes prior to departure) and you are now thinking: Where the hell is the airport? it should be on this road, but you can't see anything remotely resembling an airport.

You look up and see a plane coming in to land and you wonder: Where is that going? Omigod, it's flying over you, you must have gone past the turn-off to the airport. Okay, okay, okay, don't panic. Just turn around and follow the airplane.

At times like these, every other driver on the road transforms into an obstructive idiot.

GET OUT OF MY WAY, YOU MORONS!!!!

Okay, twice the speed limit is pushing it but you tell yourself that you've got a good reason for speeding.

Finally, by following successive airplanes in, you finally find the airport but you notice that you're on the wrong side. There's the terminal, across all the runways, still about a kilometre away. How the blazes do you get in? Swearing to yourself you race around the perimeter and notice that you have now have no more than eight (8) minutes left. Eight minutes is not too bad, given that at least you know where the airport is. The problem is that, obviously, as you race along the road, you haven't returned the car yet.

Lesser men would have been crying at a time like this (especially as there is absolutely no-one else to pin the blame on). Not you though. You just have this conversation going on in your head:

Naval Attaché: So, why exactly was it that you were a day late to the workshop?

You: I, uh, sort of, you know, missed the plane.

Naval Attaché: And the reason you missed the plane was ... ?

You: I was playing the pokies.

Naval Attaché: I'm sorry, I didn't hear that.

One of the things that you really notice about American towns when you are in a hurry or you are lost (or both), is that they are really, really bad about putting up signs to tell you where you are going. The most annoying thing is that, when they do put up signs, they seem to tire of the effort and give up on it a couple of kilometres short of the objective. That said, you are overwhelmed with joy when, going past some of the larger casinos (Oh look, there is MGM-Grand again. Boy it only feels like twenty minutes since I last went past here!), you see another sign to the airport.

You realise that you're going to make it. Still breaking quite a few local traffic ordinances, you race to the terminal. You are pumped full of adrenaline and get yet another dose when, looking for the United counters, you almost run over a traffic cop who was just minding her own business on a pedestrian crossing. Luckily there was a bus obstructing the view so the first she saw of you was when you were braking to avoid her. No speeding ticket to add to the stress.

A little further on, you find United and leap out of the car and run to the desk. There is no queue and it is thirty minutes, precisely, before the plane is due to depart. You get checked in and then, and only then, you tell the woman behind the counter that you still have to return your hire car.

She looks at you like you just said you wanted to sit next to the pilot and help him drive. "You ain't gonna to make it, sir" she tells you and starts tapping at the computer. You realise that she's about to cancel your seat and that she's not even going to check your luggage if you are not going to make it to the plane. Things start to get blurry.

Then, in an uncharacteristic stroke of luck, she looks up at you. She sees that, despite your extreme manliness, the stress of the whole missing the plane situation is beginning to degrade your usual icy calm disposition and she relents. "You could try to make it, I'll ring through to say you're coming." She smiles, "You're gonna have to hurry though!"

You bolt back to the car which had been left unattended. You are feverishly hoping that it has not been towed away. ("This is a security announcement, for security reasons do not leave your baggage unattended. Unattended baggage will be removed and may be destroyed. Unattended vehicles will be immediately ticketed and towed.") Fortunately, the traffic cop you saw earlier must have still been recovering from the nasty incident with the mad driver in the little red Mustang. The car had been neither ticketed nor towed. You race off to Hertz.

Fortune seems to smile yet again and there is bus waiting to return to the terminals just as you arrive at the Hertz lot. However, fortune then frowns. Just as you get there the bus pulls away, without you. Not a big problem though, the next one pulls in seconds later and you board it, as hyped up as a squirrel on speed. When the bus finally pulls away, you have less than fifteen minutes to get to the departure gate.

Big deal! I hear some you say. FOOLS! you need to keep in mind that you have fifteen minute before the plane leaves, you are already fifteen minutes late for boarding which commences, due to security reasons, half an hour prior to the planes departure. Your only hope is that they won't leave you behind because your luggage is already headed for the plane.

When you get to the terminal, you spring out of the bus like a greyhound (not a trim sleek greyhound, a lumbering sort of greyhound who doesn't like running that much and who is carrying two pieces of carry-on luggage). You race through the doors and towards the escalators. The escalators are packed by a tour group. There is a queue to get on the escalators.

Well, that's not the whole story. The up escalator is packed.

The down escalator has only the one girl on it. A girl who is walking up the down escalator, while being yelled at by her friends on the up escalator. You race up the down escalator, passing the girl and attracting a lot of attention from the other stairs. Exhausted, you reach the top (a goal you were starting to seriously doubt you were going to be able to achieve when you were at the two thirds of the way up mark). Now all you have to do is make it to the tram (surely you didn't think that it would be that easy to get to your departure point, did you?)

At Las Vegas International Airport, there are trams which depart every six minutes from the central terminal and take about three or so minutes to get you to the departure terminal. From the top of the escalators you have about two hundred and fifty metres to get to the station, which includes another set of escalators which, mercifully, when you get to them, are empty. Still running, you get to the tram stop before the tram departs. In fact, you make it in plenty of time.

The tram just sits there, dum de dum. Dum de dum de dum. Dum de dum bloody dum.

After the stops at the departure terminal, you burst from the tram and sprint towards another set of stairs. You make a decision at this point to walk up this set. The reason you do this is because you are beginning wonder whether you'll make it to the plane, you were a bit rattled by the thought that you only just had the energy to reach the top of the escalator. You don't want to run up the stairs just to collapse in a quivering wreck.

After you get to the top of the stairs, you run all the way to D36 and get there with a couple of minutes to spare. You see the plane is still there, boardings have been delayed a few minutes and you can finally relax. You made it.

Only trouble is, after catching your breath and looking around, you notice that there is a sign saying that the next plane from this gate goes to San Francisco. You look at the departure board and note that your plane actually departs from gate D28. RUDE WORD. LOTS OF RUDE WORDS.

You bolt off again. As you run back to gate D28, you pass most of the people that you passed on the first escalator, but this time in the opposite direction. Most of them recognise you. Some wave and say hello.

You get to D28 and there is no plane. You glance at the departure board, hoping that your flight has been delayed but it says nothing of the sort. All evidence is telling you that you missed the plane. Your lower lip starts to quiver.

Still, you have been in worse scrapes than this before so you don't give up all hope. You stand in line at Gate D28 and ask about the LA flight. Yes, sir, sorry, sir, that plane has been delayed about forty five minutes, it will be arriving shortly. Boarding should start in a half hour or so.

Because you are just so happy that you didn't miss your plane despite all the disasters, you just meekly go and sit down. You don't get upset about the fact that the last little bit of panic could have been avoided if the woman at the counter had told you that there was a big delay to your flight. You don't even cry much. It's just sweat, honest.

While in LA, Tim had an incredibly boring time. The workshop was just as mind-numbing as advertised, perhaps more so. One afternoon, when there were no sessions of interest happening, he snuck off to see a movie. The rest of the time he was there in the workshop, fast asleep with the rest of the attendees.

Some may be wondering, what did Kajsa do when Tim was off working hard? She worked, of course. One day at work, she was told by a colleague that she should apply for a position that was coming up in the store, in a department that she had worked in before the shoe department. She didn't do anything about it at first because she was quite happy in shoes. Eventually though, she came to the conclusion that she would enjoy working at a higher level and needed some wider experience if she was going to be able to do that. So, later in the week, she put in an expression of interest.

Later in the month, Kajsa sat for the interview. It wasn't much of an interview really, it was little more than a bit of a gossip session and an opportunity for the management to ask Kajsa if she would be happy to be promoted in place - that is, would she like to stay in the shoe department but rather than just have family shoes, be responsible for all shoes (in the position of über-supervisor), oh and by the way, would she like to get a payrise?

Kajsa's response was - Let me think about it for a second ... YES!

Basically, she got everything she wanted. Her hours are even more civilised with a pretty much standard 9-30 to 6, five day week. She works the occasional night or weekend to make sure that no-one complains about her getting special treatment.

Kajsa did manage to do something interesting during Tim's absence. She took Meike and the kids to the Rainforest Café on Wednesday night. On the same night, Tim tried to go to Spielberg's submarine restaurant (Dive!). After taking ages to locate it, Tim found that the Los Angeles "Dive!" had gone out of business. The note on the door said that the one in Las Vegas was still open. Typical, bloody typical.

Tim flew back to Washington on Thursday. After some major hassle, he managed to arrange an earlier, direct flight so that he could get back in time for a rather special event. A Swedish Navy ship was visiting the region and had invited the Naval Attaché and his Assistant (Mark Remmers) to attend a cocktail party. The Commodore was otherwise engaged and so Tim and Kajsa were invited to stand in for Mark and Lynda while Mark stood in for Geoff and Di Morton. It was a very entertaining evening, especially as Kajsa shocked many of the crew with her ability to speak perfect Swedish. They all thought that she must have been Australian due to her accent. Tim raised some eyebrows as well with the ability to speak a few key phrases (like "Two orange juices, thanks").

Swedish Navy rank systems are a little strange because a Navy person is either an officer or a conscript (on National Service) and conscripts are only in for two years. That means something like half the crew are officers. It makes for a huge Wardroom!

The second Friday was a big day - especially for Meike. Her parents arrived from Germany to stay with us for a fortnight. We greeted them, said Vilkommen and then tried to keep a low profile (we watched some of the TV shows that been taped during Tim's absence and let them get on with unpacking, catching up with Meike and collapsing, exhausted, into bed).

The next day, they were exposed to the regular Saturday affliction - Swedish Preschool in the Basement. There was an unusually large turnout so there was even more screaming than usual. That evening we crept off to Doug and Ann's for dinner. Actually, we don't think that it was such a bad thing, Meike's parents must have still been tired from their trip and her father doesn't speak English. Her mother can, a little, but it would have been a bit daunting to have to sit around with us and try to keep a conversation going. Yah, yah!

We had a delightful meal at the Greenlaw-Potter residence and then Ann and Tim played some mean pool, responsible for potting the black ball almost every time. Not that they won every time - stupid "foul off the black, lose the game" rule!

On Valentine's Day, we went to one of the weirdest wedding/receptions that we have experienced. More weird than ours. The couple were already married, but only in a civil ceremony so they wanted a more traditional wedding. The "more traditional wedding" was held in the ball-room of a local conference resort. The whole shebang, minus the connuptials, were conducted in the ball-room. Everyone took their seats and then the wedding couple walked in. They said their vows in front of a priest and then dinner was served. It was a very impressive meal and the surrounds were lovely so there was no complaints, but we have never seen a wedding done this way before. You've got to admit though, it was efficient. No stuffing around going from the wedding chapel to the reception hall. And they opened the bar early so that people who got there on time could have a drink, or two, before the big event.

Kalle and Taltarni were fascinated by the bride. She was dressed up like a princess so Kalle was probably thinking he wanted to get one of them one day and Taltarni wants to be one. Either way, they sat quietly throughout the whole photo shoot, which was prior to the meal. Later on their fascination was a little less quiet. Taltarni wanted to run over all the time and have a look at what was going on and Kalle just wanted to run around. Oh well, even if absolutely everyone knew that there were two noisy blond kids around, at least they didn't break anything.

Having Meike's parents stay with us was, um, interesting. Especially with the no means of communication problem. Kajsa had a bit of an advantage because there is a lot of similar words in German and Swedish. We were certainly spoiled, we had some special German cooking (including dumplings) and were given some wonderful gifts on their arrival and departure (the vast quantities of Milka chocolate were particularly welcome). Meike's mother brought some sausage as well but was overcome with honesty when questioned by customs - she intended to sneak it past them but, when questioned, immediately crumbled like stuff that crumbles really easily.

Both celebrated birthdays here, Meike's mother (Ingeborg) turning 50 on Tasha's birthday. We gave them both very Australian gifts, proving that your nationality is somehow amplified when you are away from home. Perhaps that is why tourists from all countries always seem so unbearable. On Meike's father (Otto)'s birthday we were going to go out to a restaurant but Kalle came down sick with the flu (and tonsillitis). To make up for the disappointment, Kajsa cooked an excellent Thai meal, Meike's parent's first experience of the cuisine. Then, the next evening, Kajsa came down with tonsillitis as well. She was so sick that she had to take a day off work on the Saturday.

While sickness ravaged us, Meike and her family escaped the house to visit the Amish for the weekend. Kajsa had promised, prior to becoming ill, to cook something special for their return on Sunday. Any normal person under these circumstances would say, Sorry, I'm sick. We'll order in a pizza instead. Not Kajsa. She struggled all day on Sunday to prepare a full Swedish style meal complete with meatballs, Janssons frestelse, etc. When Kajsa is sick, one of the first faculties to break down is good sense.

Kalle had been going to Karate since sometime back in September last year. He enjoyed it but really he wasn't too much into the learning of the art. We think that there was much more interest in the shouting "Yarh! Uhng! Yarh!" and doing all punching and kicking than in acheiving mastery of oneself. It's much more about achieving authenticity when playing Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. Tim had had some problems with the idea of Karate at the beginning and it was not helped when Kalle came home after a couple of lessons to say that he needed a proper Karate costume.

We had talked with the instructor prior to signing Kalle up in the class and confirmed that it was not that serious and so it was not necessary to buy the outfit. Tim went up to the guy and questioned this sudden need to buy an outfit. Mr Batiste (World Champion Karate teacher) said he'd have a chat to Kalle.

At the end of the next class, Mr Batiste sat down with Kalle and explained that he didn't need to buy a costume yet because it wasn't certain that he'd stay with the class, look at one of his classmates who stopped coming to Karate the previous week, for example. But, if you are good, then your Dad will buy one for you for Christmas. Given that it was getting on for the end of November at this point, Tim was pretty pissed off that he'd been effectively set up. Well, the bottom linge is that Kalle got his Karate outfit (Kajsa bought it in an uncharacterist display of generosity (note that this is sarcasm)).

At the end of February, Kalle gave up Karate. To be fair, it wasn't entirely Kalle's decision to give up. Since the New Year, there had been problems with the class. One of the instructors who had taken over the class failed to turn up a few times. Mr Batiste took over the class again himself but, due to other commitments, he could not make it to Town and Country until 5pm, which meant that the class didn't finish until shortly before 6pm. That made Kalle's day very long on Karate nights and put extra restrictions on the time that he saw Kajsa, which was also limited by her work schedule. As a result, when the school announced that they were planning a "learn about science" course on one of the Karate nights, this was enough to persuade us to cancel Karate altogether.

Kalle started the new course on the last Tuesday of the month and really enjoyed it. All up, it has been a great success. Kalle gets home earlier on Tuesday, he is not so tired in the evening and Friday evenings (which were always awkward when Kalle needed to be picked up at 6pm) are much more pleasant now.

On the following Wednesday, Tim had the procedure to try to find out why he has difficulty swallowing. If you are expecting some in depth description of what they did, you will be disappointed. Tim doesn't know because the doctor sedated him before he got around to sticking a great big thing down his throat (no nasty jokes here please, not everyone in the Navy is into that sort of thing, in fact not even most (well, not quite)).

As far as Tim can tell, once he was out like a light, they used state of the art medical instruments to get a camera down into his throat and upper stomach and took some photos and ripped out some flesh samples (biopsies). Recently, we found out that there is nothing malignant there, just some "webbing". - What is webbing, Tim asked. "Basically it is like the webbing between your fingers. I stands out from the sides and obstructs the throat partially." - ... and that means? "You will sometimes have difficulty swallowing." Well, we knew that! Another perfectly useless medical procedure. At least Tim is not going to have to get anything removed which is a bit of a relief.

That day was also Ingeborg's birthday, so we went to a restaurant in Great Falls which has a reputation of being one the very best in Washington. It certainly was excellent - and we certainly didn't expect to have it all paid for. Any other visitors want to come over during their birthdays? There are plenty of restaurants to check out!

The next day, the day before they left, we went to the Rainforest Cafe again. The kids can't seem to get enough of that place. Actually, Kajsa always seems very keen to go there also!

On the day that Meike's parents went home, Kajsa managed to get sick for the second weekend in a row. She had a nasty little infection that pushed her temperature way up and she knew that she needed some antibiotics. That, of course, is not good enough. Even if you know what the problem is, you need a doctor to say that you need antibiotics and write the prescription. So, as soon as the kids were in bed, she ducked off to the doctor. She shouldn't have been too long because the doctor closed at 9pm. At about 10pm, she rang up to say that she had been moved out of the waiting room and into one of the examination rooms and she would be seen soon. Then, she would have to go to get the prescription filled.

Finally, at about 12.30, Kajsa came home in a very bad mood. By the time she had left the doctor's, the only pharmacy that was open was miles away. When she got there, they didn't take our insurance plan so we had to pay full price for the drugs, which are amazingly expensive. She started to have a little argument with them but quickly saw the futility of it and gave up. The most frustrating thing was that Kajsa knew exactly what the problem was, she knew exactly what she needed, but because of the limitations on self medication she had to spend almost five hours getting what could have taken less than one hour.

She did learn something though. In America, if you break your leg, you don't go to a hospital. Your local doctor looks after it, unless it's a really bad fracture. The good thing about this is that when you get to the surgery, you just jump the queue and get immediate attention. Just walk (well, hobble) past those who have been sitting there almost two hours, burning up with a fever. If you aren't in too much pain you could look at them, smile and say, "Ha ha, suckers, if you didn't want to wait in line, you should have done yourselves some serious damage!"

The next afternoon we had Johan (Kalle's age) and Jesper (Taltarni's age) stay over. Kajsa disappeared at lunchtime to take them "to the playground and then to McDonalds". In reality she cheated, she actually took them to the playground which was at McDonalds and killed two birds with one stone. When they came back Tim managed to get both Taltarni and Jesper to take a nap and then he worked on his golf swing in the back yard with Kalle and Johan. While they were out there, Staffan (Jesper and Johan's father) turned up. He just happened to have his clubs with him and suggested that Tim and kids should come along to the local driving range. After thinking seriously about it (play golf, help Kajsa, play golf, help Kajsa), Tim agreed that it was a very good plan.

The range is quite a good one, the best thing is that they loan out junior sized clubs so you can keep the kids entertained at no more than the price of a few balls from your bucket. The only problem is that your average five year old doesn't hit the balls very far and you constantly have to keep them from trying to run out onto the range to get the balls back. This would be very bad if they were to get in the way of a poorly directed drive. After the driving practice, despite the fact that it was getting late and it was raining more and more heavily, Staffan and Tim relented to the demands of Kalle and Johan to play mini-golf (putt-putt). Kalle has a lot to learn about golf, for instance "don't cheat (or at least if you do, don't be so blatant about it)". He kept picking up the ball and when he wasn't doing that he was playing a game that was a lot more like hockey than standard golf. Still, the ball went in the hole and that's what counts.

Eventually we gave up on playing mini-golf, partly because rather than getting lighter (as we had hoped), it was actually raining harder and also because we were getting increasingly late for dinner. Luckily our dinner guests for the evening were Staffan and Anna Carin so one dinner guest was certainly going to be late!

Despite being ill and having spent the entire previous evening on her epic journey to the doctor, Kajsa had spent the afternoon putting on a huge Thai banquet. It started as little more than green chicken curry and rice and had expanded into a range of dishes including prawn toast which is notorious for being fiddly in the extreme. It was a rather informal affair with us all sitting in the kitchen while Kajsa and Meike cooked all the various dishes.

Everything was very tasty - so much so that Anna Carin stated that it had been the best meal that she had had since coming to America. She also said that she regretted telling Kajsa that she likes to cook Thai because she now had such high standards to aspire too! Needless to say, they won't be invited back again. Once you get such high praise you feel obliged to maintain the standard in subsequent dinners. That would be far too much pressure so we will just strike them off the invite list!

On the last Sunday, we went into town to visit the National Geographic Hall of Explorers. It is a sort of little museum with plenty of interactive exhibits and a few audiovisual presentations. The kids loved it, Kalle really liked the tornado demonstration and the "dinosaur bird". We were going to visit the Natural History museum as well, but that was a little optimistic. Kalle and Taltarni were tired and it was pouring down so getting there would have been miserable - we just came home instead. Getting home that little bit earlier gave Tim the opportunity to try to get the CPU replaced in the computer ...

WARNING - MAJOR TECHNOGEEK BIT FOLLOWS

Earlier in the month, Tim had noted that the price of CPUs had plummeted. Lots. In fact, a processor which was almost twice as fast as the one in the computer cost no more than $70. Wow. So he had to buy one.

Anyone who knows anything about computers knows that replacing a CPU can't be that easy. The processor fits into a "motherboard", so called because they are real "mothers" to work with. Tim had checked, the most advanced chip that our motherboard would take is an AMD K6 266. It currently had a AMD K6 133. The advertisement said AMD 266, $69 and Tim assumed that it meant AMD K6 266.

After his initial shopping effort he came home, put the CPU into the motherboard and applied power to it. Nothing happened. The computer did not work at all. Tim then noticed that the CPU had AMD K6-2 266 written on it. See the little "-2"?

The littel "-2" means that it won't work in the motherboard. The sensible thing at this point would be to give up, go back to the store and say "Sorry, I stuffed up, I can't use this." Two problems. One, they charge a restocking fee if you do that, and, two, (the real reason) that would mean having to admit to making a mistake.

Solution. Buy a new motherboard.

Off he goes to buy a new motherboard. He finds the least expensive that will suit his needs and goes home.

Motherboards come fitted with cache (this is technical stuff I know) but if you want RAM, you have to buy it separately. Fortunately, we already had RAM on the old board. Unfortunately, the old board was bought over a year ago so there has been huge advances in memory technology since then - this should be read to mean "the old RAM won't fit on the new motherboard".

Some people would helpfully advise here that the best thing to do here is return the motherboard and the CPU. Oh, you couldn't be more wrong. The real solution is to go back to the computer store and buy new, more modern RAM.

So, we have the new CPU, new motherboard and new RAM. Note also that this is virgin territory. Tim has never done this motherboard replacement thing before. No matter, he is an electrical engineer (an electrical engineer who hated computers at university - but that was in the dark ages, before Windows). (Kajsa would like to make it quite plain that while Tim may be an engineer, he is not a good engineer - as evidenced by his complete and utter failure to fix the spa in the house we had in Storey Street, Curtin.)

Tim resorts to reading the manual (sometimes you have to, alright, even professionals). He fiddles, he is incredibly careful not to blow any of the chips with static electricity, he disassembles the whole computer, manages to reassemble the whole computer with only one left over bit (he is pretty sure that it won't have much of an effect), cables are plugged back in, power is applied.

Absolutely nothing happens.

It's alright, it's the first time. Bound to be teething problems. No smoke is witnessed, no popping sound as circuits fry due to overvoltage.

The disassembly and reassembly process is repeated, twice because nothing happens the second time either.

Actually, nothing happens the third time either.

Ok. Everything is done perfectly, all according to the book as far Tim can determine. It must be one of three problems. The memory is buggered, the motherboard is buggered or the CPU is buggered. The CPU was tested before leaving the store. So it should be either the memory or the motherboard.

There are some IT people at the Embassy - very experienced types - who should be able to determine what the problem is. They also have a lot of equipment that can be used to isolate the problem. The next day, Tim went down to their office and begged for help. After much umming and ahhing, fiddling with components and serious consideration they told Tim: "dunno, could be the motherboard or the CPU or, possibly, the RAM."

When Tim got home he was able to test the RAM (having just noticed that the new RAM could fit into a slot in the old motherboard). The RAM worked fine. So, it must be the motherboard. Part of the logic here was that Tim was afraid that he had blown up the CPU when he had put it in the old motherboard. Therefore, it can't be the CPU because that could be his fault. Understand the logic?

Anyway, the bottom line is that Tim went back to CompUSA to get a replacement motherboard. He brought it home and did the old disassemble, reassemble thing and - guess what - it didn't fix the problem. So, here is Tim with a brand new, non-functional CPU, a brand-spanking new motherboard and state of the art RAM (actually it is a little more complicated than this but we won't bother trying to get any more technical - as long as you realise that Tim has wasted a lot of money at this point of time and there is nothing to show for it except that the computer is no faster and even though the old CPU is now sitting in a very nice new motherboard along with very nice new RAM, this wasn't what Tim originally had in mind).

At least Tim can salvage the least expensive bit. The CPU is obviously buggered and there is a vague chance that it was buggered when he bought it. He returned to the store where he bought it.

"What seems to be the problem?" - It doesn't work. "Let's see."

The resident computer guru sets up a computer with the CPU in it and applies power and, ta da! nothing happens. Then the computer guru turns off the power, gives the power supply a huge whack and reapplies the power. Ta da! It now works perfectly.

- Um, Tim says. It doesn't work at home, it sort of did what it did the first time. Like nothing. "Oh, power supply is dicky. Overuse. What power setting do you have it at?" - 3.3V, like it says on the chip. "Oh no, that's the I/O power, you need to set it at 2.2V. Won't work at 3.3V." - So there is nothing wrong with the CPU? "Nah." - Or the motherboard? "What sort is it?" - Data Express. "Good motherboard, should be no problem." - Or the RAM? "You got the power wrong, it'll never see the RAM."

Tim went home, set up the motherboard correctly and, bingo, the computer works fine. Well, that's not true. The monitor stuffed up and Tim ended up formatting the harddrive and losing all the information and it took about a week of effort, an hour or so every night, to fix it up but hey, it works now. And it is quick!

END OF TECHNOGEEK BIT

Australia made it into the papers early in the month when there were reports of a kangaroo causing mayhem during the morning rushhour. According to the article, the reports were false. In fact it was a wallaby which had escaped from a local nature park. Eventally the wallaby was subdued in good old urban fashion, somebody ran over it. The report noted that "Wallabies are considered sweet and cunning". But not overly endowed with road-sense.

There was more craziness reported in the press during the month, including a few statements by a tele-evangelist called Jerry Falwell. He was reported to have a big thing against Tinky Winky, the gay teletubby, and was advising parents to boycott the show. No problem here, we've never watched it and as soon as Taltarni starts to act gay, she'll be boycotting it too. Mr Falwell also was reported as saying that the Anti-Christ is alive and well and Jewish. But before you think that this guy is a fruitcake, you should know that he has some useful advice for the Y2K problem. Buy weapons and ammunition and buy lots of them.

A little helping hand to Jerry and his god-fearing, gun-toting, teletubby-boycotting people has been provided by the state of Florida. In Florida, they have passed a law that makes it illegal for local governments to sue gun manufacturers. The anti-gun lobby (satanists and lesbians to a man) have followed the example of the anti-tobacco lobby and sued gun manufacurers for not making their products safe, even though the technology exists to do so. Lawsuits like that could cut into the profits of gun manufacturers and impinge on the God-given right of Americans to have freely available weapons which are unencumbered with price increasing safety features. To prevent these suits, the National Rifle Association successfully lobbied for a law which protects the real victims in the extremely high rate of homicide in the US, the poor gun manufacturers.

The amazing thing is that if you are a doctor, trying to do your best to save a patient and you fail, you get sued. If you are a company making guns (which are produced at such vast quantities that the idea of "for sports use" or "for home defense" is ludicrous) and you don't want to include safety devices because that might affect sales, you are protected from lawsuits. Maybe we are raving Trotskyites, but this seems a little strange to us.