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Scream For Me
Iron F***in' Maiden.It doesn't quite have the same ring to it as 'Scream For Me Long Beach', the line made famous by Bruce Dickinson on Iron Maiden's 'Live After Death' album, recorded over four nights at of all places the Long Beach Arena back in 1985 but neither I nor the 16,000 other Maiden fans in Irvine's open air Wireless Ampitheater were complaining. It was almost twenty nine years to the day since I'd first seen them perform back in the Gallery Club in Birkenhead as a spotty sixteen year old and as I cruised south along the San Diego freeway the excitement and anticipation I felt more than equalled anything I could recall from all them years ago.
I'd paid Vince, the local ticket agent who wears his white socks up to his knees just like your archetypal middle aged American 150 dollars, more than double the face value for my ticket to the second of two sold out show's but considered it money well spent. The band's energy, especially Mr Dickinson's totally belied their years playing a set constructed completely of '80's classic's which ensured the audience, ranging in age from ten to sixty years
Scream For Me
A patriotic bunch the Yanks. Carson City refinery. old, sang along with gusto for the duration. The Ampitheater, a natural auditorium in the hills outside Irvine half an hour's drive down the 405 Freeway was an ideal venue for a rock'n'roll show. The packed parking lot, much like the football game in San Diego back at Xmas was, as I expected, the scene of a huge pre show tailgate party with the added bonus of a soundtrack of full blast Iron Maiden emanating from almost every car stereo in sight and as I parked up and spent five minutes assessing landmarks that would enable me to find the car when the gig had finished all around bbq’s smoked and beers were sunk as the permanent smell of burning grass hung in the air. Just my luck I was driving. Once inside the main gates there was a large village of various food courts, beer shops, merchandise stalls and amongst them all a solitary van parked up with a huge speaker system inside, essentially a giant mobile karaoke. A young lad of about ten years old was entertaining the crowd of onlookers singing Maiden songs and regularily screaming ‘Come on California’ whilst his pal wriggled around on the floor
Scream For Me
All mine. My empty flat; Unit 7, 45 54th Place, Long Beach, CA 90803. playing air guitar as the amused crowd, led by his ’that’s my boy’ dad whooped, clapped and hollered. Only in America.
I had visions of taking hours to get out of the car park such was it's vastness so left before the end of the encore and managed to make a relatively simple get away despite still spending an annoying ten minutes trying to find the car. The fuel light had illuminated as I'd arrived and I consequently drove nervously all the way back to Long Beach on reserve fumes, a tense drive to say the least. I asked myself how I'd let it get to this stage in the first place but then again thinking about it I always seem to. Pulling off the freeway to search for a gas station was considered with each passing exit but the I realisation I could have conked out anywhere or worse still ended up either dead or as a member of some sort of Charles Manson death cult was enough to keep to keep me ploughing on. Best break down on the freeway if anywhere I thought and breathed a massive sigh of relief when I exited at Seal Beach
Scream For Me
And the kitchen. and saw the welcoming lights of a petrol station where I realised my problems had only just begun. Purchasing fuel Stateside is an art form in itself starting with inserting your cash into the actual pump, pressing several buttons, ascertaining which fuel is required and then actually filling up. I asked the attendant if he could show me how things worked but he was Indian and spoke next to no English and thankfully another guy pulled in and saved the day. To celebrate my return had a couple of beers sitting in the window of Shannon's, scene of our Xmas eve bender, unwound and watched the night go by.
Two days earlier on Thursday afternoon I'd picked Phil up from the F & G office's in the company VW Jetta he‘d acquired for me from one of the South African intern's. We picked up a cheque for my flat deposit from his bank and drove to the real estate management company offices in Huntington Beach and when we entered found realtor Tonya (by now known as TTT (Ten Ton Tonya) wedged tightly behind her desk, opened coke can and half eaten chocolate bar to hand with her ten year
Scream For Me
Friday night curry. Never saw anything like this in The Light. old Shitsu, complete with ribbon in the hair, basketed alongside her. We'd watched Jim Carey‘s brilliantly hilarious ‘Dumb and Dumber’ the previous two evening's and had both laughed at the classic line which, upon recognising the breed of mutt I just couldn’t resist putting to use.
‘What type of dog is it?’ I enquired as Tonya took another slurp.
‘He’s a Shitsu’ she replied.
‘Oh, a friend of mine had one of those back in the UK. He ended up mating it with a bulldog’.
Tonya fell for it hook line and sinker. ‘Oh really’ she replied, both brows raising in amazement.
‘Yes‘, I quickly replied, ‘he called it a Bullshit’.
She laughed, I thanked God she had a sense of humour and twenty minutes later after signing my name no fewer than fifteen times we left with the keys to my very first LA pad. I was happier than a PIS.
Setting up a new home from scratch is a stressful as well as exciting time, a blank canvass to do whatever I pleased. When I left the UK most of Dunkirk Drive was still kitted out with the woman’s touch that
Scream For Me
Happy at surviving the curry. Adele had applied to our home but this was place was going to kitted out exactly as i chose so the day after receiving the keys I dropped Phil at the office and headed to the nearest branch of Ikea in Carson City. I'd spent two hours surfing various furniture websites the previous evening looking for something similar to the cloud, my beloved sofa back home but enough was enough and I decided for my first home at least that the economy Swedish touch would suffice. I recalled the dread that use to be felt when trips were organised to the local Warrington branch where a couple of hours dodging out of control kids whilst browsing ready made bedrooms and kitchens was followed by the signing of the cheque for the hundred quid or so’s worth of glasses, place mats, and other stuff that a couple of weeks later would inevitably find themselves buried out of sight at the back of some cupboard or cabinet, or worse still in the bin. After an hour or so in the Carson branch the feeling of nausea, light headedness and general claustrophobia I remembered was beginning to return so I made my way
Scream For Me
'Tell me why I had to be a Powerslave'!. His dad had taken him to the show all the way from Iowa. I could have sworn I could hear banjo's playing ! to the checkout with my trolley overflowing with crockery, utensils, toilet brushes et al. When the cashier had finished checking out my stuff I scanned my card and waited. With only two check-outs open a small queue had formed behind me when the cashier made the dreaded announcement with just enough volume to inform everyone within a fifty yard radius.
‘Sorry sir, your card has not been authorised. Do you have another card?’
Not been authorised !?. It’s a goddam Visa card, it must be authorised. I swiped it through again and in desperation a third time, all to no avail and humiliatingly had to push the over laden trolley across to the other side of the checkout and park up before seeking out a consolation dollar fifty hot dog. I walked, still cursing, to the adjacent mall to attempt to buy some trousers for work. If one thing is for certain it is that Americans are not known for their style and fashion sense and consequently each pair of pants I held up appeared as wide as a clippers sails, most with triple pleats to the front, something not seen in Europe since Cameo topped the charts
Scream For Me
The Karaoke Kid and his epileptic mate. with 'Word Up'. Eventually I found some flat fronted non pleated ones in my waist size, took them to the changing rooms, tried them on and immediately resembled a twenty first century Charlie Chaplin. Dejected but not beat I ended up buying a pair of shorts with the very same visa card that just ten minutes earlier had been rejected and then some pillows and towels in the store next door. It surely must just be Ikea I thought.
Target is a nationwide chain of stores that sells almost anything imaginable at budget prices under one large roof and an hour and a half later I had accumulated another trolley full of household goods including microwave oven and full dinner service and was on my way to the tills where deja vu occured. Queue forming behind, long wait whilst goods checked out, card scanned and confirmation of humiliating unauthorisation of card from the cashier who looked as though he was enjoying the highlight of his day and then the dejected parking of the trolley before leaving with my tail between my legs. It was three o’clock and I’d had enough. Five and a half hours after starting and I
Scream For Me
Headbangers ! had four pillows, four towels and a pair of shorts to my name. To make matters worse I took a wrong turn on the way back and got slightly lost in Carson City where white men keep a very low profile.
It was four thirty when I finally arrived back in a recognisable area of Long Beach which gave me half an hour to find a bank willing to exchange my remaining English pounds to dollars. The first one I called at refused on the inexplicable grounds that I didn't have an account with them. So what ? You're a bank, you deal in money I thought but decided the best way forward was to kill two birds and find the local branch of Citibank of whom I had recently become a customer. The internet had told me my nearest branch was at 4003 Ocean Boulevard and I headed that way but counting up from 3001 as I drove I soon came to 4030 without seeing the slightest hint of a bank, just a 7/11 at the junction of Second and Ocean. I pulled into an adjacent side street and called to a guy working on a house roof
Scream For Me
And more. This was a mum and her twelve year old daughter. if he knew where 4003 was and a quick bit of maths later and he replied "I'm sure it's the 7/11store". I entered and asked the Indian guy behind the counter if he knew if there was a Citibank in the viccinity and giving me a look that called me stupid he pointed to the mobile ATM cash dispenser in the corner. That was my branch.
Eventually I got out of him that the nearest 'real' branch was downtown and time was quickly running out before 5pm closing time so I headed there. Downtown is recognisable from afar as an area of skyscrapers that house the cities financial sector. The first two people I asked were obviously strangers to the area as they had no idea of Citibank's location and the third may just as well of been. "Straight down five or six blocks" he said, "it's in The Trade Centre which is the tallest building downtown". I thanked him, drove off and then realised what he'd just said. If you've ever stood surrounded by tower blocks you will know it is nigh on impossible to gauge which is the tallest and here I was engulfed by them. I
Scream For Me
Eddie makes an appearance. almost gave up in tears. Such was my frustration two blocks down I stopped again and asked a passing woman who looked at me with even more apathy than the shopkeeper before turning her head and glaring at the huge lettering on the side of the building ten feet behind her. It read simply 'Citibank'!.
As can be seen my first few days have had many moments of almost inevitable stress, anguish and embarrassment, many avoidable, and this continued into the weekend. A call to Barclays Bank in England on my UK mobile to transfer monies into my new US account was greeted with the usual polite recorded message telling me an assistant would be with me soon. Half an hour later she was still telling me the same tale. I hung up and spent the following afternoon on the beach with Phil and the girls, promptly under estimated the strength of the sun and burnt my unprotected back to a frazzle ensuring next to no sleep the night before starting my new employment.
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"'Scream For Me Long Beach', the line made famous by Bruce Dickinson..."This would only be famous if one had been listening to IM - some of us had already advanced to the music of Captain Beefheart. Nice to hear that you are as organised as ever.No pants,no fuel,no groceries,no furniture and no valid card.Other than that everything is in order!