RAVE - 9 holes at Diablo Hills Golf Club

Thanks to Cheri our hostess, Gareth, my brother Lawrence and I enjoyed a relaxing Thanksgiving morning of golf at Diablo Hills Golf Club in Walnut Creek.

Lawrence is here for 8 days to get away from the rain in northern England, and we're planning to use those days for golf and liquid refreshment.

If the rest of the week turns out as good as today - warm weather, not too shabby scoring and great company - there'll be coverage of the rest of the tour.

If this is the only "golf" picture you see over the next few blog posts, then it rained or we sucked.

RANT - Antichrist

This is not a religious rant, although after suffering through possibly the worst excuse for an art-house suspense movie, I feel like I need a good cleansing.

I've read some nicely-written reviews of this mess. I admire the eloquence but can't agree with the sentiments. Maybe I'm not capable of an objective critique because I wasn't looking for a smart-assed exercise in psychology. I was looking for entertainment.

But, it's not a thriller. It's not suspenseful. It's not Omen XXIII. It's not The Exorcist IV. It's not exciting. It's not interesting. It's not compelling. It's not sexy (even though Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg spend most of the film in and out of their underwear).

Maybe I should have seen a dud a-coming when I read that the film had only two protaganists. A script has to be pretty darned tight to make it interesting to listen to just 2 people interact for 90 minutes. And this one wasn't tight.

Skip it, even when it's on DVD.

RAVE - Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Aside from having the clumsiest title since The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!? (and yes, it did get released with the !!?), Bad Lieutenant is a mad, rewarding ride.

I can do without those reviews that claim it's a poor remake of one of their favorite movies of all time, for three (count 'em) reasons:

1. It smacks of professional complaining, wonderfully satirized by a sign outside a tent at the 2008 Glastonbury Festival saying "Form a Line Here If You Think It Was Better Last Year".

2. The first Bad Lieutenant movie, directed by Abel Ferrara in 1992, is what's known as a "cult classic", which means it sucked, big time, but is adored by a small group of weirdos.

3. This 2009 "version" isn't a remake at all, sharing only part of the title and the basic premise of a crooked cop.

Nicolas Cage's career seems like it's been teetering on the edge of the commode for years now, with a string of duller than ditchwater films in which the only thing that changes is his hairpiece. But in this movie, the gloriously unhinged twins of Cage and director Werner Herzog come together to make 120 minutes of pure mayhem. In fact, I'd say everyone in this film contributes to the WTF factor. Everyone that is, except Val Kilmer, who needs to fire his agent right away.

RAVE - The Secret Life of Houdini, by William Kalush and Larry Sloman

Houdini is one of those characters - like Richard The Lionheart, Sir Lancelot, Henry VIII and John Lennon - that I've always been intrigued by and attracted to.

This book reminds me of everything I already kind of knew about Houdini, as well as a ton of stuff I'd never heard before. He was the "real thing", inventive and brave, a showman and a detective.

The book delivers truth behind all those stories we've heard about Houdini, and acts as a reminder of just what a charlatan David Blaine is.

RAVE - Mayflower, by Nathaniel Philbrick

No doubt there are thousands of books about the founding fathers, the Pilgrims, Quakers and other early immigrants to what would become the USA.

This is the only one I've read, and it gave my a real insight (perhaps because it is the only one I've read) into the kind of people who escaped religious oppression in 16th century England, first of all to Holland, where they chartered a few ships, and picked up more fundamentalists from England and made their way to America.

Not only did they ignore many of their basic teachings, they proceeded to do a shabby job of mixing with the indigenous native tribes, and pretty soon ended up killing a lot of them, turning certain groups against themselves, passing on diseases and generally making what we historians call a "pig's ear" of their presence.

I never knew the Pilgrims, those nice Christian types, were so NASTY!

RAVE - Paranormal Activity

Last night was Mrs. Page's Book Club Babes' night in, so I made myself scarce.

What better way to distance myself from a group of ladies discussing Jude Deveraux's The Summerhouse* than by seeing a good old horror movie?

Except this isn't your typical good old horror movie.

As every man and his guard dog knows, this movie was made for less than Elton John's weekly flower budget (about $15,000 to be more precise). Yet maybe because, rather than in spite of that comparative pittance, Paranormal Activity manages to scare the living daylights out of each audience it plays to. (I know my English Professor would say: "Never end a sentence with a preposition Page, and stop doing that with your hand!"), but somehow you can't talk about a horror movie and say things like "it manages to scare the living daylights out of each audience to which it plays".

I know my friend and fellow amateur critic Ed Gaudet has said on his Facebook page to skip this film until it's out on DVD, and then FFWD to the last 15 minutes, but as in his choice of trousers, Ed's wrong again.

In addition to Ed's advice, I also ignored the movie's poster, which says "DON'T SEE IT ALONE!" My experience with horror movies is that while you don't necessarily need to see them alone, it's always advisable to see them without screaming ladies or kids. A bit like football games really. As it was, the place was virtually empty, so it was just me and a couple who curiously chose to sit right behind me in an otherwise empty theater. Now that was creepy.

It does take some time to build up [insert Freebird and Stairway to Heaven references here] but I was totally rapt. The movie was intense throughout, and when the real action started, it was genuinely scary. Not blood and guts scary, but things that go bump in the night scary, things that pull you out of bed and drag you down the hallway scary.

Others have said that it's just like Blair Witch Project. Yes it is, but mostly in an amateur hand-held camera kind of way. If that puts you off a film, don't see Paranormal Activity or Cloverdale.

The movie's foremost achievement is telling a story that's been told a thousand times before, but doing it differently and still managing to scare you.

BOO!

* As Black Friday is upon us, I thought I'd throw in my own special offer - 2 reviews for the price of one. Having only glanced at the cover of The Summerhouse, I already know it's a chick's book with all the sex, violence, bad language, excitement, intrigue and wit taken out. So, if you're of an ultra-mild disposition, the doctor has told you to take it really easy, and you find that Miss Marple is just a little bit too racy for your tastes, read it.

And if that collection of sexist BS doesn't get me banned from Blog Club, I'll be back with my Thanksgiving for Vegetarians - How to Avoid Being a Party Pooper.

REVIEW - Pirate Radio (aka The Boat That Rocked)

A good film, but.

I'd been looking forward for months to see this movie, having to wait for its US release for what seemed ages after it got its UK release under the original "Boat That Rocked" monicker. I'd been hoping for a kick-ass soundtrack, rib-tickling dialog and lashings of nostalgia.

I used to listen to Radio Luxembourg (which wasn't a pirate station), because even though it broadcast from further away, the signal was marginally better than Radio Caroline, on which this story is loosely based. I even used to listen to French radio when studying for French exams, in the lame hope that I could get used to conversational French. None of these scratchy, barely perceptible broadcasts was worth the effort.

Nevertheless, I was aching to see this movie. And therefore, it was doomed to be a let-down.

The main problem I had was that the theater - the otherwise excellent Kabuki (reserved, ultra-comfy seats, bar and an intelligent audience devoid of the intolerable cell-phone flashing and chattering wankers you get elsewhere in the City) has a less-than-stellar sound system. If you can see this film somewhere with great sound TURNED WAY UP, then I urge you to do that. The Kabuki didn't do justice to all the great music.

The cast seemed to be having fun - with Rhys Ifans looking like a blond Noel Gallagher, and the always marvelous Philip Seymour Hoffman not having to exert himself too much. But where it should have zinged, the humor was a bit strained, barely masking a weak script.

Maybe I'll just download the soundtrack, and turn it up to 11.

RAVE - Tokyo Go Go

Last night's fabulous dinner at Tokyo Go Go was the perfect example of how the right company can lift a decent restaurant experience to a 5-star high. After our initial disappointment at not being able to get into Monk's Kettle ("a 2.5 hour wait for a table, sir"), Bar Bambino (2 hours), Andalu (1 hour), our reservation-less group: Felicia, Pavey, David and I were able to glide into Tokyo Go Go.

As all of these restaurants are within 50 yards of each other, and represent a fraction of the other places you could hit with a paint gun from the corner of 16th and Mission, it underlines the area's position as San Francisco's Number 1 area for night-life.

I'm not a sushi fan, preferring tempura to sashimi and vodka to sake, but last night the oysters were spicy, the rolls were crunchy, the shrimp was succulent and the sake flights sparked debate like we were sampling fine wines.

David convinced me that it was good idea to get up early this morning and meet him at Hanson's place for a day of US soccer, college football and the crucial Ireland versus France World Cup qualifier. What did I do? Stayed in bed, made breakfast at 11am and vegetated until posting this. I'll catch you later David. Perhaps.

RAVE - Time Magazine's lists

While diving into Time Magazine's Top 50 Web Sites of 2009, I found some gems, the coolest of which is a solution for sharing stuff - music, video, anything, with other people. It's called drop.io. It gives you 100mb for free, and 1gb is only $10 per year.

The list includes some sites I already use on a daily basis, like popurls.com and opentable.com, and a host of other interesting stuff.

It's also worth delving into the other lists on the Time site. You never know what you'll find.

REVIEW - Flour and Water, San Francisco

This new restaurant in The Mission is insanely popular, requiring that you book a month in advance to get a prime-time reservation. Part of that booking dynamic is caused by the size of the place (it's not huge) and the fact that half the seats (including those at the bar and communal dining table) are set aside for walk-ins.

Which is what we did Thursday evening.

After a tasty crispy pork appetizer, I had the Topinambur pizza, with a list of toppings that will have you looking at the WTF section of your recipe book: Sunchoke (aka Jerusalem Artichoke), Fior di latta (mozzarella), Gremolata (parsely, garlic and lemon zest) and Anchovy. Oh, and an egg that they forgot to add. I usually like a sliver of anchovy dotted here and there on my pizza, for the occasional kick that it delivers. However, this one tasted like an anchovy pizza, with the intense fish having permeated the entire dish. The base itself was curiously dry and dusty with flour, more like pitta than pizza. I can see how they're trying to differentiate their pizzas, but it didn't work for me.

Pavey started with the Striped Bass crudo with fennel, which was even fishier than the "crudo" warning sign implied (6/10), followed by the Game Tagliatelle, which looked dreadful but tasted much better (7/10, with 1 point deducted for the waiter correcting her when she said Tagliatell. "Tagliatell-ee".)

A very happening place, with food that will have you talking, if not unreservedly savoring.

REVIEW - Burger Bar, San Francisco

Much has been written about Hubert Keller's $60 burgers in his Vegas joint, and now the recession-eschewing chef has brought the experience to Macy's in San Francisco.

Sorry - just had to wipe my screen down after saying 'recession-eschewing chef' with a mouthful of microwaved frozen lunch. Who am I to be critiquing the hard work of a master chef?

The anticipation had been building for months in certain quarters. Not mine, I hasten to add. I appreciate a good dollop of minced meat and additives, but I'd never get all religious about it.

I don't know whether that anticipatory throb was due to a genuine passion for America's contribution to the world menu, or a devilish interest in seeing something bomb, big time. Now, a couple months after it opened, I cannot find one glowing review of this altar to fast food, and having eaten there last Sunday, I can see why.

First, this is not THE chef Keller. Thomas Keller (no relation to Hubert) is owner and executive chef at The French Laundry in nearby Napa, consistently voted in the Top 5 restaurants in the World. Hubert Keller is still an accomplished chef, having run the Fleur de Lys restaurants in San Francisco and Las Vegas for some years. While I remember having one of the most elegant Valentines  dinners at FdeL in SF, with some hot babe I eventually married, I don't remember exactly what we ate.

Hubert - or maybe that should be hubris - Keller's SF venture joins The Cheesecake Factory inside Macy's, and turns out to be a fitting match for that other bloated, touristic, over-subscribed and under-whelming eatery.

But what about the burgers, I hear you ask, pounding your cutlery on the table? They're OKAY. Certainly better than your average fast food, which regularly renders me more than regular, if you get my drift. "Alimentary, my dear Watson" as Sherlock Holmes might say.

They were good but not fabulous.

1. I'm not a penny-pincher who carefully weighs the value of each purchase, especially when it comes to comestibles and libations (that's grub and booze to most of you). But when someone charges $20-$60 for a burger, you cannot help but ask "is it worth that?" My $18 peppercorn burger was not. Pavey's turkey burger was dull, and together the $55 bill for 2 burgers and 2 cokes seemed steep.

2. I believe judging books by their covers is an excellent and unavoidable way of measuring stuff - food, people, places, whatever. The Burger Bar looks part sports bar, part Mel's Diner. It does not look, sound or feel upscale.

3. Menus are like resumes ... sloppiness and typos immediately place the writer in a negative light. Keller may be a dab hand in the kitchen, but he clearly doesn't pay that much attention to what's written in his menu. It's littered with bad grammar (even for a menu) and typos. And for heaven's sake people, there is no such thing as CARMELIZED. It's CAR-bloody-A-bloody-MELIZED. Or caramelised if you're pointing a blow-torch at a bowl of custard in England. There's a pony-tailed pillock with his own TV cook show who regularly says 'carmelized', and fortunately for him he can't hear my sworn response.

So there it is. If you're already shopping in Macy's and you're craving a burger and/or a milk shake, haul your shopping bags up the elevator and into Burger Bar. Just don't plan your week around it.

RAVE - Restaurant DOs and DON'Ts

It turns out that, contrary to my firm belief that I'm years ahead of other commentators, I'm only a couple of months ahead (see my August 16th rant: GOT JUICE?).

This list comes from yesterday's New York Times, and was sent to me by my fellow whiner, er food critic, Gareth Sylvester.

It's a shame how few restaurants follow all the DOs, and how many commit most of the DON'Ts.
 


Part 1 from the series: You're The Boss: The Art of Running a Small Busines

Herewith is a modest list of dos and don’ts for servers at the seafood restaurant I am building. Veteran waiters, moonlighting actresses, libertarians and baristas will no doubt protest some or most of what follows. They will claim it homogenizes them or stifles their true nature. And yet, if 100 different actors play Hamlet, hitting all the same marks, reciting all the same lines, cannot each one bring something unique to that role?

1. Do not let anyone enter the restaurant without a warm greeting.
2. Do not make a singleton feel bad. Do not say, “Are you waiting for someone?” Ask for a reservation. Ask if he or she would like to sit at the bar.
3. Never refuse to seat three guests because a fourth has not yet arrived.
4. If a table is not ready within a reasonable length of time, offer a free drink and/or amuse-bouche. The guests may be tired and hungry and thirsty, and they did everything right.
5. Tables should be level without anyone asking. Fix it before guests are seated.
6. Do not lead the witness with, “Bottled water or just tap?” Both are fine. Remain neutral.
7. Do not announce your name. No jokes, no flirting, no cuteness.
8. Do not interrupt a conversation. For any reason. Especially not to recite specials. Wait for the right moment.
9. Do not recite the specials too fast or robotically or dramatically. It is not a soliloquy. This is not an audition.
10. Do not inject your personal favorites when explaining the specials.
11. Do not hustle the lobsters. That is, do not say, “We only have two lobsters left.” Even if there are only two lobsters left.
12. Do not touch the rim of a water glass. Or any other glass.
13. Handle wine glasses by their stems and silverware by the handles.
14. When you ask, “How’s everything?” or “How was the meal?” listen to the answer and fix whatever is not right.
15. Never say “I don’t know” to any question without following with, “I’ll find out.”
16. If someone requests more sauce or gravy or cheese, bring a side dish of same. No pouring. Let them help themselves.
17. Do not take an empty plate from one guest while others are still eating the same course. Wait, wait, wait.
18. Know before approaching a table who has ordered what. Do not ask, “Who’s having the shrimp?”
19. Offer guests butter and/or olive oil with their bread.
20. Never refuse to substitute one vegetable for another.
21. Never serve anything that looks creepy or runny or wrong.
22. If someone is unsure about a wine choice, help him. That might mean sending someone else to the table or offering a taste or two.
23. If someone likes a wine, steam the label off the bottle and give it to the guest with the bill. It has the year, the vintner, the importer, etc.
24. Never use the same glass for a second drink.
25. Make sure the glasses are clean. Inspect them before placing them on the table.
26. Never assume people want their white wine in an ice bucket. Inquire.
27. For red wine, ask if the guests want to pour their own or prefer the waiter to pour.
28. Do not put your hands all over the spout of a wine bottle while removing the cork.
29. Do not pop a champagne cork. Remove it quietly, gracefully. The less noise the better.
30. Never let the wine bottle touch the glass into which you are pouring. No one wants to drink the dust or dirt from the bottle.
31. Never remove a plate full of food without asking what went wrong. Obviously, something went wrong.
32. Never touch a customer. No excuses. Do not do it. Do not brush them, move them, wipe them or dust them.
33. Do not bang into chairs or tables when passing by.
34. Do not have a personal conversation with another server within earshot of customers.
35. Do not eat or drink in plain view of guests.
36. Never reek from perfume or cigarettes. People want to smell the food and beverage.
37. Do not drink alcohol on the job, even if invited by the guests. “Not when I’m on duty” will suffice.
38. Do not call a guy a “dude.”
39. Do not call a woman “lady.”
40. Never say, “Good choice,” implying that other choices are bad.
41. Saying, “No problem” is a problem. It has a tone of insincerity or sarcasm. “My pleasure” or “You’re welcome” will do.
42. Do not compliment a guest’s attire or hairdo or makeup. You are insulting someone else.
43. Never mention what your favorite dessert is. It’s irrelevant.
44. Do not discuss your own eating habits, be you vegan or lactose intolerant or diabetic.
45. Do not curse, no matter how young or hip the guests.
46. Never acknowledge any one guest over and above any other. All guests are equal.
47. Do not gossip about co-workers or guests within earshot of guests.
48. Do not ask what someone is eating or drinking when they ask for more; remember or consult the order.
49. Never mention the tip, unless asked.
50. Do not turn on the charm when it’s tip time. Be consistent throughout.

RAVE - The Ghost Map, by Steven Johnson

So many of my reviews of books I enjoy include an element of "Who'd have thought that a book about ..... would be so engaging, even exciting".

The story of how the Cholera outbreak in London in 1854 led to the discovery of airborne bacteria, and probably why we're still here and able to read, is just such a book.

It's part history (how horrible life was for anyone but the rich in 17th Century London), part science (how little was known at the time about germs, bacteria and disease), and part detective story (how an enterprising pair: a cleric and a doctor, track the thousands of cases on the map in order to learn how the disease was spreading).

REVIEW - Midi Restaurant, San Francisco

This place has been on our list for a few weeks now, along with Contigo, RN74, Starbelly, Wexler's and Ironside. More on those as we get around to eating our list, so to speak.

Went there last Saturday night for what turned out to be a very quiet meal. The upscale-ish sports bar downstairs was completely empty (a couple of bored staff watching game 18 of 47 in the World Series*), while upstairs we were one of only 2 or 3 occupied tables for the "hot" 8.30pm Saturday night slot.

* Don't get me started on how they can hold a World Series of games featuring only American teams. I know half the players are Latino, but still ....

The food was very good. Decor was quietly hip. Service was impeccable (well, there was at least one server per occupied table), and with just each others' eyes to gaze into, we had a quiet gaze for an hour or so.

Maybe the downtown location says 'after work' rather than 'weekend romantic'.

RANT - Milk Substitutes

Despite living a huff 'n a puff 5-minute walk uphill from the nearest grocery store, being out of fresh milk and bread makes it feel like I'm stranded in the Kalahari. Which predicament brings me to today's puzzle: how to make a decent mid-morning capuccino when the only "milk" in the house is the dreadful rice milk her ladyship splashes on her Cheerios every morning.

I can't go any further without linking to Lewis Black's rabid rant about milk.

Strangely, Lewis Black failed to mention rice milk, which looks and tastes like dirty water. Needless to say, minus the stuff that makes real milk so good, rice milk sits like a nasty film on top of the espresso, daring you to sip it. With each swirl of the cup, the layer of non-foam disappears until it's just the nasty non-milk taste that's left to tarnish an otherwise excellent cup made with freshly-ground Blue Bottle coffee.

RAVE - Walking the Amazon

Somewhere near the top of my list of things I should've done when I was younger and fitter, along with "Learn to play like my namesake Jimmy Page, form a band and live the life of a rock star", is "explore the Amazon".

Former British Army Captain Ed Stafford is 574 664 days into his attempt to walk the length of the Amazon, from its source to its mouth, a superhuman feat that he expects to complete August 2010.

The trip began April 2, 2008, but Stafford and his initial traveling companion, Luke Collyer argued over an iPod some way into the expedition, and Collyer buggered off back to England.

Stories like this, and watching The Amazing Race, make me wonder if Pavey and I would make it out of the parking lot to the riverside without arguing about whether our cats had been left enough food, and one of us packing it in.

Witty captions are invited for the picture above, and before Roger quips "is that an Anaconda in your backpack, or are you just pleased to see me?", I've got that one.

RANT - Belichick's Overdue Geography Lesson

The New England Patriots played The Tampa Bay Buccaneers last Sunday at Wembley Stadium in London, for this year's "foreign" NFL game.

I read The Times from the UK each day, thanks to my Kindle subscription, and from which I'm quoting this gem:

Bill Belichick, head coach of the Patriots, said he was excited about the chance to play at Wembley, but he said it in the way that Madonna says she's excited about getting the chance to play Vladivostock. Then he went on to say that his team has "never played an overseas game, other than in Toronto" - prompting this geography question, worth five points: name the sea that separates New England from Canada.

The rest of the article was equally readable, but I think I'll skip Belichick's autobiography when it comes out.

RAVE - Gossip at The Regency

It's been said before - mostly in the UK press, because she's less known in her native USA - Beth Ditto is a superstar.

Am I the only person who thinks she's as important as Janis Joplin? Comparing her to Tina Turner is fitting, but likely to send you off on an R&B tangent. At their peak last night, Gossip sounded like the Sex Pistols would've sounded in their heyday, if they'd had a female vocalist and enjoyed themselves a bit more. Got the picture?

With her shock of orange hair and expanse of white flesh, Ditto looked like a plus-sized match.

She apologized at the start for being hoarse, but the way she powered through their hour-long set belied that. They performed most of their latest CD, Music for Men (buy it now!), and encored with Standing in the Way of Control, with Beth thundering away from the top of a speaker-sized box on one corner of the stage.

The Regency was heaving, boasting an assortment of girls dressed like guys, guys dressed like girls, and three guys dressed like Dexy's Midnight Runners!

RAVE - Accidental treasures on the Web

I used to work for a software company in Denver. I won't mention the name, because the a-hole who ran the company doesn't deserve the mention, but one of the sales guys used to describe our software as having a "serendipity factor", meaning that users would find hidden gems in there. Now, spare the silk-purse-out-of-a-sow's-ear gasps, he was only trying to make a living. What is serendipitous however, is bumbling around on the web and finding wonderful facts or stories you weren't looking for in the first place.

For example, while waiting for the Liverpool versus Manchester Scum game to start this morning, I caught the end of Burn After Reading, where during the credits it featured CIA Man, by The Fugs. Now, I'd never heard of The Fugs before (I'm sure Roger Espley still has one of their 8-track cartridges in his car), so I strolled on over to YouTube and found the song.

In the right-hand frame - at least when I dallied there - were links to some treasures by The Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. These included rarities like Terry Keeps His Clips On, about an uber conservative gardener who doesn't want bugs to get up his trouser legs.

Incidentally, young music combo (as Private Eye magazine would introduce them) Death Cab For Cutie got its name from the title of a song written by Neil Innes and Vivian Stanshall (pictured above), founders of the Bonzos.

Wondering whether Stanshall was still alive led me to Wikipedia, which informed that he isn't - sadly he died in a fire in his flat in 1995. Our Viv was a true eccentric, and a funny one. In one of his Rawlinson End tales, he wrote about enjoying a new Jewish musical, Oklahymie. This story however, was the real accidental treasure I found:

"In particular, his exploits with close friend Keith Moon are legendary, perhaps the most notorious involving Stanshall going into an unsuspecting tailor's shop and admiring a pair of trousers; Moon then came in, posing as another customer, admired the same trousers and demanded to buy them. When Stanshall protested the two men fought over them, splitting them in two so they ended up with one leg each. The tailor was by now beside himself but right then a one-legged actor, who had been hired by Stanshall and Moon, came in, saw the trousers and proclaimed "Ah! Just what I was looking for."

Sans prix.

One postscript to this story is that Roger (the 8-track cartridge sporter) tells me he and I luxuriated in front row seats at Vivian Stanshall's Stinkfoot comic opera in London many years ago. Now, I don't remember luxuriating in much of anything with Roger, except maybe a pint of Bols at an Austrian ski resort, but that's for another blog post.

RAVE - The Damned United

A riveting character study of someone I never liked.

In fact, I hated Brian Clough, whether he was managing Derby County, Leeds United or Nottingham Forest. I hated his whiny voice, his superior attitude, his success.

This film focuses on the 44 days Clough spent as manager of Leeds, and amply demonstrates what there was to hate about him. His selfishness. His pig-headedness. His treatment of his assistant, Peter Taylor.

Aside from the stunning acting by Michael Sheen and Timothy Spall, the big big takeaway from this movie is the shocking difference between the way the game was managed and played in the 70s, and the way it is now. Players smoking in the dressing room before the game, shabby stadiums, pitches and stars' homes. And those haircuts!

Best quotes:

In a TV interview after Derby County won the First Division championship: "I wouldn't say I'm the best manager in the business, but I am in the Top One".

When Clough and Taylor traveled to the south coast, to talk to the directors at Brighton: "Bloody Southerners. What are we doing here, we're almost in France!"

We were intrigued to see how a mostly American audience would take to this gritty as grit English film, but they seemed really into it, even without sub-titles for the Yorkshire, Scottish and Irish accents.

Awesome, dudes.

RAVE - Echo and The Bunnymen at Fox Theater, Oakland

There were no decent dancers in the 80s - the music didn't lend itself to the sashay. And that deficit was much in evidence* last night, at the gorgeous Fox Theater in Oakland.

* I'm not sure if a "deficit" can be "much in evidence", in the same way a "secret" cannot logically be "obvious", so sue me for assault with a deadly phrase.

As Echo & The Bunnymen delivered two sets, the first a performance of their 1984 album Ocean Rain, followed by another 45 minutes of classics, the assorted post-punks and pre-baggies barely kept in time.

Thanks to our hosts, Mikki and Jonny Larner (owner of The Independent venue in SF), we were in the friends and family section, which afforded plenty of "dancing" space for keen fans like the thirty-something woman writhing and swirling next to us, clearly channeling Siouxsie Sioux while auditioning for second witch in the next Harry Potter movie.

But what about the music? At his and their best, Ian McCulloch and the band sound like Richard Ashcroft and The Verve. At their worst, there are comparisons with plenty lacklustre 80s outfits. It also depends who you listen to, as to whether the first, orchestra-backed half was better than the second, band-alone set. I preferred the latter, which freed the band from the tempo and sound-system issues of balance between guitars and a string section.

Last night, McCulloch's voice showed what being raised in possibly the wettest part of England (Liverpool), and smoking 2 packs of Marlboro a day can do to a man. At times he sounded less Ian Curtis and more aging Neil Diamond. He also demonstrated a grumpiness akin to Mark Smith and the Gallaghers, which makes me wonder how hard it must be to stay pissed off for 25 years!

Curiously, the lighting carefully kept McCulloch in near total darkness. On one of those rare occasions when he WAS visible, he shouted "turn the effing lights off!!!".

So there it is then, Ian McCulloch's a vampire.

RANT or RAVE (I can't make up my mind): The Lost Symbol, by Dan Brown

My first Kindle book completed, and I don't know if I can take another of Dan Brown's formulaic series of denouements.

The book is fine, but Brown suffers from a Tolkien-esque need to label everything as ancient and belonging to someone: The Holy House of Heredom, The Winding Staircase of Freemasonry, The Code of Kryptos, the Ad of Nauseum (tee hee). See also The Mirror of Galadriel, The Riders of Theoden, The Dagger of The Witch King, The Fighting Knives of Legolas ... but I go on. (or at least Tolkien did).

And while good suspense writing demands some, er, suspense, every freaking chapter ends with stuff like "Wide-eyed, Mal'akh lay gasping for breath .. all alone on the great altar".

After a while, the persistent cliff-hangers got to me. I guess I'm suffering from something like my brother Lawrence, who maintains that he hates any book or film that starts with the result, and then tells the story of how things got to that result. My complaint is that I don't like writers or directors that can only maintain suspense using the same old devices. I'm tempted to write a spoof porn script using those devices, but someone might print it and show it to my mum! So you'll never get to read:

Chapter 2: .......... Ricky gasped as Rebekka tore violently at her stiffly-starched blouse, while fumbling frantically at his belt.
Chapter 3: Meanwhile, over at the grocery store, Joe deliberated over his choice of ice cream. "What flavor should we have tonight?", he wondered. This was always a problem for him. He knew he should have thought about this before trudging around every aisle at Safeway.

On a positive note, The Lost Symbol made it even more likely we'll spend a weekend in DC, armed with a list of alleged pyramids, obelisks and hidden-in-plain-sight evidence of the Freemasons' fabulous-ness.

RAVE - The Professor and The Madman, by Simon Winchester

The riveting tale of how the original Oxford English Dictionary was compiled. Believe me, it's a gripper! (–noun 1. a person or thing that grips. 2. grabbing you by the tender bits and keeping you focused).

When I was at school, I remember my English tutor banging on about how the only newspaper worth reading was the Manchester Guardian. Simon Winchester, a journalist for that paper, writes this account of the process behind the first edition of the world-famous OED.

James Murray - the "professor" in the book's title - and his team started by advertising for contributions to what would become the OED. He placed newspaper ads, and more inventively put slips of paper inside certain library books that he thought would be read by the educated contributors he was seeking.

The ads asked for people to submit words with definitions supported by examples of those words in contemporary and classical writings.

Professor Murray noticed that a disproportionately high number of contributions came from a post box address in Reading. Intrigued as to the source of those contributions, he tracked the sender down to someone in Reading Jail. The Jail was the kind of place where the authorities placed all manner of people, some genuinely disturbed, and others (like Oscar Wilde) whom they found hard to categorize.

The Professor eventually identified his prodigious contributor as linguistics expert Dr. William Minor ("The Madman"), who was incarcerated for life for having committed murder in 1872, alledgely driven by the atrocities he'd witnessed in the American Civil War.

Who knew that the detailed account of how the first OED was compiled would be such a fantastic story.

RAVE - John Peel, by Mick Wall

I, like many music fans, revere John Peel.

For many years he was the only meaningful figure on British radio. He eschewed the pop blah that other DJs paraded nonstop.

His reputation for discovering musical talent far outweighs anything that dipsticks like Simon Cowell or Piers Morgan can muster.

When I was doing my school homework, I used to record every minute of Peel's early evening radio show, and amassed a collection of hundreds of cassettes that I wore out in my Walkman.

This book tells how we got where he got, and tells many inside stories of the music biz, how bands we now know well first broke, and how much time Peel would spend sifting through the thousands of demo tapes sent him every week of his life.

The thinking man's music legend, RIP.

REVIEW - Capitalism: A Love Story

Boy, did we argue about this afterward. I thought it was unbalanced and gimmicky; Pavey thought that it accurately slammed the iniquities of capitalism.

We all know Michael Moore can resort to massive overstatement in order to make his point, but his use of a criminal case where owners of a privately owned juvenile detention center bribed a local judge to sentence kids to time behind bars as "a typical example of what's wrong with capitalism" was just too much of a stretch for me. Claiming that crime -  when the illegal pursuit of money harms the innocent - is capitalism, is just plain stupid in my view.

Similarly one-sided was Moore's focus on just one half of the sub-prime mortgage debacle. He banged on endlessly about those despicable Goldman Sachs types sneakily promoting variable rate mortgages to the unsuspecting, under-educated and poor, totally ignoring the fact that it takes two to tango.

Finally (for me anyway) were Moore's stunts - schlepping around Wall Street in an armored truck demanding that bail-out recipients return their ill-gotten gains to the taxpayer, and stretching "Crime Scene" tape around the headquarters of AIG and Morgan Stanley - were just time-wasting.

One interesting and potentially disgusting thing to check out is whether your company takes out life insurance on YOU, their employee. The film used this as more evidence of the evil nature of capitalism, and your view may depend on whether your company will make money when you die. See for yourself.

I could go on - and did last night, over dinner. Sorry Pav.

RANT - Rain = Power Cuts

What kind of 3rd World country is this anyway? Whenever we get heavy rain, San Francisco gets power outages!

My flight back from Austin, via Denver was delayed FIVE HOURS because of rain in San Francisco. And when I did get back, at 4am yesterday, the clocks were flashing, the fire doors on the elevator were closed, and the shrubs on our front deck were flattened.

Seriously, the only place I've been with a flakier power supply is the Caribbean. Oh good, the TV's back on :)

RAVE - Social Media Video

I spoke at the Texas CIO Academy earlier this week, a trip that allowed me to stop in for dinner and a glass or two with old and dear friends Bill and Margaret Eley in Houston (well, Bill's old and Margaret's dear).

Researching the material for my preso, I found (and used) this excellent video describing Social Media's meteoric rise.

RAVE - Corde Valle Resort, St Martin, CA

Spent our 6th Anniversary weekend at Corde Valle resort, about 70 miles south of San Francisco. And what a gorgeous place it is too. Boasting a top class golf course that we admired but didn't play, our Anniversary special suite flanked the 9th fairway, and we enjoyed breakfast each morning on our patio overlooking that fairway. In our private garden we had our own hot tub, which was hastily evacuated when we saw our own private Garter Snake slithering within reach! Verdict: otherwise blissful.

RAVE - Yank Sing

Something hit me 10 minutes into sitting at the counter for Sunday brunch at Yank Sing.

I got into one of those euphoric moods where I wanted to order everything on the menu. The M.O was perfect for that rush. Every few minutes, someone pushes a cart up to you with various steaming, spicy concoctions in little wicker baskets or on open dishes.

All bite sized. All irresistible.

The fact that the place was full of mostly Chinese families in a festive mood made for a great Sunday meal.

RAVE - Farmhouse Inn and Restaurant

I picked this place from various online recommendations when we rented a house near Healdsburg for our anniversary weekend.

The Farmhouse Inn is an un-spectacular building in the otherwise un-spectacular hamlet of Forestville.

Walking in from outside it's like entering Dr Who's Tardis - with the exterior giving no hint of the wonders inside. The decor, the furnishings, the ambience are all country house luxury.

The food was exceptional, and well worth the schlepp up to Sonoma.

I don't know if it was the euphoria surrounding our anniversary, or the super good mood I was in having found this place, but I believe the wine was one of the best I've ever had, a 2005 Vosnes Romanee.

RAVE - My new Kindle

Having a blast with my new Kindle (thank you Pav).

Reading books on the Kindle became second nature within a few minutes. It's not that it's the same as reading printed pages, it's that reading from a Kindle is easy on the eyes and easy on the hands. Controls are natural, the screen is crystal clear.

We'll see how the device lasts after being manhandled around the pool over Christmas, but until then, I'm sold.

UPDATE: After using the Kindle for a couple of weeks, I'm even more impressed. Interestingly, I've found I can read faster on the Kindle than I can with a regular book, mainly because with the text re-paginated to fit a screen that's narrower than a real paper page, there's less lateral distance for my eyes to scan the lines, and it's easier to deploy that speed-reading trick of looking at the start and end of a line or paragraph before reading the full text.

ROMANCE - Happy Anniversary Pavey

What with Global Warming, tsunamis and recession, I'm not sure if this is the compliment it once was, but you are the World to me.

While this weekend it's our 6th wedding anniversary, you've been on the receiving end of my wit, washing and wonderfulness for 12 years. (Would love, laundry and lasciviousness have worked better? I don't know).

Anyhow, this is to remind you that I love you.

RAVE - Noel Coward's Brief Encounter at American Conservatory Theater

Front row seats are always a hoot at the theater. You see every nuance of the performance, every bead of sweat, and in this case, even get to speak to members of the cast before the show.

This production mixed film, music and live performance - with the cast serving cucumber sandwiches and singing in the bar during intermission - and was wonderful from start to finish.

This tour comes direct from England, so the 30s English mannerisms and accents were perfect. Of course, I'd done my Noel Coward plummy-accented, cigarette-in-a-holder, top hat under the arm impersonation for Pavey in advance, all to no avail. This is no elegant drawing room melodrama, but a suburban railway station mostly populated by working staff, soldiers and 3 pairs of vexed lovers.

Is there any other kind?

RAVE - A Day At The Beach

Was it The Pope who said "the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco"? It might've been, seeing as everyone from Oscar Wilde to Mark Twain has been credited with that zinger.

What they DON'T tell you is that after the alleged summer has gone, during autumn (and even winter) the ozone layer opens up and we're treated to warm days and nights.

Hence, wheretofore and thusly, yesterday we deposited ourselves onto Dunes Beach, at Half Moon Bay, 20 miles south of San Francisco. While admiring the surfers for their skill and resolve - the sea NEVER warms up off our coast - I buried Pavey up to her armpits in the sand and was able to give her a playful slap without fear of reciprocation ;)

REVIEW - Manic Street Preachers at The Fillmore, Sep 24 2009

For those of you who think I don't know squat about Classical Music, I just revelled in the Manics with friend and software conspirator Ed Gaudet.

I last saw them supporting Oasis at Knebworth in the UK in 1996, along with Prodigy and Ocean Colour Scene. The sound that day was abominable, with a 1 second delay between what we heard from the bus-sized speakers at the front, and those at the back of the 250,000 crowd. No such problems at The Fillmore, which as always hosted an excellent show.

10 years after guitarist Richey Edwards disappeared (his car was found near the Severn Bridge, and it's assumed he jumped), the Manics' new album features his lyrics set to new tunes. I think one ends with "peace out" at these moments.

RAVE - L'Ardoise

The best French food I've tasted in America, let alone San Francisco. 

I hate to say it, because we live just 2 blocks from Chez Papa on Potrero Hill, but L'Ardoise is what Chez Papa aspires to be. 

My wife started with the Tomato and Basil Tureen, which was "tasty and refreshing", and I ignored American sensibilities and had the Foie Gras, which was excellent. She moved on to the Coq Au Vin, with a "wonderfully rich sauce that made chicken an exciting choice for once". I had the Duck Leg Confit, which was the best I've had in years. The Pommes L'Ardennes (I think that's what they were called) somehow tasted like they'd been cooked in a French oil on a French flame in France.

I guess I would have preferred the same fare in a larger space - the place is perhaps too cramped, with tables too close together to properly relax and enjoy the food.

The staff was energetic, friendly and helpful - what more could you ask?

RAVE - Brunelleschi's Dome, by Ross King

To borrow a much-vaunted phrase from the art world: I'm not an expert on architecture, but I know what I like.

This is an exciting account of how the word's largest Renaissance dome was designed and built.

I wish I'd read this book before I visited Florence and gazed up at Il Duomo. It was a dramatic experience, and the icing on the cake would have been to know what it took to build it.

The book also extends the list of Italian words you know (pasta, pizza, macaroni, ferrari, etc. - now you know that Il Duomo means "The Dome").

RANT - Extended Car Warranties

While I've got my synapses wired to the main power supply and the dial turned to 'Full Rant', imagine my surprise to find this! Looking into another annoying TV ad I suspect being perpetrated by scammers - namely, add-on car warranties - at Ripoff Report.com, there among the complaints about stoprepairbills.com, is an ad for Cash4Gold.com. Does this need another exclamation mark?

I don't know whether to focus on the confirmation that people ARE being scammed by these companies offering cover for repairs they eventually wriggle out of, or on the fact that Ripoff Report is getting ad dollars from another company alleged on their web site to be ripping people off!

Lewis Black makes big money wobbling his chops and spluttering over these incongruities.

RANT - Cash for Gold ads

What is it with all these ads telling us to send our gold rings, bracelets and nick-nacks to some company we've never heard of? Most of these companies sound like scammers, smell like scammers and, if you research them online, are in fact alleged scammers.  

How is it that TV advertising has moved from plain old crushingly dull to outright punter-swindling?

There are a number of sites where ripoff-ees have left their "Disgusted, of Sudbury" posts, including this one.

Caveat emptor (which is Latin for "watch your ass").

RAVE - Sociale

Very impressed with Sociale, a restaurant in Laurel Heights, San Francisco.

We had an exceptional evening with Holly, Stephen, Ginger and Ross, starting with a snifter at Spruce, directly across the street.

Strolling across to Sociale, the front yard was full, with everyone enjoying the party atmosphere. We were seated inside, and began what turned out to be a very different 3.5 hour dinner than the Cafe Jacqueline experience (see August 30 RANT). Admittedly, we ate and drank almost continuously, with 3 top-notch Italian reds (Nebbiolo, Rosso di Montalcino, Nobile de Montepulciano), and an excellent Moscato D'Asti with dessert). Everything we had (stuffed olives, peppers stuffed with lamb, Fava bean risotto, lamb chop, quail) was cooked to perfection, while the service was top notch.

Hugely recommended.

RAVE - The Forger's Spell, by Edward Dolnick

Another great history mystery book, sub-titled "A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century", this one, er, tells the true story of a fake Vermeer, painted by budding hoaxer Han van Meegeren and sold to one Hermann Goering.

Apparently, Van Meegeren was a lousy painter, but driven by jealousy and a desperate need for money, he set about working out how to create a painting (and in the end, a series of them) that, though painted in the 1940s would look, feel and smell like something painted 300 years earlier.

Reading this wouldn't enable you to forge an old master, but it shows you to what lengths you'd have to go if you tried. It's not just painting like Vermeer, but using 300 year old wooden frames, 300 year old canvas, paint and minerals, and choosing a subject that would fit into Vermeer's canon.

After doing all of that, you have to come up with a credible story about how and where you uncovered this "lost" work. And in Van Meegeren's case, because his initial success encouraged him to repeat the process with a number of additional "Vermeers", eventually led to his downfall.

Forgers vs Nazis, an exciting, true story.

RANT - Our fridge is broken. Please send cold beer.

As we used to say in England "It never rains. It pours" - a piece of logic that would make a meteorologist turn in his grave.

The cause of my linguistic lash-up? Last week we bought a new washer and drier, because the washer retired with a groin strain, or something. Yesterday, we came back from our week away to find that the refrigerator had decided to heat everything, rather than freeze it. Our repair man has just left to order an $800 part! So, until Friday we are living the Victorian life, sans refrigeration. How will we keep the pheasant and foie gras edible? How will we get by with warm champagne? At least it's given us something else to argue about, seeing as the failed fridge is apparently my fault. I must've broken some rule on planet Pav.

REVIEW - Maui

I have to be very careful about my critique du paradis. That'd be biting the hand that feeds me. We took the 20-minute flight from Honolulu to Maui, and checked into the Ritz-Carlton for 4 days of finding out what it's like to share a big-ass pool with dozens of other schmooze-fans.

Short answer? Pretty darned good.

Sticking a bunch of volcanic islands in the middle of the Pacific necessarily means you get a lot of cloud and a permanent brisk, warm wind whipping around your speedo. Nevertheless, it is gorgeous here, and only the hedonistic pursuit of luxuries elsewhere and a doctorate in pickiness gives me a somewhat jaded view of resorts like this.

Eaves-dropping on a group next to us in one of the many restaurants at this hotel gave me the perfect get-out - how to criticize the place without inviting too much criticism myself. What do London or New York give you that you can't get here in Hawaii, or in San Francisco? Style.

That might sound a little disingenuous, coming from someone who loves life in SF, but I'm just, er, "being real, dog."

No amount of fancy furniture or million dollar view can make up for an alleged 5-star resort that insists on offering fries with every dish, or not listing the year with any of the wines on the menu, or having 2 flat screen TVs in the suite, but no slippers, or having TVs blasting ESPN into the lobby and main bar all bleeding day, or thinking that having every member of staff intone "Aloha" every time they see you gives them a big check mark alongside "service". Sorry, I'm foaming at the mouth now. Back to the view from our room. Aaaaaaaah.

Will we go back? Almost certainly.

RAVE - Best office in the world?

This is arguably the world's best view from an office desk. I know some of you prefer gazing out of your corner offices at the throbbing pulse of the financial district in [insert throbbing city here], but I'm sure we'd all live longer and happier if we had this view of the Pacific from IBM's Honolulu office.

Sadly, I only spent a day in this office, and left fingernails on the door jambs as I was dragged out to the waiting airport taxi.

RANT - Hawaii 0-5

Thanks to an uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time, I was asked to co-present at an IBM seminar in Honolulu. That very pleasant task meant we decided to extend the visit by a few days, Pavey flew in and we blissed out in Maui. I may be a curmudgeon, but I know what side my bread's buttered, so I'm separating my negatives from my positives.

No mistake about it, Hawaii is not all pineapple chunks in Paradise.

First, there are the visitors:

1. Washed out, grey-haired salesmen with paunches stretching generic aloha shirts, droning on about zzzzzzzzz

2. American and Japanese tourists, doing the same thing Brits do in Benidorm, wabbling around with bright red faces and umbrella festooned concotions, telling their whining brats they can get another big mac when they get back to the condo.

3. Then there's everyone else, suspecting that as long as they hang out here they'll not have a proper career.

That's not 5 negatives? I said I would hold the curmudgeanity.

Oh, alright.

4. Two words. West California.

5. Another two. American Luxe.

RANT - Town Hall

There are several things that can take the edge of a restaurant, if not outright spoil it.

I've already banged on enough about singing "happy birthday", and how that drops an otherwise classy place down into TGIF territory. 

Then there's having to stand around for ages in limbo waiting for your reserved and already overdue table. 

Not to mention doggy bags on the table, waiters telling you what their favorite dish is on the menu, imagining that their taste buds are twinned with yours.

Town Hall suffers from all of these.

I picked this photo because it perfectly highlights the Applebys-with-chandeliers vibe exuded by this place.

Enough said.

RAVE - Spruce

Elegant, sumptuous and tasty. But enough about me.

Spruce would be perfect if it hadn't pulled one of our wine choices and suggested another, much more expensive one, and then repeated that "trick" with two of our entrees.

I wouldn't normally mind, but it smacked of the waiter and/or restaurant just trying to leech more money out of their customer.

Aside from that, it's a very special place, for eating or cocktailing.

Not much choice in the leather-bound menu for our vegetarian guest, but all-in-all a great place for a mini-celebration or otherwise special night out.

Last time we were here we just sat in the bar for cocktails before heading over the street to Sociale.

Nice.