About James Foreman

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Up up and away again

I had an anthropology graduate drive me to the airport today, so that meant I got to talk to somebody about colonialism for half an hour. Roughly half my Lyft drivers have been interesting on this trip, and the rest hardly spoke; there was an ex-domain broker, a political agent, an ultramarathon runner and a man who didn’t want to go on holiday with his family to Boracay because it’s too expensive. So that was an interesting view into another life. Continue reading “Up up and away again”

Remote sickness

My wife called me this morning (or this evening – I’m now tired enough to not be able to comprehend timezones) to tell me that the girls were sick. La Serpiente has mouldy feet, and Destroyer is coming down with foot and mouth disease. It’s enough to make you want to stay put on the other side of the Pacific, but I guess I must return to my pestilential family to bring them some succour.

Also, whistles.
Continue reading “Remote sickness”

Gin is the thing

This evening I got a Lyft to Redwood City, where my friend lives with a mound of dogs and some peach trees. My Lyft drivers seem to becomimg more and more unreliable; the first one I tried to book got lost and drove around the carpark at the office, then drove off down the highway and never tried to make contact with me. One of my drivers last night was shirtless and incapable of following his GPS. It’s all a bit odd. Continue reading “Gin is the thing”

Not Quite Drinking In LA

Tomorrow I’m visiting a friend for dinner, and since I failed to take anything with me the last time I went to see him, this time I’ve overcompensated by fetching two bottles of wine and a triplet of different gins from BevMo, some sort of beverage supermarket. This was as not much fun as it sounds.
Continue reading “Not Quite Drinking In LA”

Return to comedy

After work today I went with an old friend from Hong Kong (and now a co-worker) to a comedy night in Santa Clara. Even getting there was the stuff of hilarity; there are identical Hilton Garden Inns up and down Palo Alto, and instead of being picked up outside the one I stayed in, we had a fifteen minute argument on the phone about whether I was standing in the entrance or not.
Continue reading “Return to comedy”

Back to Palo Alto

The flight to San Francisco only took 14 hours (I guess prevailing winds are a wonderful thing) and I was through Customs and picking up my bag before 9am. It was touch and go for a bit; they have automated machines at SFO to collect your information before you hand your passport to a person in a bulletproof vest, but for some reason the camera and the flash on the machine weren’t playing nice. It kept taking a picture of me so over-exposed you could almost make out my pupils and jawline, and nothing else, and then complained that the picture wasn’t clear and would have to be taken again. Technology, I love you.
Continue reading “Back to Palo Alto”

167 hours to go

I got up at six and went straight to the airport, sneaking out without a shower to avoid waking anyone up. The ride to the airport was in an electric car, near silently swooshing past darkened housing blocks all the way to Changi Terminal 2, which seems to be a madhouse on Sunday mornings. Crowds of people wandering around, sluggishly getting in the way at every point like they’d never flown before. I’m not sure if that is because there are certain flights that are only scheduled on Sundays, or everyone is just too knackered to think straight this early.
Continue reading “167 hours to go”