PUT THE MONEY DOWN: (in a tin cup)

So I arrive in London last night after an interminable British Airways flight after watching SHATTERED GLASS, that movie about the NEW REPUBLIC fiction scandal, which I stuck with only because people like Chloe Sevigny and Steve Zahn were in it. Lead performance was pretty decent, it was the writing again, alas. In a movie about WRITING.



But the thing is I came over with a new Nokia 3100 all ready to rock and the damn thing wouldn’t work. It noticed THREE available networks but wouldn’t get chummy with any. So I spent the morning at a global phone shop, spent 11 pounds getting situated, and learning from an overly forthcoming AT&T operator in the US that AT&T’s internat’l service was basically nonexistent. She knew from PERSONAL EXPERIENCE. I thanked her for being straight with me. She laughed and said it was too early for anybody to listen in on her.


Then I went to a phone shop for a new SIM card, but the guy showed me how the phone is LOCKED by AT&T to prevent just this type of thing. Later on I was wandering around and came across this sign: “Unlocking all phones to all networks.” Bingo — I head inside and it’s like an old-fashioned head shop for geeks: row upon row of monitors and over two dozen hipsters surfing the web for 1 pound and hour. [Phonefixers, 07958-22-33-11, 138-140 Charing Cross Road.] This guy takes my phone apart, looks up the unlock code on the web, unlocks it, puts a new SIM card in, gives me a local number, and I’m off and running. If you’re reading this and want to call, try [US: 011-44] 0794-445-2949. AT&T charges $5/month for its global service, and 99 cents a minute on every call. This service I picked up costs 19 cents a minute, and all Brits calling me have only a local dial to make. And I don’t pay for any incoming calls.

Tonight I talked with Paul Du Noyer, who passed along a new issue of WORD; Mark Lewisohn, and Howie Casey. Tomorrow I get the London Beatle tour. My feet are already killing me.