I’m not sure why my love of Orbital has just resurfaced, although their music makes the perfect backdrop to cruising around with the top off your car, so perhaps that’s part of it.

It’s strange to feel how a simple hop across the Atlantic can change the status of your musical tastes. Orbital are pretty well-known and loved in the UK and a lot of my friends there are die-hard fans. But all of a sudden I’m living somewhere where hardly anyone seems to have heard of them, except maybe in passing. A quick change of address and I’m suddenly “underground” (relatively speaking.)

But anyhow, here I am, back deep in the first dance music which ever really caught my attention.

And it’s not without a sense of sadness in a lot of ways, because Orbital have hung up their synthesisers (or so they say) – no more live gigs, festival or otherwise; no more albums.

I can feel the city humming from over the horizon, before we get anywhere near. Occasional sparks of light merge slowly into an organised gridwork of towns until finally it’s there just below us, stretching in every direction endlessly.

The winding ribbons of the freeways are so bright it hurts the eyes.

It’s almost too much; too crazy. I’ve never seen anything so out of control, so wanton, so… American.

At this height, as the plane begins its final descent, the City of Angels wears a halo; a filthy crown of smog encircling countless square miles.

It’s not the picturesque hills and “Victorians” of San Francisco, and it’s hard to fall instantly in love with LA. Even from a distance, she’s clearly a filthy whore of a city.

As I step out of the plane at LAX I’m wondering what new tricks she’ll be able to teach me.

San Francisco vanishes at night, like a modern Isle of Avalon.

All of her lights and her shapes, the loves and despairs, the smiles and the tears are veiled from view.

As the sun descends and the fog rises, 49 square miles dissolve into a gentle orange haze.

From the city’s hills you stare down into nothingness. You are alone. You are quiet. You can sleep and dream quiet dreams.

Because the city is there when you need it; waiting for you to dive in and swallow the full force of life.

But it also knows when to leave you alone.

A perfect balance.

I’m just cresting the first bend above San Andreas lake, swinging the driver’s visor to the side to block out the blinding rays of the sun, and for a moment I’m confused.

There’s a mountain range out there which didn’t exist this morning.

All across the forested hills a few miles to the west, the clouds have gathered and risen in majestic snowy peaks, spilling over the dark green foliage and glowing in the evening light.

It’s breathtaking, and I have to make an effort to keep my eyes where they need to be – on the road.

Another five miles and the fog has gathered fully. As the traffic races down the curves of the freeway ahead of me, it’s momentarily lit by a fan of Jacob’s Ladders.

I want to take a photo, but I can’t possibly do it justice through a windscreen at freeway speeds. It’s probably dangerous too.

Instead, I just drink it in; commit it to memory.

Big scenery in a Big Country.

Now, I’ve been mulling this over for so long that, in fact, the “podcasting” goalposts have moved some considerable distance since I first heard the term and choked most unpleasantly on my morning cup of tea.

Which is just the first problem – what the hell is podcasting anyway?

For the sake of some brevity, I want to tackle two things which seem to fall under this latest abortion of a word:

1. Recording yourself rambling on about something, and releasing it on the web.
2. Using RSS Media Enclosures to distribute audio content.

The majority of my scorn is reserved for the former.

Horrible puns shall abound as I attempt to summarise some of the more exciting moments from the last 2 months, getting to know San Francisco and its slightly off-the-wall night life. I’m starting to find my way around the city now (not a difficult feat given it’s 7 miles by 7 miles – a village compared to London), and I have to say I’m falling in love with the place, even if I’ve woken up one too many times on a sofa somewhere mumbling “where am I?”

In a stark, minimalist style, I shall describe the highlights of my travels using bullet-points. You can all read between the lines – I’m sure it’ll seem more exciting that way.