Lovely, lovely squash

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Try explaining some of the things you take for granted to an American. It's different when you're in France or Malaysia struggling with an unfamiliar language, but when you have the full breadth of the English language at your finger tips go ahead and explain some standard British things. Squash. Explain squash. The pleasure of a post-boozing marmite on toast. Bonfire night. That night when we burn effigies of a Catholic terrorist on bonfires. And don't forget the bit about kids begging for cash on the street for the week leading up to that night. And then watch the faces of your new American chum fall into confusion and ultimately concern as they realise that the UK is full of pagan ritual reminiscent of The Wicker Man. 

It turns out that some of the British stereotypes aren't as archaic as I may once have thought. We DO have crazy old rituals that none of us really fully comprehend, but we all look forward to. We DO relish some pretty piss-poor culinary delights - watered-down fruit juice concentrate that doesn't taste anything like the original fruit? And there is no way that an American would consider a round of toast a suitable post-drinking 'meal'.

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What this has meant, though, is that I can see my culture a little more clearly. I see the flaws and the madness and the sometime-crapness that we accept as the norm. It also means that I can embrace a different and sometimes better norm (mexican food is CLEARLY better at 3am than a fucking shady kebab). And it also means that I feel closer than ever to my fellow Brits. Despite class, culture and education we are all waaaaaay more similar than we may think. Even if you don't share the same Friday night routine as someone in Brixton or Harrogate, you may well both end the night with a round of Marmite on toast with a shit ton of butter. A British upbringing has the benefit of being fairly consitent. Things you can be sure of: the Queen, Marmite on toast, Guy Fawkes night. And squash. Lovely, lovely squash.

Get your shit together, Cal

You know that episode of Family Guy where it starts off with Peter being a pirate and then does a massive 180 and its ACTUALLY about Chris getting a girlfriend? Well, thats called a halfway plot switch and its a real-life, proper storytelling trope. No foolin'. Its funny because of the misdirection, and its even funnier when it is self-referential.

Want to know when its not funny? When its in an advert.

Its utterly fucking exhausting. I have no idea why certain ads feel like they need to build you up to the actual money shot. Most of them start out like this:

"This time of year is all about spending time with loved ones."

Aw, so I'm going to guess that this advert is about something squishy, or buying presents. Either way its deffo got a Chrimbo vibe.

"So why waste time in the kitchen?"

Ok, ok, I see where this is going - it'll be a fast food advert. Why waste time in the kitchen when you can order takeaway and hang with the fam. Nice.

"Especially when you you've got so many other things to do! Like getting fit for the Christmas party!"

Unexpected, but ok. Aimed at busy moms who want to get fit, and fast! They'll be wheeling out an ex-fatty-boom-boom in a minute to tell me that she got fit and fabulous by spending just 20 minutes a day watching a DVD.

"And the last thing you want to be worrying about is your moderate to sever psoriasis."

Oh, I see - make me feel at ease by describing all the things I've got to think about and then dig deep into my insecurities to show that you understand me, the consumer, and the fact that I've got so much on my plate I've not been able to deal with an underlying medical problem. Wow, TV, you really do 'get' me.

"Especially when you could meet the man of your dreams online!"

Again, unexpected. Its taken a few twists and turns, but this ad must be for a dating website.

*sad music* "But others aren't so fortunate."

Ok, what the fuck? Where are we going now? Is that a picture of a kid with Cancer? Why did I need the fucking build-up? If this is an ad for a charity then focus on the important stuff. Not my fucking psoriasis.

"Thats why, when you buy a Mazda this holiday season we'll give $300 to a local children's charity."

GTFO. I actually feel mentally abused by this nonsense. Whoever wrote the script for this ad should be pushed under a Mazda. In 2 minutes I have been misdirected and confused. I've felt sadness, happiness, and now utter fucking indifference.

I exaggerate for comic effect, but if you've seen the car ad that starts off with slo-mo images of kids with Cancer, or the Psoriasis ad that starts off with the statement 'I really want to get fit' then you understand where I'm coming from.

Want to know something even more terrifying? They use this tactic on the news too. Yep, reporters are devoting a solid 20 seconds of a 60 second story to a tedious and diversionary intro.

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"Up next, here's Cal with a story about how pigs falling out of trees is seriously affecting one community in Utah. Cal?"

"Christmas time is full of magic and wonder. Its a time of year that is all about shopping, spending time with family and ... pigs falling out of trees? For one family in Utah shopping for presents is the last thing on their minds."

Holy shit, Cal. The anchor set you up to leap straight into your shitty story. Its like neither of you were paying attention. Or maybe you have shares in the stock video library and overtime you show a stock video of people shopping in a department store you get a financial backhander?? Either that, Cal, or you're a shit reporter.

Understanding the DMV

You know my feelings on driving in this part of the Bay Area. Seriously - its like these people are experiencing other road users for the first time. There's no point getting mad when someone cuts you up or doesn't indicate because you can toot your horn and scream as much as you want, they are completely unaware of you*. What it means is that you have to drive defensively, like you expect a runaway pickup to plough through the stationary traffic at any time. Thats one of the reasons people take so fucking long to get off the line on a green light. That, and the fact that they are FUCKING OBLIVIOUS.

Anyway, you would think that with all this in mind they would teach you a bit of defensive driving before you're allowed out on your own. Not so. The practical driving test took a mere 20 minutes, and I could take the written test as many times as I needed to in order to pass. Wow. The funniest thing for me was that I had to take the test in my own car. So I drove my car to the DMV, took the test and, if I had failed, I would have driven it home again. Um, what? If I am unsafe on the road I probably shouldn't be driving my fucking car anywhere??

Anyhow, the DMV itself is a sight to behold. I have no idea where rich, posh people go to get their license, because they certainly didn't make an appearance at any time while I was there. The dregs of society seem to gather early - they have obviously been stung by excessive lines before. Book yourself an appointment online, and even then you sound expect to wait, because its not an appointment, more of a timeslot that you share with a shit ton of other losers.

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So, you turn up for your 9am appointment, along with everyone else with a 9am appointment and stand in the first queue (its a 'queue', goddammit. A 'line' is what connects a dot-to-dot or what skanks do in the toilet). You had BETTER have the right forms filled in. If you don't, then you'll get the forms and be told to fill them in and go stand in another line. There could be up to 50 separate lines at any one time (I'm kidding. But only a bit), and there are 100 little booths that you can be sent to that do different jobs. There's a queue for your photo, a queue for taking the written test, a queue for submitting your written test, a queue for submitting each individual form. Bring your iPad - you;ll need it to pass the time AND to block out constant noise. Who the fuck brings their entire family to the fucking DMV?? This isn't the movies.

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I did have a nice moment where the man marking my written test (YES - they have people actually marking your written test with a red pen. WTF. Would a computer not be efficient/cheaper/less fallible? Could my tax dollars not be put to better use?) had to tell the chinese man in front of me that his wife couldn't help him with the written test. Three times. THREE TIMES. He then looked at me and rolled his eyes. Nice moment. The test itself was hard, in that it contains situations that aren't specifically dealt with in the highway code, which is a good thing. The need to be able to quote the acceptable blood alcohol levels are less useful - I have no idea what my blood alcohol level is at any given moment - it would be more useful to make me quote the alcohol content of drinks, or just to make it clear that no alcohol is the best policy when driving. Could this be contributing to the fact that drink driving here is way more socially acceptable than in the UK? Feel free to get indignant about it - its true.

So, after a significant amount of time and lots of surly DMV workers (why so mad, bro?) I got my license in the post, which is a lovely feeling. Its a bit disconcerting that you have to list your weight, height, eye color and whether you need to wear glasses while driving actually on your license. I had no idea what I weighed, or my exact height, and the DMV didn't have a measuring tool or scales, so I had to guess, otherwise I'd have to come back when I had these arbitrary numbers. Lets hope I don't get stopped by the po-po, otherwise I'll probably have to explain my sudden growth spurt and weight loss. And change in eye color.

* Not entirely true. I accidentally pulled out in front of a man who was speeding because I misjudged

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his excessive speed. I swore. He swerved in front of me and jammed on his brakes so hard my fucking life flashed before my eyes. Twice. Like he wanted to kill me. I screamed at him that he was a fucking arsehole and he came back with a witty "I think YOU'RE the arsehole". I have wished death upon him every day since then, though everyone else has told me that I shouldn't have reacted because he was clearly unhinged and irresponsible and could have pulled a gun on me. They are right, I am wrong. Don't react to fuckwit drivers.

A Brit guide to turkey day

If you get pissy when M&S start selling their Chrimbo toot in October then you'll go mental in the US. They have a whole holiday season here that starts with Halloween (which Brits do not consider to be a valid holiday) and goes all the way through to Chrimbo. Thats a full 3 months of pumpkin-spiced holiday spirit, which the old man is finding it hard to sustain.

That aside, its worth noting that the holiday hierarchy is a bit different here. As we've established, Halloween isn't even a thing in the UK, so that scores a zero, while Chrimbo is right up at the top. Its better than Easter - all the chocolate of the spring festival, plus shitty weather that forces us to stay indoors and eat our own weight in Quality Street guilt-free. It would appear that in the US, the home of religious freedom, Chrimbo is trumped by an even bigger 'do'. Thanksgiving seems to be the Autumn holiday when everyone visits family and is thankful that they live in a really rich and privileged country. As Russell Brand recently described it it commemorates the day when Ariana Grande traveled all the way from Boston and strangled a turkey. And then there were some Indians. 

I get the feeling that, like 4th July, you have to be an actual American to really appreciate the magnitude of this holiday. A full-on "back-to-back world war champions" kinda guy, who understands and appreciates the freedom that living in this country gives you. 

My tone may be little mocking, but actually its a thoroughly bloody nice day. In the two years that the old man and I have been here we've had welcoming invitations to Thanksgiving meals. Which is genuinely lovely, and, actually, reflects just how sweet people here have been. So, although I don't really understand the 'real' meaning of the holiday I am thankful for the lovely people we've met here. 

With that in mind I didn't want us to look like the crap provincial rednecks who turn up to the embassy ball with a six pack of beers and denim short-shorts, so I did a bit of research beforehand to suss out the protocol.

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So, what are you supposed to do at Thanksgiving? Well, it would appear that eating a big Christmas-esque meal, drinking booze and watching football on the telly are the key things to do. Lots of people visit family in other states, so transport before and after is MAYHEM. The shops aren't open, along with most other things - while Christmas and hanukkah and Kwanza are all celebrated by specific cultural groups Thanksgiving allies to everyone, so there are no groups of people willing to work over that period. Except, I'm sure there are people who don't care about it and would be happy to get time and a half, but the altruistic nature of some of the big stores forces everyone to be at home arguing with their relatives, which is lovely.

Seeing as its so much like a British Chrimbo I was wondering about presents? But, no, no expectation to exchange gifts or cards. And I'm not sure about extra tips (in the UK some people tip the milkman and the bin men at Chrimbo) so I didn't do it. I did think about it though, and I think thats actually worth more than cold hard cash. I hope my warm thoughts and tight wallet keep you warm at night, garbage men of NorCal.

On the plus side, though, if you're not at work you get to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which is jolly. I'm sure its a lot of fun if you're there, but the TV coverage was basically one huge advert for new TV shows, Broadway shows and new albums. "Here with me now is Michael Buble. Michael, how are you? What have you been up to?" "Well, Matt, I've been working hard on my new album which is out now, so I'm happy to take a break today to watch this fabulous parade" "Great, can we hear one of your new tracks?" "Sure! **breaks into tedious warbles**". Meh.

I'm not sure whether you're supposed to dress up for Thanksgiving dinner, because a lot of people will be in full football mode, so my sparkly dress would look a bit excessive, so we went for smart casual (festive top and trousers) while others went with pretty dresses and smart shirts. Its kinda like Chrimbo in that sense - make a bit of an effort to look nice, but don't go Chrimbo-party crazy.

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We also made sure to ask what we should bring. This is important - you don't want to turn up with something shite, but you also don't want to turn up empty-handed - thats just rude. Equally, though, the person cooking the meal will probably have put in a huge amount of effort in timings and planning (don't underestimate that - its a fucking feat and a half, and our incredible hosts gracious played down how much effort they had gone to in producing a triple-meat feast with posh cheese and charcuterie and wine and **drowns in own drool**) so if you turn up with a duplicate dish or something that just won't go thats also pretty crappy. So we brought dessert and I practiced and practiced to make sure I got it right on the night. We went super-British (trifle) because I'd hate to bring a sub-par pumpkin pie. Also, whats not to like about jelly (wobbly sugar), custard (cream and vanilla and sugar) and cream (cream).

So, in summary, your invitation to a Thanksgiving meal means ALOT and totally represents the sentiment of this particular holiday, so be thoughtful, dress nice, ask what you can bring and don't expect to be able to buy custard powder on Thanksgiving morning. 

Dr Johnsons' post-watershed word of the day, part deux

Dr Johnsons' post-watershed word of the day

Hey gang! Ready to have some naughty fun with verbal misinterpretation?

Naughty fun, you say? Is this going to get me laid?

Aye! If you plan on courting a lady as fond of lexical shenanigans as we!

So, no then.

Don't be so sure! This one is naughty and certainly snigger-worthy. Maybe you can bring it up as a conversation starter at the Christmas party?

**scoff** yeah, got me some lexical misdirection. Bitches love lexical misdirection. 

Indeed they do, my friend! Context is everything with this one. If a colleague asks you for a rubber during a quarterly financial meeting, then he's made a mistake in his pencil calculations. If a colleague asks you for a rubber at the Christmas party, then he's about to make a mistake in the stationery cupboard with Deborah the office bike. Bahahaha!!

 

Worst. Wingman. Ever.

rub·ber

ˈrəbər/

noun

noun: rubber

1. • NORTH AMERICANinformal

     a condom.

     plural noun: rubbers
   • BRITISH

     an eraser for pencil or ink marks.

     
     

A tribute to the fallen GHDs

I'm not even addicted to my straighteners, it just pisses me off when I've lugged them across the world as part of my weight limit and they give up within one minute of plugging them in. I maimed my first pair of GHDs in New York years ago - after a feeble attempt at heating up they gave up completely for the rest of the holiday. But at least they were playing ball when I got back to the UK. That could not be said for my next occurrence of GHD abuse in Cali when they actually died and I had to send them to be fixed when I got back to the UK. You CAN do it yourself (I've checked the ol' youtube for tutorials) but its apparently quite hard to work out whats wrong with the fickle little thing, so it was easier and quicker to send it off to some nice chaps in the UK.

Roll on 2 years and my lovely sister-in-law uses them again on her super-thick locks. They surrendered halfway through, after a valiant effort, so we sent them off (to the UK, because apparently this service isn't offered in the US??) again. Those little war-wounded warriors are trundling along fine now, but one of their comrades fell in SF a couple of weeks ago. They have recovered in the UK, but it did mean that they basically got a free vacation in the US and were absolutely no bloody use whatsoever.

So - to the travel warning. If you are bringing GHDs from the UK to the US bring a travel adapter that allows you to mess with the voltage. Too many GHDs have been lost in the pursuit of straight holiday hair.

Its not funny. Its just true.

I'll give you something fun to do with hotdogs...

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So with my liberal sprinkling of f-bombs and poop jokes it will have become apparent that I occupy the most regal of positions in the comedy feudal system, which is why I feel I am qualified to pass judgment on those who attempt to lob gags over the battlements of my comedy castle. One must always be poised to receive the pointy end of a double entendre (see what I did there?) - I genuinely (and potentially mistakenly) believe it is a sign of intelligence. 




Double entendre is all about context. When Sid offered Babs a sausage from the BBQ it was pretty clear to the 12 year old me that he was suggesting something a bit ruder. (I say 12. It may have been younger. Don't judge me for watching sexy comedies in my formative years. Us Brits are weened on such shenanigans). And I have been told on a couple of occasions that my guffaws are unwelcome because the snigger-worthy misinterpretation is taken entirely out of context. Why would you think that my exclamation that I love sausage could mean anything sinister when we are at a sausage-tasting evening in the Sausageville Sausage Factory. Simpleton. But, it is my belief that being able to take something out of context AND in context is a sign of higher intelligence. I'm experiencing life on multiple levels, bitches!


And I know many of the peasants in this here colony are with me. As an example lets look at THE BEST ADVERT in the history of all things.

I appreciate that this can entirely be interpreted with a straight face. All these lovely people are very happy that they can now have items sent directly to them. The message is clear. But, there is no doubt whatsoever that the company responsible are fully aware of the hilarity that ensues when you slightly mishear the statement "I just shipped my bed". This simple misdirection makes you giggle, because, goodness, did he just say what I thought he said? No! Of course not - but wouldn't it be silly if he did! At worst you remember the message in the advert because you misheard and thought they were being dirty buggers - remembering a clear message is the most basic of goals for an ad. At best you and KMART form a naughty, unspoken bond through your tv where they mentally give you a wink and a chuckle and you mentally wink back, whispering, "tee hee, we're both on the same page, are we". And, if we're on the same page, then you won't try and screw me over with fake-ass Black Friday deals or a shoddy returns policy. Wink.

So, with this in mind what the fuck-a-doodle-dandy were Pillsbury thinking when they got their little podgy mascot to claim "here's something fun to do with hotdogs!" And its not sentiment, which, packaged differently, would be perfectly innocuous, its the actual words used. They could have said "Looking for a fun treat for the kids?" or "Bored of hotdogs? Here's a fun twist!" But the actual statement sounds like something one might say after a solid fortnight of eating hotdogs cut into the shape of farm animals or threaded with spaghetti - "Here's something fun to do with hotdogs! Shove them up your arse!".

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If this IS meant to be taken out of context then we are imagining a tiny dough-y BOY doing something pervy with hotdogs. Um, no. Which means that it is an in-context-only situation, which shows an incredible lack of awareness, and demonstrates that Pillsbury are very much not on my level. We shared no knowing winks, we are not on the same wavelength. Sorry, Pillsbury, I won't be rushing out to buy your merchandise, and, I fear, you won't give a crap because I clearly fall well outside of your target demographic.

The same can be said for the lovely infomercial I just watched for a recipe book of "Dump cakes". Pardon? You mean to say that completely straight-faced you are offering me a dump cake? A cake of dump? Wow. I guess there is a chance that a 'dump' is not a slang term that Americans will understand. If that be the case, I stand corrected on this one, although I do want to be in the meeting where they try and sell the book to Waterstones in the UK. Epic.

Pumpkin spiced farts

Tis the season and whatnot. But seriously - pumpkin spice is a national obsession that I am completely over. I have two issues.

1. Pumpkin spice is not an actual flavor. For the uninitiated it seems to be the flavoring that people traditionally put with pumpkin to make a pumpkin pie more palatable than mildly sweet, squidgy slop. The flavor is a combination of cinnamon and nutmeg, and possibly a bit of ginger and cloves, if you're feeling fancy. Cloves are sent from the seventh circle of hell to ruin christmas, so I'm already not on board with this nonsense. But, lets call it what it is - christmas spices. Calling it pumpkin spice is like calling Salt & Vinegar crisps 'Chip spiced'. Nope.

2. If everyone jumps on the bandwagon this shit gets real old real quick. Lest we forget the lament of the one hit wonder. With that in mind, lets explore some of the most and least appropriate pumpkin-spiced shit that one can buy:

Peanut butter: 

 

Margarine:

Oreos: I'm not a fan of birthday cake oreos - a couple of dunks in a cup of coffee and you got a serious case of the diabeetus.

Johnnies: Really? Classy. I can imagine thats one hell of a conversation started and a passion killer. "Hey baby, you like pumpkin-spiced lattes? Well, fancy coming back to my place to wrap your lips around this?" Nope.

Pop tarts: standard

Philadelphia: Its cheese, guys. 

M&Ms: Clove flavoured chocolate. Gross.

Porridge: Come on, guys, you can actually put actual spices into your actual porridge oats. 

Waffles: I'm a sucker for a nice waffle. This does not sound like a nice waffle.

More travel gubbins

To be honest I'm a bit out of the loop on travel gadge. Its been a while since I had to trudge across the globe cattle class and get up for a meeting the next day, or drive 5 hours for an evening presentation and then turn around and come straight back stopping, briefly, in a Welcome Break car park for a power nap. So, I'm a bit gutted that this little beaut didn't exist when I was still doing a shit ton of miles in a plethora of Vauxhall Astras. In fairness, PDAs were still a thing back then, with iPhones a mere glint of billions of dollars in Monsieur Jobs' eyes. Still, I'm glad it exists to give even the lowliest of Marketing Executives a bit of Facebook respite while they eat their Burger King Chicken Royale on the M3 at 10 o'clock at night.

Sad orphans and deprived puppies coming out of my arse

Having just experienced the ol' Scottish referendum back in blighty I've been asking about the voting rights over here in Cali. Well, it turns out that asking the people to vote on decisions is rather popular out here. Sure, citizens get to vote people into power, but locally we also get to suggest stuff and have all our fellow Californian Raisins vote on it too. For example, Proposition 41, which was voted on over the summer, is designed to support veterans through better housing provision. It kinda defeats the object of having voted representatives into power if you're going to let every pleb make a proposition and ask everyone else to vote on it, but it does feel like a more transparent way to manage the state. I appreciate the drawbacks (there are often lots of propositions on the ballot paper, and its hard enough to get people to vote normally, let alone when they've got to read a shit-ton of extra blurb, aside from the fact that people are dumb, so giving them the opportunity to make decisions that affect us all when you KNOW they haven't actually researched each proposition before ticking the box. I would imagine the winner is whoever uses the most puppies and sad orphans in their tv advertising campaigns. I've also been told that sometime propositions can contradict each other, so voting for both effectively means they cancel each other out), and if the voters believe they are getting a say in all the important governance details then they won't be too hot on picking up the bigger, shadier deals going on, but the 'matrix management' style feels quite nice - like the local political leaders actually respect the opinions of the local population and trust us to make well-informed and intelligent decisions. Thats a very naive idea, but making your plebs feel important is a smart move if you want to be reelected.

If you're interested, here is a summary of the current propositions on the ballot paper (its very interesting to actually read the details, especially once you've been bombarded with the tv adverts for a couple of weeks. I've got sad orphans and deprived puppies coming out of my arse, and I'm still none-the-wiser which way I should vote. If I could vote. Wait...I can't vote? Why the hell am I wasting my time with this shit. Days of our Lives is on.)

From little acorns massive debts do accrue

I've already had a bit of a winge about the old credit card situation over here. Selling me a prepaid debit card as 'a low risk credit card with no fees!' was pretty transparent. But, we played along and it actually didn't take too long to build enough of a credit reputation in the US in order to be trusted with a grown up credit card. If you're in the same situation, do it - its hard for a Brit to swallow their pride when faced with an American bank teller scoffing at your excellent UK credit rating, but its totally worth it.

So, onto the next question - where should I put my money to get the best interest rates? The answer: anywhere outside the US. I'm thinking of throwing my money off the top of the Coit Tower - I'm pretty sure I'll get a better return than any of the banking options.

There are no accounts that offer more than 1.03% interest on savings. Which is LAUGHABLE. And, again, not something that we're used to. But I think the system for managing your money in the US is very different. Salaries are generally paid fortnightly, people seem to use rewards-based credit cards for everything and investment is something for the average Joe. I'm not sure whether its the influence of capitalism on us plebs, but everyone seems to have stock options (it makes so much more sense that the smart phones all come with a stocks app now!)

Its a bit daunting, especially for a risk-averse Brit, but the american approach is different. Take big risks, get big wins. You will, obviously, run the risk of a financial loss, but this is the nation built on immigrants who took a risk on a better life in a remote new land, and thats panned out quite well for them in the long run.

There are even ways that you can introduce yourself slowly to this with apps like Acorn, which rounds up your credit card bill to the nearest dollar every time you use it and invests your spare change. It seems like a pretty smart idea, and an easy way to see that smart investment is definitely the way to earn the sort of 'free money' that we see in the UK in the form of interest. The big difference is that the investment choices are in our hands, rather than the banks, which, for a Brit that innately trusts the Bank Manager, the Doctor and the Insurance man to make our decisions for us, is a LOT of responsibility. Its cool - I'm getting used to all this responsibility. I'll be administering my own injections and undertaking my own smear tests from now on. I look forward to claiming the costs back from my insurance company for that.

BEAT LA! (Oh god, NFL, not like that!)

Its time to say goodbye to baseball season and hello to football ('murican football. The domestic-abuse-y one.) And as much as I want to watch football and enjoy it as much as baseball it just doesn't have the same warm squishy feeling as the ol' ball game. It might be that I've been spoilt by Giants fans who are utterly adorable (the worst the Dodgers got from the orange army was accusations of being 'a bum'. Adorbs. The only swearing was from a drunk Brit a couple of rows back in the bleachers - so proud. On the way out of the ballpark, after a crushing defeat, the Giants fans were chanting 'BEAT LA' into the faces of Dodgers fans, before shaking them by the hand and wishing them a pleasant evening. Astounding), or it might be that baseball resembles the rounders we used to play on the common in our P.E. kit. The violence that has been associated with NFL players certainly doesn't endear me to them, and, as a Brit, I am obliged to mention the fact that Rugby players run around with no padding, whilst the delicate little Football players need padding and helmets, and are now being encouraged to wear concussion monitors to make sure they don't get too bruised. Poor little poppets.

I think its all of those things, plus the class thing. Football appears to be a college sport (and by football I mean American football. And by college, I mean University. **sigh**) meaning that the lads in the NFL are generally either graduates, graduands, students or college drop outs (you had an opportunity and you dropped out to play sport - that is more of an opportunity than many kids get). Baseball players, however, are often drafted from high school, giving the game a more working class feel. And the young lads are often married to wholesome-looking high school sweethearts with a coupla kids. The whole thing feels very family-oriented and inclusive.

And you don't have to be in peak physical condition, apparently - makes me think I've got a future in sport after all.

Living in the freaking dark ages

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Its something that you notice if you stay in hotels - there are rarely any ceiling lights, which is bloody weird and bloody annoying when you are trying to work. Or see. And I'm damn sure I'm not the only person who thinks so.

As with any query I took to the ol' internetz to find out if a) I am the only one who thinks this is weird and b) why. Well, the interwebz didn't disappoint giving me a myriad of reasons why, here's a summary:

• Ceiling lights are more expensive to install - many hotels are built with  poured concrete and whatnot and installing ceiling lights in all the rooms would be more of a ball ache than just putting in enough wall sockets to house lamps later on.
• They are expensive to replace - if you replace a ceiling light, or even a bulb, you need an electrician with a ladder. To replace a lamp you need anyone with a lamp. 
• And if there is a problem with the ceiling light you should cut the electricity to the light, meaning that you might have to cut the electricity to multiple rooms.
• Limiting the amount of stuff you've got in floors and ceilings (i.e. only sprinklers) means fires are less likely to spread vertically, which is a good precaution in a hotel.
• You can't see all the scuzz on the floor, peeling wallpaper and spunk up the walls if the lighting is poor (otherwise translated as: rooms look more appealing with atmospheric lighting).
• Lamps are more customizable than ceiling lights - long cables mean you can place lighting wherever you want (though I have never wanted to do this in a hotel room, I'm glad to know that I can...)
• Its easier to clean lamps than ceiling lights.
• People prefer the homely look of lamps versus the harsh lighting of a ceiling light.

So, I'm guessing that all of these have an element of truth, but its the preference thing that I want to explore. This is because apparently many people in the US prefer NOT TO HAVE CEILING LIGHTS? WTF?? Apparently there is a general consensus that ceiling lights have glare and are not suitable for relaxing/reading a book/watching TV/shagging. This is obviously wrong, and someone somewhere has made a terrible mistake, but it has proliferated across the US and means that most living quarters do not have ceiling lights in the living room or bedroom. 

Lamp #7

Lamp #3

And this is why we have more lamps in our small apartment than we ever had in the three bedroom detached house we had in Oxford. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, one downstairs toilet, a utility room, a dining room, a huge hallway and a lounge; five lamps (and one of those was a lava lamp). Two bedroom apartment; seven lamps, although we do have ceiling lights in both closets, and three different sets of lights in each bathroom. In case I need an atmosphere while I poop?


Aside from meaning that we are living in a permanent state of atmospheric-ness (= fucking darkness) the lack of ceiling lighting also means that you need lots of extra wall outlets for lamps. Handy, you might think. However, wall outlets do not have an on/off switch like they do in the UK - that beautiful 'murican electricity is a free as the gosh darned country. Does that mean that you'll have to hunt around in the dark for your lamp switch? Aw hell no! There are light switches next to the doorframe in all the rooms of the apartment, and its a fun game trying to find out which electrical outlet matches the switch. That means you can buy a variety of floor lamps and plug them in wherever you want to 'customize' your living room. As long as you plug them into the sockets linked to the light switch. It also means that if you mix up your PC and lamp plugs then you cut the power to your PC when you turn the frigging light on. I feel like someone at IKEA is mocking us.

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I'd like to think I'm continuing a long tradition of oral history? Or just boring the locals.

I'm a gal who loves a good themed pub, especially one that encourages you to dress up like Bonnie Parker and partake in illicit liquor drinking. So I was all over the trend for speakeasies in London, my favorite being the Evans & Peele Detective agency (I had THE most fun with a cracking bunch of gals who were totally into the vibe). Its all decked out in period clobber, and you have to get your story straight for the Detective before you get invited through. EPIC.

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Being the tedious know-it-all that I am I did have an irritating conversation with a douchebag on the tube on the way back where I had to correct him on a few 'facts'. Finding out that we'd just visited a speakeasy he asked me if it was a 'real' one. What? A 'real' speakeasy? In the UK, where we do not and never have had prohibition? No. No it was not. And while I'm at it - prohibition in the US was 1920-1933, so dressing up like Rita Haworth also shows a distressing lack of historical accuracy (oh yeah - I'm super fun on a night out). Its like dressing up as Ronald Reagan for a Lindy-hop.

I'm not bothered if people don't know or care about this stuff, it just worries me a bit that drinking in a US-themed bar leads Brits to start making up a new history for good ol' blighty. The little stories that are pushed into our peepers from US media sources are such lovely little vivid snapshots we have a tendency to push our own, less brightly-coloured history out of our lug holes.

It can be tough, though.  Watching western movies its hard to get your head round the fact that all the fighting and taking land from the native people is taking place over a period of about 300 years, during which time, in the UK we were putting out a fucking big fire in London, watching plays with Willy Shakespeare, had a shit-ton of wars with the rest of Europe (and the rest of the UK) and said 'howdy' to Beethoven, Queen Victoria, Napoleon and Charles Darwin. Oh yeah, and those cowboys were settlers from Europe and Russia.

US history is intrinsically linked with the rest of the world, but I guess taking these snippets from popular culture, out of a wider context (that American kids are taught, BTW, for the most part), all helps to bolster the unreal, over-narrated picture of the US that most of us have. These perfect little gobbets (its a literary term - look it up) highlight the brave and the bold and distract us from the awkward and the ugly.

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As a young country America has been able to create its own brand based on some strong principles from the founding fathers (or, at least, reportedly from the founding fathers - again, giving their societal principles a strong heritage is all part of brand America), and the brand is held up by solid stories with a linear narrative. There is a hero (who is either handsome, brave, iconic or all three), a clear villain (no shades of grey here), and a moral. Doesn't that make some of these potentially apocryphal stories almost allegorical? I might be wiggling off on a tangent, but I guess it would have been helpful during the early stages of the US to be able to orally pass on why our forefathers came to this land and why we should be grateful/fight on/preserve their ideals at a time when people couldn't read/were living in fucking squalor/were at war? And oral tales of origins are a very Native American thing, so perhaps the early settlers actually borrowed that approach? Maybe?

This waffle has all gone a bit conjectural, but the history behind the standard narrative is very
interesting. For example, getting back to the speakeasies, it has been suggested that the prohibition era was ushered in to destroy the livelihoods of the German immigrant brewers a little way into the first world war. It could be bollocks, but its one of those connections with Europe and the immigrant origins of the US that I think are important. Plus, it makes for a fun discussion on a pissy night with new chums in a REAL speakeasy. Doesn't it?? Sadly, no.

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Freeeeedom!

If you've spent any time in the US you'll have noticed that freedom is a pretty popular concept round these parts. In the UK its generally followed by the words "of speech" and used to excuse some heinously xenophobic/homophobic/mysogynistic/idiotic poorly-expressed opinion. There are a number of reasons for that, not least the fact that the UK has, for the majority of recent history, been the one doing the oppressing.

Anyway, freedom is for people who can be trusted to make sensible decisions, and we all know that NOONE can be trusted to make sensible decisions. Thats why, in the UK, we generally entrust all our decisions to the government, the doctor, the bank, the dentist (don't get me started), Mystic Meg and the National Lottery. We enjoy being free to do whatever we want in the strict confines of social and legal parameters. 

But in the US one is free to choose the doctor who will perform one's surgery based on their exam results, the bread one feeds one's children based on extensive research into the FDA recommendations and even legislative changes based on proposals submitted by locals that are voted upon in local elections. Its a fundamental principle and it started when a load of people left Europe and sailed to the New World because they were sick of being told who they could worship in their home countries. A few hundred years (and many thousand terrible deaths) later and the US celebrates its noble origins, with freedom at its heart. Freedom, in the early stages, meant that Catholics were able to practice their faith without being killed, and people fought for that freedom to secure a better life for their families for generations to come. That is the freedom that set down a constitutional right for men to take up arms and fight to retain this religious freedom. This is an important concept, and a noble principle on which a republic can be built.

Sad, then, that its with the same frenzied fervor that some locals now claim the freedom to turn right at a red light (unless otherwise directed). (By that logic, is it also freedom that underpins the neglectful signaling on the roads of Northern California?) 

From such solid foundations, is this particular founding principle overused and misconstrued to justify mild to moderate wankish behavior? I fight for the freedom to bear arms and teach my 9 year old daughter to fire an uzi (that then kills a man. Yeah, no, totes legit. Your kid won't be fucked up for the rest of her life, no worries). I fight for the freedom to practice my faith, though I'm not at all a fan of those other religious nutters, so we should probably tell them to fuck off back to where they came from. And (to get a bit darker) freedom is so important I think we should export it to places across the world who aren't as free as us. 

I'm also loathe to mention it, but even these solid foundations are a bit shaky. Its only begrudgingly noted that the tribal people who lived here before the early American settlers were forced to convert to Catholicism and live and work with the missionaries, farming the land. 

I sound scathing, but thats only because I'm British and, having rarely heard this word outside of the BBC news it is suddenly jammed down ones cake hole on a daily basis. In reality this approach is actually pretty smart, and underpinning it is the good nature of most of the people who really believe in it: as long as 'freedom' is the watch word then the plebs will be squabbling about being free to take a gun into an airport (its cool, you can), the government can legitimately go to war in the name of freedom, and commercial entities can over charge for life-saving drugs in the name of freedom (its a free market, you know, and we are all free to choose which insurance company, which medical professional and which branded medication we'll be nailing our colors to).  

I guess as long as the concept of freedom appeals to the well-meaning nature of the masses then its a useful tool of government. Add freedom to Sunday College Football and you've got a very happy and malleable plebeian mass. 

Freedom five.
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And for the Brits? Well, aside from taking freedom for granted, we also acknowledge that you need structures in place to stop stupid people eating themselves to death or ploughing into the back of a bus whilst texting. 

I think I've worked out there are three main reasons the freedom thing has a tendency to piss us off. Firstly, it is often shouted, loudly and inappropriately and we do not approve of such brash displays of emotion (we are repressed oppressors). Secondly, none of us know enough about our own history to be able to argue with the 'oppressive british' epithet, giving us a sense of shame and self-disappointment that we can revel in (we are depressed repressed oppressors). And thirdly, we think we're smart enough to see through all this perceived freedom nonsense - we've been free for a lot longer than you, sonny-jim (we are aggressive repressed oppressors). Now, where's me season ticket - I'm off with the blue army to chant stuff and drink in the street. As long as I can take an open can of lager through Marks & Sparks then I am truly living free (its cool, I can).

Did the earth move for you too, honey?

Insert hilarious sex-based 'earth-moving' joke here. Seriously though - we've just experienced the biggest quake in California for 25 years. If you're popping your seismic cherry that one was a doozy.

I've got to admit that I was feeling pretty smug that while the rest of the states has had storms and hurricanes and freaking tornadoes, we've had a jolly nice few months. I still maintain that this is the best bit of the States from a geographical and meteorological perspective, although if I lived 80 miles closer to the epicenter of the 6.1 quake I think I might be less flippant about it. Especially with the drought and wild fires that are already kicking the crap out of region. That said, the frequency with which Cali is hit by seismic activity means that everyone is prepared. The civil engineers have to take extra earthquake exams to ensure that the infrastructure is sound and building maintenance chaps know to turn off the gas to avoid leaks and fires, so I guess this means its the safest place to experience an earthquake.

The San Andreas fault is, weirdly, something I learned about a school (my knowledge of North America gleaned from school, not TV, amounts to the San Andreas fault and a half-remembered calypso ditty about Christopher Columbus and his three ships), and when discussing the California move with friends and family in the UK the threat of earthquakes certainly rears its head so I've been following the seismic activity on Twitter and with an iPad app since just before I moved here.

My gorgeous Aussie chums have experienced quakes on trips to NZ and have tried to describe what its like, but you can't really explain the sensation, or guess how each person will react to it. It was a very weird experience to be woken up at 3:23 by all the solid stuff in your apartment moving around and banging against other stuff, and you can't really explain the unnerving-ness of it all unless you've experienced it. I wasn't scared (*sniff sniff* what's that smell? Is that bravado? Really? No, I think it must be blind stupidity), but I was certainly weirded out. The only real thing going through my mind was 'this feels like its been going on for a fucking ETERNITY! Surely it's going to end now. Now? Maybe now? Now?' Afterwards I was full of adrenaline, and, like the social media whore that I am, I jumped straight on Twitter. Not really sure why. To check that it wasn't just our imagination? To find out if my local chums had the same thought as me and jumped on Twitter? To find out if it was as a big a deal to other people as we thought it was? Whatever my reasoning, the constant stream of tweets fed my adrenal rush and, like the dutiful Brit that I am, I went and made a cup of tea.

Like I said before - if we lived in Vallejo or owned a wine shop I'm pretty sure my thoughts on this quake would be very very different, but I am currently sozzled on an odd cocktail of exhilaration, awe and experience.

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Exhilaration, from the rawness of this natural occurrence, and the incredible connection I feel to people as a result. There's nothing like a natural disaster to bring people together, and the wave of tweets and Facebook messages that the quake has generated of people sharing their stories of past and present experiences, near misses and future warnings has made me feel part of a huge international web of people. FFS - it sounds so trite, and, rest assured I am giving myself side-eye as I type this. But its true - the quake gave me the initial adrenaline buzz, and the connection with humanity in the darkest hours before the dawn kept it coming.

The awe I feel is pretty obvious. Now I've experienced the power of the earth, and the lack of control that we have over it, I'm a little more wary of it. I won't go so far as to say that I am less likely to take it for granted, but I'm certainly in awe of it.

And experiencing my first earthquake has made me feel inaugurated into the NorCal club. A noob no more - I have experienced a right of passage, and can legitimately bore people in pubs for the rest of my life. I had planned to do that anyway, though.

We want a pitcher, not a belly-itcher - Baseball for noobs

So, baseball is my new thing. An awesome friend got us some tickets to an actual San Francisco Giants game, and I am totally freakin' hooked.

I'm a Portsmouth girl, so allying oneself to a local team and supporting them with mindless (and sometimes violent) loyalty is in my blood. Seriously, don't get me started on Harry Redknapp. And I watched the SuperBowl in a Dodgers hoodie really hoping that it would sweep me up, but it left me feeling a bit meh. Being a part of a baseball game, however, has totally got me hooked. And not just 'what-a-lovely-day-to-sit-in-the-bleachers-and-eat-junk-food' hooked. The serious 'listening-to-static-on-AM-radio-in-the-car' hooked.

And I know my enthusiasm is real because I'm actually remembering the players names and numbers. My brain is pretty stubborn and if I'm not genuinely into something it won't even let me play along by remembering a few key facts that can be regurgitated in company. When I am interested, however, its like a fucking drunk at the bar, hovering up every last drop of booze and squeezing out the drip mats. This often backfires (despite not watching a single episode of Big Brother I can name every single fucking contestant and which minor celebrity they shacked up with upon leaving the BB house) and fills my brain with useless and embarrassing toot. On this occasion, however, I have already managed to impress people at the BallPark with my baseball banter.

"All we really need is Posey and Pagan."
"What about Morse? Surely we couldn't function without Beast Mode?"
"You're probably right, since he joined from the Seahawks the team have really come together. I think he's a good influence on and off the field".

There. See. Fucking sponge.

I think it really helped that I had a fantastic chum next to me explaining what was going on and when I should stand up/clap/take my hat off & whatnot. Here's a quick idiots guide:

1. If you're going to a ball game (its a game, not a match) then you'll want to sit in the bleachers. A box is fun, but you are further from the field (not pitch) and you stand no chance of catching one of the foul or practice balls.

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2. Bring a mitt or a cap to catch a ball if it comes your way. You don't stand a chance because there
are a myriad of pushy parents and snotty kids who will shove you out the way, but if you're feeling brave you can jostle the little shits out the way. Just claim you've got a terminal illness or something and the grown-ups will forgive you.

3. Don't peak too soon on the snack front - I went a little cray-cray and bought a lobster roll, garlic fries, a bucket of drink and some candy-floss before we sat down. Remember - you might be sat there for 4 hours, and the chaps will come round with snack age throughout the game, so pace yourself.

4. Bring booze. And snacks. And suntan lotion. Why the fuck not - you're allowed!!! Also, on a sunny day the UV will kick the shit out of you and you'll be the only lobster mincing out of the ballpark.

5. You have to stand for the national anthem AND take off your hat. Seriously - its exactly like off of the telly when they get some local hint to stand up and sing a warbly verse of the Land of the Free while everyone - no joke - stands with their caps dothed and their hands over their hearts. They even cheered when it got to the penultimate line.
"The land of the freeeeeeee **yeeeeeehaw!!!**...And the home of the braaaaaaave".
I have been assured that this is because the song is nearly over, but it does seem to accentuate the statement with an audible italicization and punctuate the 'land of the free' with an audible exclamation mark. Again, as I've been discovering, this is very very important in the US, for a multitude of very legitimate political and historical reasons, and me, as a fucking traitor Brit, really shouldn't take the piss.

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6. One of the anthem birds got proposed to and I cried (yeah, yeah, whatever - I'm not made of stone y'know) and everyone cheered the jumbotron (yes, its actually called that!!! I feel like I'm IN an episode of the Simpsons!!)

7. You'll make heaps of new friends. The bleachers are very intimate and everyone is chatting with everyone else. You don't HAVE to, but you kinda get caught up in the excitement of it all.

8. The game is split into 8 innings, plus the first half of a ninth inning. Each inning gives each team a chance to bat and get as many rounders...I mean runs...as they can before 3 of their players are caught out. If you have ever played rounders then you'll pick up the rules super quick. The first half of each inning is called 'the top' and the second half 'the bottom', meaning you'll be able to exclaim with confidence that "its the top of the seventh and no fucker has scored a dickie bird". The ninth inning gives the visiting team a chance in the first half, and if the home team are still in the lead at the end of the first half then the game is over. If the home team are tied then they get a chance to play in the second half of the ninth. More innings are added if the score is still tied.

9. The game can be a bit slow, and no-one scored anything for at least 2 hours, so to keep the crowd excited they played the organ music/the flappy bit at the start of 'Carwash'/theme songs for some of the batsmen. There wasn't any chanting though, which was weird. Then I remembered that we're in the US, not the UK. You are unlikely to find the home crowd casting aspersions about the sexual preferences of the visiting pitcher, or chanting in their thousands that the star player is a twat. There was a bit of booing when the opposition coach threw a tanty and kicked up the dust in a petulant strop, but apart from that its all very positive and hi-fivey.

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10. Some of the players have very nice physiques. I'm just saying. Its pretty obvious who the heart
throbs are, and one can enjoy their tight white trousers.

11. Some of the players DO NOT have nice physiques and look like they have just stepped out of KFC to wheeze onto the field.

12. When the home team started to pull their finger out and score some runs towards the end of the seventh inning the crowd went ape shit and it was SO FREAKIN' EXCITING!! Seriously - I found myself jumping up with everyone else and whooping and cheering. Very tribal and soooooo much fun.

13. Brand is key. Each of the players has a 'thing' that helps support their personal brand off the field, and sells merch. Michael Mores has 'Beast Mode' (and a deal with a clothing company), Pablo Sandoval is nicknamed the Panda, and you can buy corresponding panda hats in the dugout shop and Angel Pagan salutes whenever he gets on the field, supporting the troops and whatnot. The cynic in me thinks its all carefully crafted to maximize potential earnings, but the romantic in me thinks that they are all a thoroughly bloody nice bunch of chaps just having fun and enjoying their jobs.

14. At the end of the game everyone files out in an orderly and sensible fashion and gets on their public transport mode of choice and fucks off home. WHAT?? No drunken brawls? No chanting down the road?? No bowling into the nearest boozer to get tanked up tip closing time? Apparently not. I appreciate this is only one game, but my research suggests that baseball fans are pretty well behaved.

I'm still reading up on the rules, because, although it IS basically rounders there are some extras they've introduced to keep things fair and above board, but you don't really need to know because your fellow game-goers will drag you along and you'll know when to cheer and when to be indignant and when to nibble your churro nervously while the dudes in black watch the playback on a tiny video screen and decide whether your prized-batter is in or out.

It really was sooooo much fun and it felt like a rite of passage. Try and leave your cynical British trousers at home and put on your Giants baseball cap and you'll be swept along in a tidal wave of true americanism.

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