Frustratingly biased, but no less interesting, transatlantic survival guide

I'm fairly comfortable with the accusation that I'm pro-UK. I was born there. Its what I know, and I'm still very new at understanding the completely different way that everything works in the US, making even the most insignificant quotidian task really fucking hard work.

And I've been having some really interesting (well, for me, anyway) discussions with people here from all over the States that have helped me understand why things are the way they are. The US is built on an entirely different set of principles to the UK, and it was created this way by the founding fathers who wrote down all the principles very clearly in a little ready reckoner called the Constitution. In the UK we have an eternity of baggage with nothing written down, making our approach innate, incomprehensible and impossible to penetrate.

Enter Brit-think, Ameri-think by Jane Walmsley - a very thoughtful birthday pressie from a lovely friend of mine. Its only a thin volume, but I'm not a massive reader and I read it on one day (go to the front of the class and get a gold star). I'm hoping that Ms Walmsley is also happy to shoulder the accusation that she too is hugely biased towards her US homeland (the not-so-subtle undertone of 'America is great and Britain is stuck in the dark ages' pervades every chapter, and jolly-well got up my nose on more than one occasion). That irksome subtext aside, it encompassed this idea that many Brits don't understand (I didn't until I came to the US) that we are very different people and it stems back to the overarching principles that shaped our respective societies.

There are certain aspects of British and American society that Walmsley completely mis-defines (her chapter on humour is totally off), but understanding the distinct principles on which each country has built their culture is a very sound concept, and one that is helping me understand why things are the way they are here, and why I'm trying to write down some of the barriers-to-understanding (fuck off - I happen to think that Corporate Speak can be very descriptive in certain circumstances) that I'm coming across, even though they sometimes annoy the ever-living shit out of me.

Dr Johnsons' word of the day...again

- Hey, Sammy! Did you use all the milk??

Yeah, sorry bro. -

- Why would you put the empty carton back? Geez.

If you're that bothered I'll go to the store. Can I borrow five bucks? -

- Worst housemate ever.

- Howdy! Welcome back to:

Dr Johnsons' word of the day

And with today's word we are staying with the botanical theme. One of my favourite salad leaves:

a·ru·gu·la

noun

This is the American name for 'rocket'. Pronounced 'arooooogola'. And so far I've only been able to find organic nonsense. I can pick up a bag of this for 99p in Sainsbury's - and its waaay more tasty than ruddy iceberg lettuce, or the disappointingly misleading 'butter lettuce'. 

And on that note, I need to pop to the store. See you next time!

THIS is what I want you to use my personal data for, O2

Give me a good detective story or thriller and I'm happy. Tell me it was based on real events and I'm already halfway through googling it before you have time to shake your head in disgust. What?? I'm a product of the 20th Century media, blah blah. (I'm not inviting a debate on the influence of the media/computer games/scary films on young minds. I don't care what you think.)

Anyhoo - this means that I can happily watch the terrible, terrible people wheeled out for my entertainment on the ID channel all day. Terrible, terrible, awful people with serious mental issues who slash their way to an inheritance or poison their way into someone elses pants. As long as there is a narrative I am able to distance myself from the horrifying and emotional reality.

And thats how we absorb this stuff in the UK. You can watch the news and tut at the terrible 'goings-on'. Not so here in the US.

I nearly crapped my pants this month when, right in the middle of a graphic retelling of a crime of passion, all my fruity devices started blaring out a noise that I didn't even know they could make. And the same message popped up on all the screens, and the TV. It was a proper siren, like the aliens were coming or the government had been overthrown. In actuality it was a kidnapping alert, asking me to be vigilant for a red SUV that was suspected of being involved in the incident. And I can tell you - it certainly got my attention.

So it turns out that the local Police (and presumably any other local authority) can send out blanket public announcements to anyone watching tv/owning a phone in a particular area. This is fucking GENIUS. They did it again when we had a threat of localised flooding. Why in the heck don't we do this in the UK?? This is exactly what I want my personal data to be used for.

I don't know how the incident panned out (and frankly, I'm too scared to look - the horrifying and emotional reality is somewhat pressed upon you when you are asked to be vigilant in the moment), but I would imagine that this system has saved lives, which makes you wonder why its not be implemented everywhere.

How to be less rapey

I always say that most chaps don't look very closely when on a poon hunt. If you're into tall, slim, blonde then she could look like Frankenstein's monster with titties and a wig and she'd still end up going home with someone.

That said, the Brits aren't great at acting on that initial porking instinct. We tend to need to be in a fast-moving white van, on scaffolding or drunk to actually verbalise how we feel. The alternative is that awkward exchange where someone engages in painful small talk as an obvious precursor to asking for your number or if you want to get a coffee. Srsly - if I look uncomfortable and am being evasive with my answers you are on a hiding to nothing, kiddo. You're embarrassed. I'm embarrassed. Onlookers are whispering to eachother. Nope.

Not so our white-toothed american cousins.

I've been approached twice in London in the 2 years I lived there, and both times I questioned the mental faculties of the suitor. I could also quite clearly see their plan. Make polite chat, ask for her number, have a date. There was a definite end-game that made the whole exchange uncomfortable and a bit rapey. I'm not suggesting that they weren't lovely, if somewhat misguided, chaps, its just a feeling you get when someone wants to engage with you in that way.

Fast forward to Valentine's Day 2014. Having received exactly NONE Valentines cards (its cool, I'm

married) I wasn't in a particularly gooey mood mincing round the city. Which is why it was even more surprising when two, (count 'em, TWO!) gents informed me that I was very attractive and wished me a happy Valentine's Day within the space of an hour. So, not only were they happy to tell me how they felt without the aid of booze or a speeding vehicle, they didn't seem to be expecting anything of me in return. They didn't try and engage me in feeble conversation, or suggest anything lewd ("show us yer tits, love"). It was a simple and respectful statement that made my fucking day.

And the best part is - because there was no creeping sense that they were building up to asking for my number, which I sure as hell was not going to give, I just smiled and said thank you. I wasn't embarrassed into having to politely tell them to sod off and they weren't embarrassed by being rebuffed. And if I had been interested I could have swung round and started chatting.

Gents - if you fancy a girl, just tell her. And if you simply state it without any expectation of reciprocity you'll never suffer the embarrassment of rebuffal. And the best case - she'll say she likes you too and you can start getting on with the fun stuff. Like sexing and whatnot.

Unless you're an arsehole, in which case she may tell you to sod off anyway.

Cheesecake, cheesecake, its the cheesecake shuffle...*

Its true - you do need a car in the US. Public transport is OK, but its just not comparable to the awesomeness of London, so, having decided on a car and strolled into the showroom to discuss payment options ("maybe these kindly souls will look upon a poor Brit and give her credit or a loan? Poor Limey's a-cold"**) only to be told that before we drive the car off the forecourt we need insurance.

Fair enough. Makes sense. Why should Ford supply us with insurance - as soon as the car leaves the forecourt they could give a flying fuck about it or us. It was still a bit weird sourcing insurance for a car we don't yet own.

Anyhoo. Should be easy enough. In the UK you go online to a comparison website, put in your details, choose the best option and buy it online there and then. Done.

Not so. We tried looking for a meerkat-staffed comparison site and found one. Yup, one. We have them coming out of our arses in the UK. (I appreciate I might be misunderstanding, or looking in the wrong places, but it should be easy, so if I have missed a whole swathe of these sites that are as good as the ones in the UK then their marketing people should be rounded up and shot).

First big surprise - good luck finding  coverage if you don't yet have a local license. The comparison site I found was able to find no quotes for me. They wouldn't touch me with a barge pole.

Next step - went straight to source and got online quotes from all the biggies. These bastards advertise on the TV constantly, so I know all the big names and there was a small part of me that REALLY wanted to go with the one owned by that cockney gecko. I feel a special bond with him - he must have really struggled when he first came over here - British and a gecko? He must have found it hard to get a job, a driving license (how long do geckos live? Is he even old enough to drive?). So, after inputting my information a million times came up with an adequate quote (BTW - the websites don't save your quotes automatically - so if you don't manually save it you won't be able to find your quote again when you log in. Are we living in the fucking dark ages? It gets worse...)

Success! So, now I just need to pay for it online with my debit card. Thats how we do it in the UK. I just need to find where I can pay and put my details in. Seriously, I have to go pick up the car in an hour. Where is the big 'Buy now' box?...

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Surprise!! There is none. Instead I need to call a local agent? WHAT?!? I've got more important things to do with my afternoon than going through the same information with a middle man who lives round the corner from me and still has to contact the underwriter to confirm it all before I can get coverage! I don't need a new chum, I need a computer to decide what risk I pose and give me a cost based on an equation.

(On a side note I have since seen adverts for e-surance which seems to be more akin to how we do this shizzle in the UK, but who knows. Most of the adverts actually PRIDE themselves on having local reps?? State Farm reps actually teleport to the scene of the crash to tell you that you are covered!! Well, that's what the ad suggests anyway. Lets see how fucking friendly they are when I actually have to claim. I'm pretty sure they'll do their utmost to worm out of giving me any cash due to a technicality. I don't need someone local to do that - I am happy for someone in a distant call centre to disappoint me remotely.)

A few phone calls, an unsuccessful attempt to find a fax machine and scanning and emailing all the important documents we have we finally have some fucking car insurance. ALREADY??

Thankfully picking up the car was easier, although its worth noting that California car-buying law means that you don't get a cooling off period, so if you want to cancel your contract after thinking about it for an hour or so, you can't. That probably sounds pretty obvious to an American, but to a Brit thats a slightly scary concept.

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*Yeah, I know its Cheese Steak. Cheesecake is funnier though, m'kay?
**Shakespeare reference, innit? I'm pretty sure that poor Tom in King Lear was waiting at the us stop in the storm and was dreaming of buying a car so he didn't have to get the bus anymore. Don't bother looking it up. I'm definitely right. I come from the land of Shakespeare. I know this shit.

Dr Johnsons' word of the day 2

- Oh, hello again. Thank you for joining Sammy and me for another edition of:

Dr Johnsons' word of the day

Shouldn't it be 'Sammy & I', Poindexter? -

- Geez, Sam. You need to get a grasp of basic grammatical principles. You wouldn't say 'Thank you for joining I', would you? I just...I just expected more of you, thats all.

FFS, don't get your knickers in a twist, Professor. -

- Rude. Just plain rude.

- Anyway, today's exciting word is of a botanical nature:






ci·lan·tro
noun
This is what Americans call coriander, and they use it a fair bit, so you'll potentially come across it more than in the UK. They will have no idea what you're talking about if you ask for coriander in the supermarket, and the pronunciation is important too (having to repeat it ten times with a progressively localised accent is fucking humiliating. I don't want the stuff THAT much.) Its also worth a peek at the usage graphic (courtesy of Google): 

So, apparently, we all got terribly pretentious around 1970? Demanding cilantro, when nothing else will do.

Anyway, thanks again for stopping by. See you soon, word-lovers.

An apology to Mr Clooney, and $100 on a voltage converter

I'm pretty sure its in the Constitution that every American has the right to bear an electric whisk, a s'mores maker and a panini press? Just under the bit about wearing bear arms?

And I'm a girl who loves her Nespresso pods. I'm not a coffee snob, I'm just lazy (and having clogged up the garbage disposal with coffee grinds, also a bit scared about where I'm supposed to dispose of my cafetierre detritus).

Turns out that Nespresso is not 'the done thing' in the Bay Area, and appear to be quite hard to get hold of, so I'm glad I brought my Nespresso pods from London. So, I nab one of the 3 plug converters that are circulating round the apartment and plug him in for my morning fix. I am greeted with the standard flashy flashy 'I'm just warming up', and then nothing. FFS. There isn't enough power coursing through his little electrical veins. And as it turns out, his little toaster-buddy is similarly electrically anemic.

Easily solved I'll buy a small step-up converter that changes the feeble 110v to a more manly 240v. This seems to be the suggestion online for when the American voltage simply isn't cutting the mustard. (Incedentally, its mush MUCH easier if you are taking American equipment to the UK - the step down converters are cheaper and less bulky).

Next day - I plug the little fella into the wall. Smell, burning, smoke. FFS. Again.

Upon a closer inspection of the Nespresso spec I see that it is 1710 Watts, and the recently departed step-up converter can only handle up to 500. I fried him!

I now need to find little Smoky's big brother. A step-up converter that can handle up to and including 1710 Watts. A quick trawl on Amazon and Frys Electrical gives me just such a beast.

Its massive and heavy, and we didn't really want to have to buy and install it, but I WANT MY NESPRESSO. George will be wondering why we've not been ordering more pods. He'll get upset and think its something that he's done. Its not your fault George.

So, it has been purchased at a cost of about $100 (plus all sorts of fucking taxes, whatevs), and...it works!! I have the coffee I'm used to, (and a lovely slice of toast, to boot), and I haven't clogged the garbage disposal with coffee grinds since. It is very heavy and a bit of a brick, and it makes a sort of humming noise when you first turn it on, so we've not been leaving it plugged in, but it is still cheaper than buying a new nespresso here, and it means we can use it on Toasty as well.

I still can't believe we are the only people ever to migrate their toaster and coffee machine from the UK but it was ruddy difficult to find any advice on this! In short - you're welcome.

As an aside - Frys electrical is amazing. Its like Maplin and Amazon on amphetamines. The one near us is even themed - its all wild west-y. And the stock room is signposted 'The Lost Silicon Mine'. AND its as cheap, if not cheaper than Amazon.

Y u no speak english?

My UK mates keep asking "have you started saying 'trash' instead of 'rubbish' or 'faucet' instead of 'tap'?" The answer is yes, but only because no-one understands when I speak english.

To be fair, its less about the words that I use and more about the way I say stuff. The first thing to learn is to speak loudly and annunciate. Its no good mumbling - you've got a weird accent, so speak clearly and cut the poor bastards a bit of slack.

If your name ends in a consonant, great! pronounce the crap out of it so they know you've finished the word. If it doesn't, then you'll have to work extra hard. Joe becomes Joe-w. Amelia becomes Amelia-r. Just sayin'. On the plus side - if your name is a bit weird, but spelled phonetically they will nail it every time. Brits cannot read phonetically - just say-what-you-see people, channel Mr Chips!

The second lesson is to cut out the waffle, including 'please', 'thank you' and 'sorry'. Stop it. They are expecting you to order, not politely enquire if you might be so bold as to request that they craft you a vanilla latte. The correct statement is "Can I get a vanilla latte?"

And to all the old farts who's arseholes have just tightened up at the sound of 'can I get' (numero uno in this UK article listing annoying Americanisms) - get over it. The English language is constantly evolving and if you hate it that much, why in the hell are you standing in line at Starbucks anyway? Go to a privately-owned coffee establishment rather than an America-owned franchise.


Lesson three is specifically for take-away food. When reading your address over the phone you'll need to know how they expect to hear addresses.

So, 3250 S Benton Blvd becomes 'thirty-two fifty South Benton Boulevard'. And I know that sounds a bit anal, but any other verbalisation will confuse them.

'Three, Two, Five, Zero'. No.
'Three thousand, two hundred and fifty'. Nope.
'Three thousand, two hundred, fifty'. I like that you're trying to sound American by dropping the 'and'. But still nope.

And if its only 3 digits then its the same principal, so flat 920 become 'apartment nine twenty'. Believe me - if you actually want the pizza delivered to the right address this is important!

The one thing that I've not had trouble with is the colloquialisms and swearing. I thought both would cause me some trouble, but all they've caused is hilarity. There is nothing more pleasing than watching an American crease up when you call shenanigans on their story with a well-placed "bollocks". Although, beware that 'for fuck's sake' is apparently much less jovially received than in the UK. And if you hear it in an American accent you can understand why - it sounds waaaay more aggressive. 

If none of this works and you are still getting the wrong coffee order under the name 'Screep' instead of 'Steve', try speaking spanish.