WTF Punxsutawney Phil?

If you've seen Bill Murray grimace his was through Groundhog Day then you'll know roughly what goes on on Feb 2nd each year. Get ready for the big shocker - that is literally how it goes down.

For the uninitiated - some men in top hats talk to a giant rodent and ask it whether it'll stay chilly or not for the next six weeks. It goes like this:

See? Even the dudes in the top hats can't really take it seriously. That poor little bastard, Phil, is suspended in a terrifying Michael Jackson/Blanket moment, and yet the people in the crowd are literally open-mouthed with delight.

It would appear that its a Pennsylvania Dutch thing (not to be confused with a Sylvania Families thing) that came over in the 1800s and has continued to bring a little light into the dark winter months.

Well, Phil, looks like it might not be a difficult call on the weather front this year? There's a fuck of a blizzard headed straight for the US and everyone appears to be panicking (unless you're on the West Coast, in which case you're still hoping for a bit of rain before the end of the month).

Rocking a Mrs Beeton vibe, mothafuckas!

I thought it might be handy to do a post on cooking. Its not something I'm particularly good at (unless its Wotsits) but I am learning. And its so much easier in the US! Aside from the utterly SHITE electric cooker we have that means timing is a game of fucking russian roulette (will I die from undercooked chicken or choke on chicken thats so dry it sandpipers my esophagus on the way down?) the use of cups is ingenious, and you can have a myriad of packages in the cupboard that instantly turn into brownies or stuffing or canapés. Noms.

A few things to note though:

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1. Get yourself some cups. Seriously - dicking around with a set of scales feels primitive now.
2. Everything is in Fahrenheit, obvs, so deal with it.
3. Broiling is actually grilling, not some hideous boiling/retching combo that it sounds like.
4. They call grated cheese "shredded" cheese. Wanna know why? Because you buy it prepackaged in a little bag. They have no desire to know HOW it got into these little shreds - the grating process is irrelevant - what they want to know is the current state that its in - shredded. Done. Convenience, bitches!
5. If you're looking for a lovely fillet of beef (the little round expensive one) you'll need to look for the word "tenderloin" - thats what they call it here. It may be called filet mignon, apparently, although I've only ever seen it labelled as tenderloin, and the meat dude had no idea what I was talking about when I asked for fillet steak.
6. They don't have golden syrup here, so if you're a fan of flapjacks you'll have to find some way of making corn syrup less atrocious and use that. Also, flapjacks are a type of pancake here - if you want an actual english flapjack try asking for an oat bar. 
7. Custard isn't a "thing". This is good and bad. Its bad because WHAT THE FUCK?? Its good because it meant I had to learn to make the most epic custard in the world ever, and every one of my lovely American chums has said that they love custard and its a special treat when they actually get to eat some. They are all such lovely people that they could just be humoring me, but I take my compliments where I can get them, so that one's going in the bank.

   

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8. If you want a yummy biscuit base you'll probably have to use Graham Crackers (pronounced "Gram" for some fucking reason. Don't get me started on that - its the "Craig" pronounced like "Creg" debacle all over again) instead of digestives, unless you want to pay out of your are for some imported digestives. Not the same, but equally as good.
9. Bovril is illegal. Yup, you heard. Its a meat-based by-product so it is totes illegal. You can still have Marmite and Vegemite though, which are nearly as good. Although a hot Marmite is not a patch on a hot Bovril (look it up, kids, its an actual drink).
10. Stuffing isn't quite like the Paxo we know and love at home - its much more bread-y. I actually MUCH prefer the US stuff you get in the Stove Top packets, but it is way more filling than Paxo.
11. And on that note - marshmallows on top of mashed sweet potato is a thing. As far as I can tell its not a very posh thing, but don't be horrified if it turns up at your table. 

So, I think thats all the cooking things I can think of for the moment? Shopping in a US supermarket is so much fun - there are just so many random things that make cooking more convenient/more fun/less of a ballache/more tasty. I'm sure I'll be back with more cooking tips soon. Ooh - I feel like Mrs Beeton! Or maybe I'm more a Fanny Craddock? Yeah, I'm more of a Fanny. Oh do fuck off, Johnny...

Sexy cheese steak

So, the Geico Gecko can literally do no wrong. He is in my top 5 best anthropomorphic characters on TV, (behind Sexual Harassment Panda, Brian from Family Guy, Grover the Waiter and the Curious Orange. Yeah - one for the oldies right there!) I think that I would find it difficult to turn my back on him even if he pulled a "Cosby".

Its light relief to hear a cock-er-ney accent cut through all the fast-paced cheesy jerkwads that voice the rest of the ads here. Its the same reason I love the Scottish dude on the grass adverts.

Add to that the little bit of humor that he brings to the dull subject of insurance and the fact that he's ADORABLE and he always brings a smile to my face.

Well, I discovered two things this week that make me love him a little bit more.

1. His actual name in Martin. Martin the Gecko. Yes.
2. He is currently voiced by Jake Woods. Does that name ring any bells? It bloody well should. Eastenders fans will know him as Max Branning, Strictly fans will know him from his snake hips and disturbing sex appeal and everyone else in England (all 3 of you) will deffo recognize his face from off the telly. 

Watching the ad where Martin busts a move has never been more appropriate:

See!!! Check out those hips!!!

If we're not all watching Strictly then, frankly, the terrorists have won

There is something comforting in the leisure time restrictions imposed by weekend opening hours, licensing laws and Strictly Come Dancing.When faced with the opportunity to allow us more freedom to drink/shop/watch TV whenever and wherever we damn well choose we come up with a myriad of reasons why we shouldn't change. 

1. We are a Christian country and Sundays should be kept a bit sacred (nice try - but the US is waaaaaaay more religious than us and they open on Sunday/sell booze). 
2. Shop workers shouldn't be forced to work on Sundays - it should be reserved for family time (correct - workers shouldn't be forced to work on Sundays, but seeing as they are forced to work from 10-4, why not extend the times from 9-5 like the rest of the week - I've got to get p anyway, so I may as well make it worth my while with a full day's pay. Also, there are plenty of people who either don't have families or don't have families they want to spend any time with, and they would be more than happy to work on Sunday. Especially if it means a day off mid-week. I've worked in plenty of shops in my time and there was always a group of people who were happy to work on Sundays and were often frustrated that they couldn't work a full day and therefore get a full day back in lieu). 
3. If we keep pubs open later then people will drink themselves to death, not before destroying all our city centre in a drunken rampage. (Lets not pretend that this isn't a Daily Mail perspective, and the 'people' that are referenced here aren't 'the poor and the young'. The assumption is that young people and impoverished people are all fucking animals that can't control themselves. Some of them will overdo it, of course, but can we not tar everyone who goes to the pub with the same retarded brush? Cheers.)
4. We already have too many BBC channels, why would we add a myriad of additional commercial channels full of old friends episodes and Top Gear? Why? 

Well, its party an issue with change. We don't like change in the UK - if we've been doing it this way for centuries then why would we change it now? We also don't like relinquishing the structure that has made us so successful. Work occurs Monday to Friday 9-5. Then we all go to the pub to socialize. Then we do chores on Saturday and a roast dinner on Sunday, then back to work again. If we are allowed to drink from 12 noon on a Friday until 9am on a Saturday, sleep through til 1 am Sunday morning, nip to Tesco to stock up on groceries and then binge watch the latest series of Downton Abbey and top it off by catching up with Saturday night's Strictly on Sunday night then the terrorists have won.

Now, I'm not saying that I, as a Brit, enjoy all the personal freedoms that the US has to offer (its actually quite overwhelming), but its not because I don't like change. The main reason to embrace the UK's self-inflicted leisure-time curfews is to retain something in common. Seriously. At the most basic level we all know that at some point on Monday someone will be talking about Strictly, even if its to complain that their kids MADE them watch it (yeah, yeah, pull the other one, sunshine), or they will have stuck to the basic twenty-something leisure-time schedule (pub/club/kebab/hangover/repeat). There is something comforting in sharing the same experience with ones nearest and dearest, and it also helps shape our group mentality and unify us as a group. And that applies to our work group, friend group, family group and national group. As a nation we know that the news will be full of Celebrity Big Brother outrage and we can all have an opinion on it (whether we love it or hate it).

Conversely, in the US, the complete freedom of choice makes inane small talk more difficult:

Me: Did you watch South Park last night?
New friend: Nope, we watched a repeat of Seinfeld.
Random McRandom: Oh, I watched the mid-season finale of House of Cards.
New friend: Oh, I didn't know that was back on?
Random McRandom: Yeah.

Meh. 

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It also contributes to the disparate nature of the American psyche. The US is made up of 316.1 million different opinions. People have very distinct views on all the major issues that face the country, and as a result its very difficult to manage. Gun control, capital punishment, the legal system - there are so many disparate ideas on these subjects that it is impossible to engage in a coherent debate. In the UK we have Tories and Labour. We have BBC, ITV and Channel 4. With limited choice you can choose the option that most represents your individual opinion, have a discussion and actual come up with a conclusion, albeit a compromise. 

That said, I am not prepared to give up my Netflix - I have nearly memorized all the scripts from series 3 of Red Dwarf. Next week's challenge? Series 4!  

If your 5 year old knows what "Blurred Lines" is really all about then you're a terrible person

So I have just discovered a thing called Kidz Bops. At my least cynical I can see that its a way that parents can let their kids enjoy the latest pop music without having to worry that they're listening to swear words and being subject to the dirtiest of grown up activities. With my more comfortable cynical hat on (its like the sorting hat, but instead of jolly 'house' assignment it sorts people into 'fuckers' - greedy fuckers, corporate fuckers, retarded fuckers etc.) its a fucking atrocity. Its not even done with the "our-public-funded-budget-can't-afford-the-actual-artists" honesty of Dooby Duck's Disco Bus or viewed through the Yew-tree-tinted glasses of the 80s Minipops. Its totally fucking serious, and it has even spawned some try-hard breakout pop acts (why do I know what/who Becky G is??? That little gem of information has just pushed Timon of Athens out of my head).

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The argument is that current pop songs are filled with filthy words, so the wonderful people at Kidz Bops change the words to something more innocuous and then get some perky, upbeat kids to re-sing. Aside from it being an assault on the ears (squeaky fucking preteens singing about homework and going to school - ugh) and massacring some cracking lyrics that deal with real life stuff it is also entirely pointless. As a kid I wanted to be a young adult - the coolest people I knew were between the age of 15 and 25. I therefore had no desire to watch people my age prancing around singing songs - I could join a fucking youth group and do that. Or just watch the videos my mates and I made of us dancing and singing to Madonna. No, what I wanted to see was the cool grown ups doing cool things and then singing about them. What sort of kids get excited about this cack?? Are they the same kids who prefer iced hibiscus tea to kool-aid?

Potentially more disturbingly, the process of rewriting the song lyrics highlight a complete lack of understanding. First up, if your kids know what the actual lyrics of "Moves like Jagger" are all about then that suggests they are already aware of the grown-up sexy time activities being alluded to in the lyrics. My husband doesn't even know what some of these songs are about. I admit that I find it a little disturbing to see a three year old singing along to Nikki Minaj, but I doubt that they really understand what they're singing about. The adults around them, however, who dress them up like little hoe-bags and teach them to grind do understand and are doing waaaaaaay more damage. So, its fine to dress up like a tiny adult and wiggle and shake and buy in to the vacuous horror of the pop-machine, encouraging kids to aim for pop stardom rather than professional careers, but heaven forbid that they hear Ke$ha sing about gargling with JD. If your kid knows what JD is then you should probably have a word with yerself.

I appreciate that my views might change when I actually have kids, but, if they do, I'll refer myself back to the clear logic of this post.

For a selection of some of the best/worst of Kidz Bops have a look at this fantastic blog entry from Mommyish. Funny and factual, boys and girls.

I think CBS has made me dumber, or maybe not?

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I am a HUGE PBS and NPR fan - that magical combination does what the BBC is charged with in the UK. I am also an NBC fan - nothing like their shiny mix of news and celebrity toot while I sup my coffee and feed the cat in the morning. I fear, however, that CBS might have made me a little bit dumber. Having been bombarded with shouty, smiley presenters on the History channel dumbing down simple scientific and historical premises (Henry Rollins aside - I love his historical programs) I should have been a little more suspicious, but I live in hope of finding the US version of BBC Four or even Sky Arts (dayum, I am mourning the loss of Psychobitches). This weekend I stumbled across a program that looked like it might actually explore some interesting new technologies. I should have been a bit suspicious when they took 10 minutes to define some of the 'complex' terms that they would be using, including 'indelible' and 'plait'. FFS. By the end of the program I was fairly convinced that I'd lost a good few synaptic connections. Then the voiceover chap confirmed my suspicions - this particular segment of programing is both "Educational and Informational". Um, "informational"?

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Reminds me of the call centre boss who once told the hubby that he wanted all the call centre operatives to come to work "energized and motivised". It was at that point that the hubby realized that he was exponentially smarter than his new boss and made a note to quit at the end of the day.

So, while I scoffed that the CBS voiceover man presumably meant "informative" I thought I'd better look it up. Knowing the great aluminium/aluminum debate I thought I'd better check.

Well, it turns out they're not as dumb as I thought. Despite my incredulity it turns out that "informational", unlike "burglarization", is an actual word. And, it turns out, a carefully chosen one in this particular instance. The subtle distinction between the two words is effectively that an "informational" program simply contains information, much like Lucky Charms contain crunchy little marshmallows, while an "informative" program actually suggests that the information imparted is actually useful. Well, that clears that up.

Being thick and thick kinda takes the fun out of banter

As/when you find someone who enjoys a bit of banter you'll want to make sure you hit them where it hurts (in a loving way) and get your taunts right. While indulging in some friendly banter recently I discovered a few terms that mean something completely different in the US which meant that the loving insult I was hurling completely missed the mark.

We all know about "fanny" (hmm - "we all know about fanny" sounds familiar - isn't that the porn version of "We need to talk about Kevin"?), but I rarely use the word in polite banter, so its not really an issue.

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The word "thick" however is an entirely different kettle of fish. Describing a big-boned lass as "thick"
because she is temporarily behaving a bit dumb DOES NOT GO DOWN WELL. Thats because "thick" is popularly used to describe a bigger-framed/more womanly figure. Judgements aside (I have no preference - thick or thin, its the brains that counts. Sorry, did I say brains? I meant tits) it did make for an awkward laugh, tinged with surprise and hurt, as my bant-ee thought I was, apropos of nothing, commenting on the size of her arse. That would be uncharacteristically mean and totally out of context. I was instead commenting on her intellectual capacity, or lack thereof. Which, being as she's thick, she probably wouldn't have been offended by anyway. Its just unfortunate that she's also thick. You see my problem.

I will in future stick with "douchebag" and "knobhead" - the former because it is locally understood. The latter because it is funny.

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How to tell people about your shitty weekend

We Brits don't like to boast - if you feel the need to show off then you probably aren't that great. I guess its a class thing? If you go overboard in describing how incredible breakfast was in your hotel then you probably aren't used to nice breakfasts and nice hotels, so best have a bit of a winge so that everyone knows that this was just "ok". Boasting is tacky. I guess this is where our self deprecating humour comes from. When asked what my job in fundraising involves it is much easier to suggest that the hours of research, strategy and hard work actually just boils down to a push-up bra and a

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cheeky wink, because there are few things more tedious than hearing someone earnestly go on and on about how hard they work and how clever they are. Yawn. Add to this the desire not to make a fuss and draw attention to oneself - heaven forbid we send anything back to the kitchen, even if your steak is so overdone that it has the consistency of a charcoal broquette. Its an unspoken understanding between Brits. Everything is tickety-boo. 


Take, for example the routine morning platitude "How was your weekend?" In the grim London light of a potentially hungover Monday morning you will most likely get a shrugged "It was ok". You can then follow it up with a half-hearted "Did you get up to anything fun?", the implication being that a) your weekend was probably mostly shit and tedious (Did you get up to anything fun?) and b) I don't actually care, just give me the main highlight. This will probably be followed by a squinted "errrrrrrrrr" and then maybe "Went to the pub on Friday, which was cool. Had a roast with the folks on Sunday. Thats it really." Excellent. We have exchanged the obligatory Monday morning platitudes and can now get on with the week safe in the knowledge that no-one had an excessively fun weekend.  The dick that gushes about how "cer-azy" their partying session was and how they "don't even remember Saturday night" gets avoided next Monday.

On the flipside the American response would be "Great! How was yours?", "Great!" Done. Neither of us cares what happened to the other at the weekend, but it was important that our colleague understood that our weekend was great. Not good, or ok, but great. With an exclamation mark and a toothy grin. It is important that they know that your life is good, and you did not spend the weekend arguing with your spouse about whether to buy a new TV. 

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And here's where the misinterpretation starts. When an American says their weekend was "great" they don't mean that they partied with Obamas on their private yacht, flew to Disneyland and discovered a cure for Cancer. What they actually mean is "It was ok", but using the word "ok" would suggests that is was less than perfect, so they substitute "ok" with "great". With this in mind, if you respond with anything other than "Great!" then you are clearly desperate to share more details and your colleague will feel obliged to ask "Oh no? Only ok? What happened?" This will then lead to a boring 5 minutes where you wrack your British brain in order to detail your last tedious 48 hours of grocery shopping, making spaghetti bolognese and feeding the cat in order to satisfy your American colleague, and they will be wondering why you are still talking if you didn't have an interesting anecdote about your weekend. You are sad because your weekend sounds immensely crap compared to their "Great!" one, and they are sad because your life sounds just awful.

So, in summary, when a colleague asks you how your weekend was, they don't actually care. Also, Americans are ever the optimists and the natural British position is one of mild disappointment. Its that mild disappointment with people and things that bonds us. How else are you supposed to make friends if not by bitching about the weather/shared colleagues/a slag on reality TV/the crap food in the pub etc? In the UK no-one likes a show-off, everyone likes the underdog. In America false modesty will get you nowhere, and everyone is rooting for the muscular, white-toothed guy with the fast car and the sexy wink.

A boy called Clare

I think I might have worked out why I have so much trouble at Starbucks. Despite the fact that I am, clearly, a bird, and that my name, a bird's name, clearly backs that up, there is some confusion in the US. Turns out Clare is a dude's name. This explains why I confusingly share my name with a male racing driver.

There is a history of this sort of nonsense too. John Wayne was, famously, a boy called Marion. The most famous Tracey here is not from Birds of a Feather (not sure that would even be the case in the UK anymore actually? I should probably qualify that by saying the most famous Tracey in the UK for over 30s) it is comedian Tracey Morgan. Who is a dude. And Sidney James and Sidney Poitier would probably be quite surprised to meet Sidney Prescott, female protagonist of the Scream movies.

Apparently its quite easy to spot an English name here. You can be fairly confident that the next Madison, Caleb, Carson and Brianna that you meet will be American (I appreciate that there are some scattered around the UK, but you're unlikely to bump into them off the estate...), but a solid Gemma or Chris is very likely to be a Brit. And apparently a Clare is most likely to be a dude. Nice.

Mine's a Mivvy

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People say that Eskimos have 100 different words for snow. Its a lie, but it serves to demonstrate a point about language. 

It would appear that in the US there are a myriad of words for frozen shit. In the UK we have a traffic-light system of frozen deserts: ice cream (with its subcategory Mr Whippy), sorbet (and the associated frozen snack, ice-lollies) and iced gems (crap little powdery biscuits with powdery sugar on top). Easy peasy. I exclude the wonder that is frozen raspberry ripple mousse, because, although no-one ever waits for it to thaw before eating it, it should be eaten when you can actually stick a spoon in it without it breaking off at the handle.

Prepare yourself to enter the confusing world of American frozen deserts.

Lets start with sherbet. Yes, sherbet. Here people wrongly use this word to describe sorbet. But, wait, sorbet also exists and is somehow different. Then you have gelato (which I always thought was just Italian for ice cream), ice cream (already?) and frozen dairy dessert. 

And these are all distinct from the shave ice, slurpee, sno cones (which are apparently different to shave ice???) and italian ice that are, I believe, icier versions of the above?

I have no idea where popsicles fit in all of this (my only understanding of popsicles is that they are the desert of choice for pedophiles like Herbert in Family Guy), and they appear to call choc-ices 'candy bars'? A snickers choc-ice would still be considered a candy bar? Despite being filled with ice-cream? What the hell??

I'm sure most normal people wouldn't give a shit about this stuff, but to some this stuff really matters
and I don't want to look like an ill-educated English pleb, ordering my Mivvy, while everyone else opts for madagascan vanilla and pumpkin-spiced gelato with salted-caramel sauce.

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I'm fairly sure parrots shouldn't be self-administering medication

If you're gonna get a headache in the US there are a couple of things you should know:

1. Don't bother looking for normal painkillers in this jungle - the parrots have eaten em all. HAHA!! Seriously though, don't ask for paracetamol - here in the US its called acetaminophen. It the same stuff, but for some reason they call it be a swanky new name. 

2. They have really handy mini-clinics in some of the pharmacies where you can get antibiotics for a sore throat right there and then. And you don't even have to be a US citizen - even foreigners with no SSN or health insurance can pop in and get down to the prescription drug shuffle. 

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What you can't get, however, is Imigran. Weirdly its totally cool to hand out antibiotics like fucking jelly beans, but if you've got more than a mild constipation-induced headache (seriously - you get a headache ask yourself two questions: have I had a poop today? Have I had enough water? You're welcome.) then you have to waste your time and money going to see an actual doctor and getting something prescribed. As well as being rather annoying, it makes you realize that drug regulation is not an exact science. Terrifying, huh? There was me thinking that if something was deemed safe in the UK then that was probably the definitive answer. It actually turns out that each country has their own idea of what is safe and what needs to be regulated. And how, I hear you ask, do they decide these things if the answer isn't universal? Could it be something to do with who is running the country and which drug companies have a foot in the door? I'll give you a clue: yeah, it has everything do with that. Seriously, check it out and you'll see that most countries have a history of this sort of thing. Call it a conspiracy theory if you like, I just call it capitalism at its finest. The one saving grace is the heavily litigious environment in the US means that if they do accidentally let something slip through that keeps GSK happy, but kills a a couple of rednecks then their families will probably get a few thou out of it. 

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All of that said, though, if you do have a migraine in the US and you can get seen by a doctor he can give you two incredible injections that will destroy your brain-crippling migraine in 15 minutes. I'm serious. Having had a couple of migraines myself and watched mother and mother-in-law out of action for days with migraines I was astounded to see how quickly the can be dispatched with a couple of strong drugs coursing through your veins. In-bloody-credible.

Anyway, back to the paracetamol issue. Calling it Acetaminophen kinda scuppers the old gag a bit:

Why aren't there any painkillers in the jungle? Because the parrots-eat-'em-all.

Not sure how I feel about parrots self-medicating, now. If I'm not to be trusted with headache tablets, I'm not sure that a parrot is qualified. Its ok though, I've come up with a new one that builds on the premise of under-qualified avian doctors dishing out the drugs will-nilly. I think you'll agree its a solid substitute:

Why are you suing the Avian Medical Council over a couple of parrot overdoses? Because I-see-too-many-of-them.

Yeah, alright. Its not a masterpiece, but adequate for a first draft.

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