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).
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 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"?
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
