Randoms

Some random observations of the day...

• I hate being in a meeting where people don’t listen – one person will say something, and then the next 30 minutes are spent with the others (who were daydreaming or just too stupid to follow the conversation) basically repeating what was just said but acting like their contribution is a major revelation. And then everyone has to get into a circular conversation where they are repeating the same thing, and getting more and more excited about it… when this was all discussed during the first 10 minutes of the meeting had anyone been paying attention.


• It’s horribly xenophobic, but I hate it when people don’t speak English in a sensible manner. Take this morning. I stop into my local quickie mart for some tissues.

o Me: (looking around)
o Store owner: “I can be helping you?”
o Me: “Yes, Good morning! I’m looking for tissues…”
o Store owner: “Oh, so sorry, we are running out of those.”
o Me: “I’m sure you are, it’s freezing outside! I only need one pack – can you show me where they are?”
o Store owner: “We are running out.”
o Me: “Yes… I only need one pack, not a box. Are they over here?”
o Store owner: (VERY LOUDLY) “Miss, we are RUNNING OUT!”
o Me: “(very confused) Do you have tissues or not?”
o Store owner: “We…are… running out.” (exasperated)
o Me: “Wait… are you RUNNING OUT, or do you mean you have RUN out… as in there are no more tissues?”
o Store owner: “No tissues! We running out! NO TISSUES!”

At which point I left the store, mumbling under my breath about the importance of proper verb tenses and how I strongly suggest that he invest in some vocabulary lessons. I swear I felt like Elaine on Seinfeld with the Soup Nazi. And so then I had to sneak into the local Starbucks, act like I was about to buy something and then snatch a stack of napkins and run.
• Why does the guy who smells like spoiled relish and day-old pickle loaf always sit next to me on the shuttle bus to work? And why does he look like he should be in a boy band but smells like he is homeless?

• Did England used to be a tropical country and people just forgot to tell me? I’m not sure why it is breaking news that temperatures are approaching the equivalent of zero degrees Fahrenheit. Yes, it’s cold, but I remember walking to the bus in the late 80s and early 90s in negative degrees (F) weather. And it wasn’t front page news. Hey England, winter is cold. I strongly suggest you invest in some warm weather gear and lay off the Daisy Duke jean shorts and stilettos. How about taking some of those sheep who like to rock out in the middle of the road all the damn time and making some sweaters? Just a thought.

• I think I might be joining a new family – it’s called Aunt Bessie’s family. Because Aunt Bessie can throw down on some grub. Check out my homegirl here: http://www.auntbessies.co.uk/

• I seriously had an argument with someone last week about dental care in England. He is English, and was telling me that his dentist told him that flossing was “unnecessary” and a form of “voodoo dentistry”. He then proceeded to try to argue that NHS dentistry is just as good as, or better, than American dentistry! Half this country’s teeth look like a 20 year old picket fence after a tornado and the other half look like they’ve never been cleaned… ever. EVER. This is what I don’t get. How do you NOT notice when you look in the mirror and see four inches of plaque along the gum line? Not everyone is going to have perfect straight teeth, and no one’s teeth are naturally blinding white. I’m not talking about that. What I am talking about is getting your regular floss and brush on. For the love of baby Jesus, visit a dentist – at least once a year. I think this should be government funded because if people freshened up their grills over here, I would definitely see that as a public service. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I refuse to let any dentist on this side of the Atlantic touch my choppers – I wait until I go home. I’m also lucky enough that my sister is the freakin’ Tooth Master, and so she hooks me up.

• I have figured out why the UK gave me a visa that only lasts 3 years - because I think they know that after 36 months of all England all the time, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to take any more… unless I’m living in a fully renovated castle and married to someone whose name begins with Lord/Count/Viscount/Earl/Your Royal Majesty and whose bank account features many, many zeros.

• That being said… my adoration of all things royal is fading. As I learn more about myself and what I want and need in life, I have discovered that I would go INSANE if I had to be confined by the rules and expectations around the royal court. The fact that I wouldn’t be able to act the fool whenever and wherever I wanted really diminishes the appeal of wearing a crown on my head.

• I had the best time this weekend with my friend Marianne and her daughter. Zoe is ten months old and hilarious. We had crazy hip hop playing on their computer through YouTube, and I was dancing around their living room in blue socks, purple leggings, a denim skirt and a black hoodie (with the hood up) with the baby. Marianne was right there cheering me on. This is why I love my friends – they let me hold their baby while rapping “Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard. When we drink we do it right gettin slizzerd”. The best part is that little Zoe was smiling and clapping and totally getting her baby swerve on. Further proof for those who are fully convinced that I am “not right”.

Hate It or Love It...

Mood: Bouncy
Theme Song: "Sunshine" - Twista

First, I need to continue with my promise to list things I like about England. I can't remember what number I was up to (and frankly I'm a bit too lazy right now to go back and look it up), so I'll just bullet point...

• Yorkshire pudding. I am not sure why this dish is called pudding, because it has nothing to do with dessert at all (or Jell-O, for my American friends). It is more like a bread or a biscuit or something. I know it's made with batter and the drippings from a roast... and that it is mighty tasty. To me, Yorkshire pudding looks like little cups that perfectly hold all the yummy gravy that goes with the roast.
• Christmastime. The English get down on some Christmas. No Happy Holidays nonsense. I'm talking trees, ornaments, Santa and baby Jesus in full effect. And it's awesome. I love Christmas but I've hated how commercial and PC it has gotten in the States. Quite frankly, I don't give a shit about offending anyone. I'm all about my tree, and my fat Santa and my presents. I have much love and respect for Hannukah and Kwanzaa and any other holiday that also happens to fall in December. But I'm a Christmas girl, and so it gives me great happiness to be able to surround myself in all things Christmas-y.
• Schoolchildren's Outfits. No, I am not a pervert. What I mean is I love how Harry Potter-ish they all look. All the kids on the train have those kinds of outfits and I keep thinking "They're all on their way to Hogwart's!"
• The English Sense of Humour. It's hard to explain to people who aren't familiar with it, but it is very dry and very, very funny. It's not like Mr. Bean or anything that Americans would initially think of. If you are really curious, Google or Youtube the following shows - "QI", "Eight of Ten Cats" and the like. You will get a really good feel for British humour. Seeing as how I have a very acerbic sense of what is funny, I seem to take quite naturally to it.

Ok, that's enough props on England for one evening. What I really wanted to write about was the realisation I had tonight. I was cooking (macaroni and cheese for a Thanksgiving celebration at Marianne Slade's house tomorrow), and I put the music channel on my TV on. To my neverending joy, something called "Phat 50! Banging Hip Hop Jamz" was on.  And so while I was making my cheese sauce and bouncing around to 50 Cent and Lloyd Banks and P Diddy and the like, I was suddenly struck by the fact that no matter how much I travel, or how far I live from home, I will always be American. Deep down in my soul there is something that I cannot escape that bleeds red, white and blue. There is something that enables me to know which rapper I'm listening to just from the sound of their voice, and also to know if they are Westside, Eastside, Dirty South, St. Louis, whatever.

As I type this, it is sounding really silly. Of course I'm American, everyone and their half brother knows this. But what I think I'm saying is that there's no danger of me becoming like Madonna and turning half (or three-quarters?) British. Absolutely no danger at all. I may adopt some of the vocabulary, and the fashion and yes, I admit that I am well and truly addicted to tea now - but at the heart of everything, I AM AMERICAN.

I am a crazy, world-traveling American who loves sushi and tea and hip hop. In fact, right this moment I'm couch-dancing along to Kid Cudi's "Day and Night".

And you know what? That makes me happy.

Federman out.

Thanksgiving

Mood: Pensive
Theme Song: "Alice's Restaurant", Arlo Guthrie

This blog post is going to be a little bit different. I normally don't post about personal things, choosing instead to focus on the hilarity that is my everyday existence here in England. But today is Thanksgiving, and I think it's worth the blogspace to reflect upon all that I am thankful for.

O Me! O Life! - Walt Whitman

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more
faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever
renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?


Answer.
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

As I walked home from the train station today, I nearly slipped on the cold concrete. I was immediately struck, as I often am, by the duality of our nature as human beings. We are simultaneously so strong and yet so terribly fragile. The same holds true for our thoughts and emotions - what we think and believe can make us either strong and powerful or weak and ineffectual. Those of you who read my blog regularly know that I am on a mission to see the world around in me in a more positive light and I truly believe that in doing so, I make myself a stronger and more capable person.

I am thankful for those who love me and for those whom I love. I have some amazing people in my life - and every so often I pinch myself thinking how lucky I am. Take my best friend in the whole world, Angela. We've known each other for 17 years and she has seen me through so many iterations of myself - and she's loved me and supported me no mater what. Even when I was rocking white eyeshadow and velvet blazers and thought that 11pm was way too late to be out for a party.

Then there's my amazing siblings. I'll be honest - we did not exactly get along in our youth. I used to refer to them as "the Spawn"... as in "the Spawn of Satan". I'm pretty sure the names they had for me are unprintable. But somehow, we have been able to get past all of that and move into a place where we are not only family but friends. I look to both of them so much in my life for advice and for a touchstone to keep me feeling normal and balanced.

I could spend hours listing out all of the other amazing people in my life - but the best part of the people I know is that they already know how I feel and they know how important they are to me. I never fail to be amazed by how the people in my life apparently possess some kind of Spidey Sense that goes off whenever I need them most.

I am thankful for every day that I awake and open my eyes. I am thankful for the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins. I am thankful for my intellect and my intuition. I am thankful for the ability to feel emotion and for the ability to share emotions with others. I am thankful for my health - as I get older I realise how truly lucky I am.

More importantly, as 2010 draws to a close and finds me a year older, I find I am truly thankful for the fact that I am myself. I suppose some people are born with an immediate sense of themselves and how they fit into the world. I have never been one of those people. For as long as I can remember, I have always felt different - strange - other. A bit like someone standing outside a window looking in on the rest of the world. I spent so many years trying to understand why I was different and then trying to erase those differences so that I could "fit in". I spent so many years apologising for who I am, and who I am not. 

But a really happy side effect of the life choices I've made (moving to Seattle, moving to England) has been that I've been able to truly develop a relationship with myself. In a way, I've fallen in love - with myself. I know who I am, and I know who I am not and I am truly and completely okay with this. This is not to say that I don't want to change or improve, or that I don't have those moments of wishing I were better/faster/stronger/more/less etc - but on the whole, I wake up everyday and go to sleep every evening pretty damn happy to be me.

And so I am well and truly thankful for the journey that has gotten me here, and for everyone in my life who has played a part in the process. If it weren't for the people who beat me down, I wouldn't have learned how to get back up again, or that I possessed the strength inside me to do so. To every person who told me "No", I thank you for you are the ones who taught me that there is always a way to "Yes". And without the forces in my life who made me feel small, alone, inadequate, insufficient, insubstantial - what I learned from you is that the only way I can feel that way is if I allow someone else to dictate my life. I learned that the key to my own happiness lies only with myself, and that I should never feel as if things are beyond my control because they never truly are. Things may happen that I can't control - but I can control how I react (or don't react) to them.

I hope that everyone reading this has a wonderful Thanksgiving Day... or if you're not American, an amazing Thursday ;)

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

Federman out.

Sweden

Mood: Tired but Happy
Theme Song: I don't have one right now... strange

Stockholm Airport - just loved that there was someone named "Wayne" shilling coffee in Sweden

I had my first trip to the Nordic region this week. I went to Stockholm for a quick one day meeting, and so I didn't get to see very much of the city (at all), but I do have some observations in general. The first being that it was COLD, and that there was already snow on the ground. The second being that the coffee could give Turkish coffee a run for its money - that stuff could power a diesel truck, it was so strong. Yummy, but whoo-wee!

• The cuisine is very healthy and much more delicious than I expected. I thought I might be stuck eating pickled herring and other weird stuff. Instead, I had an amazing dinner (spinach, walnut, Gruyere and pomegranate salad followed by delicious cod on a potato pancake type thing topped with morels and sweetbread) and then an amazing breakfast and lunch. The breakfast buffet at the hotel was like a dream come true - all the standard stuff like eggs and bacon and the standard grilled tomato (which is weird to me), but it also had lots of dried fruit, fresh yogurt and fresh fruit. There were cold cuts and smoked salmon and fresh nutty bread. It was fantastic! Lunch was grilled whitefish served over potatoes and topped with a rich tomato sauce - doesn't sound like it would work, but it did.
• The language is not as difficult to piece together as I originally thought. Swedish is a Germanic language, and so if you listen closely you will hear the similarities - but it is much more lyrical. I also love that there are three extra letters - the are all versions of our letter "a" - there's the a with the umlaut (two dots), the a with the circle over it, and an a with an accent mark (I think) - and they are pronounced like ooh, arrr and oaaarh. Ok, that's probably really wrong... but for the record I really like the circle on top a letter. It's my new favorite letter.




View between Terminal 4 and 5, Stockholm Airport


• If the airport is any indication, then I am very much going to like Swedish architecture and design. Lots of open spaces, clean lines and wood. Parts of it looked more like a museum than an airport.
• We did get to go out to dinner Monday night, and so I saw a very little bit of central Stockholm. It was very clean and very European. And by "European" I mean the architecture, the way the streets were laid out, the mix of old and new everywhere. Now that I think of it, it's very interesting. I can be in any city in America and I would be able to tell you instantly that it was the U.S.A. (and not because things are in English - even if there were just buildings and no signs I could tell). The same holds true for Europe. It just "feels" European. I'm going to have to ponder this and see if I can come up with a better description.
• One cool thing about Sweden is that they drive on the right side of the road! But it wasn't until I was in the taxi on the way back from the restaurant that it registered to me that I was sitting in what is normally the driver's seat in the UK. And then I started noticing that the highway was a decent size, and well-lit and the signs were above the road like back home... not off to the side or printed on the road itself. I must admit that I got a warm fuzzy happy feeling inside... things suddenly felt RIGHT again. Also cool in Sweden is that they roll with regular style credit cards - no PIN and CHIP nonsense. It felt like home to just swipe your card and go.





This is what Swedish looks like... I have no idea what this says... but imagine what it SOUNDS like ;)


• I flew SAS for the first time (Scandinavian Airlines) and nothing beats hearing all the safety information in Swedish. It sounded so weird because it's not a language you hear everyday. Like when I go to Germany or another European country, even when they make the announcement in their native tongue, I've heard enough German/Italian/Spanish that it doesn't strike me as odd. Even being on Singapore Airlines didn't sound very weird because they did everything mostly in English, with a bit of Chinese thrown in for good measure. And when I flew to Japan, they did dual announcements in Japanese and English - but again, I've heard enough Japanese that my brain went "oh, yeah, ok...Japanese". But when the flight attendant started speaking in Swedish, my brain was really confused. I kept trying to hear English words in what she was saying... I kept thinking "it sounds like a language..." but it made absolutely no sense. What is cool, though, is that Swedish and Norwegian and to a certain extent Danish are all very similar. So if you know one, you can sort of speak the others. Definitely between Sweden and Norway... very close.

I am very excited to go back again... I'll be visiting this region frequently for my new job, and I look forward to seeing more of Sweden, and seeing Norway and Finland and Denmark. I've already figured out that I'm going to schedule most of my meetings for Thursdays and Fridays so I can make a weekend of the jaunt and explore. I have a list of countries I want to see in my lifetime, and I'm slowly checking them off.

On a side note, and it was total coincidence, but I got through "Let the Right One In" (aka Låt den rätte komma in) by John Ajvide Lindqvist on my trip. Some of you may have seen the movie. The book was really, really good - and it was weird to be reading about Stockholm while actually being there. I enjoyed the connection so much that I think I'm going to try to make sure I bring books written by authors from the country that I'm visiting. Next trip is Spain... and I've already read Carlos Ruis Zafon, so I'm open to suggestions.

Federman out.

P.S. - did a quick day trip to Ireland last Friday. Saw Dublin airport, our local office, and the airport again. I can confirm that despite the financial troubles, Ireland is still standing, and the people still sound like leprechauns. ;)

Hmmpf

Mood: Tired
Theme Song: “Paper Bag” - Fiona Apple

#16. England hasn’t been hit by a meteor yet. Self-explanatory, methinks.

In other news, I’m in a hotel room tonight for work and the really frightening part is that I opened the door and suddenly had the feeling of, “Ah, I’m home”.  Recently watched “Up in the Air”… a bit too close for comfort?

Federman out.

The Love Affair Continues...

Mood: Absolutely exhausted
Theme Song: "Brand New Key" - Melanie

Continuing my list of things I love about England... (writing this today is the equivalent of going to the gym to exercise when you are drop dead tired and have a cold. I had more negative English influence today than positive, but I'm going to stick to my plan...)

11. Ham, Egg and Chips. I have no idea why I like this food so much, but I absolutely looooooves it. It is apparently traditional pub food over here, and I don't know why no one in America has thought of this combination before. The ham is chilled, the eggs freshly fried and the chips hot and crisp. Yum, yum, yummers. It's perfect with a pint ;)

12. Royalty. The big news today is that Prince William and Kate Middleton are engaged to marry. I don't really care too much about Prince William's love life - but I think it's AWESOME to look at the paper and see a headline entitled "Prince to Marry"... especially when it has nothing to do with a short musician who likes purple and arbitrary name changes.

13. Men Wearing Suits. I'm sure there is a lot of suit-wearing in big cities like New York and LA - but in middle America it's rare to see someone who's not a big executive, or headed to an interview/big meeting, wearing a suit. But over here - most men still dress for work. I have to say I like the look of all of them in their skinny suit pants, ties and long overcoats. Even cooler? They still rock cufflinks. All that's missing is the hat like they used to wear in the 1950's and 1960's. I so wish that would come back.

14. John Lewis. The department store. While I still think that Nordstrom is better, John Lewis has that extra special cache of employees with British accents. I love going to a store and being asked, "Is there anything I can help you with, madam?" in that accent. I feel so proper and like I immediately want to shop for expensive scarves, houndstooth and tweed.

15. Boots brand. I know you can get some of this in Target in the U.S. now, but I absolutely love Boots brand makeup and beauty products. Great face wash, moisturizer, makeup accessories, lipstick, eyeshadow and mascara. While I do miss Walgreen's and true drug stores, I do enjoy going to Boots because they have both high price and value products. You can get generic face wash right next to Clinique or Dior brand. I like that I can find LaRoche-Posay products - perfect for when my skin is acting up, and Boots No.7 brand makeup brushes are as good as ones I've bought from the fancy makeup brands (i.e. Chanel, Laura Mercier, etc).

They say it takes 21 days to truly form a habit. So I'm T minus 19. Maybe at the end of this experiment I'll stop missing America so much... seeing as how I'll be here for a few more years at least, I sure hope so!

Federman out.

I...er, LOVE England

Mood: Chilly and freakin' fabulous
Theme Song: "Cincinnati" by Mood - check it out here and "LDN" by Lily Allen

I think it's because the weather is changing and the holidays are approaching, but I realised today on my walk home from the train that I am horribly homesick. Moreso than any time since I've moved. I've lived away from "home" (my home city) for four years now, nearly one of them overseas - and yet this is the first time that I really ACHE for home.
So I made a decision. For the next month or so, I'm going to stop making fun of England. I repeat... I am NOT going to post anything that makes fun of this country, its people, or the widespread lack of dental care. Now some of you may be thinking "So what? Why is this news?"... but for those of you who know me, really really know me, you know this is the equivalent of Lindsay Lohan giving up controlled substances and/or self-destructive relationships. Or Charlie Sheen giving up hookers. Or Lil' Wayne giving up the sizzurp.

Because part of what keeps me going, what keeps me strong, is being able to cap all over this great country like a 6th grade bully with ADHD. I turn my frustrations into humour, and it helps me get through the long days and nights when all I want to do is run screaming back across the ocean.

BUT... as someone recently pointed out to me, I have a pretty awesome life, and things could always be much, much worse. I'm not really helping the situation by giving into my negative feelings, or by feeding the "I hate England" monster that is growing inside me. So, starting today, I'm only going to talk about things I like about my adopted country.  And I'm going to number them and keep a running tally so that the next time I get a case of the grumpies, I can look back and remind myself that I found 3 1/2 things I liked about England (ha! just kidding)...

Seriously, though, I'll kick it off with 10 to start. Have to ease into this - baby steps as Dr. Marvin would say.


1. The amazing people I've met since moving over here. I could name check, but I'm not going to because not everyone is as big of an attention whore as Marianne Slade (couldn't help myself!! XD). But these people (you know who you are) have helped me stay sane, stay focused and stay happy on this crazy journey. Each of you have helped preserve or renew a part of me, and one or two of you have inadvertently taught me more about myself in a few months than I had learned in a whole lifetime. So to all my peeps who call the +44 home, a great big THANK YOU. Mad love.

2. The accents. Despite the fact that I can't understand about 44% of the people over here, I love hearing my native tongue bounced back to me after it's been given a good old English dressing up or dressing down. Like today for example. Since I can't say anything negative, I'll just say that how entertaining it was to speak for 20 minutes to a woman from American Express who sounded like Sean Connery in a wind tunnel with a mouthful of Novocaine after drinking 40 bottles of scotch.

3. London. The first time I came to visit, London didn't really do much for me. My reaction was pretty much "eh". I liked the black cabs and how everything was backwards and the red phone booths, but I found the whole place confusing and slightly ridiculous. But now... now I love it. It's an amazing city - even more so because it redefines the term "city". Much like New York, there are whole neighborhoods dropped into the "city" part. I also love how everything is closer than you think. You can be in Soho one minute, then Trafalgar Square, then Covent Garden... I'm so happy to be living closer so I can take advantage of this wonderful, wonderful playground.

4. Public transportation. Yes, yes, I know I just spent a blog entry blasting on the train system and the people on it. I still think the whole thing could use a good De-funkification. However, that being said, I LOVE LOVE LOVE how easy it is to get around (when the trains are running and when they are on time, that is). I can bounce all over the city with a few train hops. And yes it does seem a bit expensive - until I think about the cost of owning a car, and petrol, not to mention the hassle of parking and traffic.

5. The commercials aka "adverts". While many of them are really, really weird, some of them are really creative and visually stunning. And funny. I'm trying to think of examples but my mind is a blank. But I promise to post them as I remember. Just know that there are some good ones over here.

6. The bread. This is kind of a cop-out as I've already waxed poetic about England's baked goods. I've said it before and I'll say it again - this country knows how to get down on some bread. *nomnomnomnom*

7. Literacy. Ok this is going to sound funny, but the complete and utter nerd in me finds it wonderful that I get both a morning paper and an evening paper... and that both are FREE! I pick them up at the station and they're perfect for the ride to/from work. And... here's the kicker... they are surprisingly well written. As this is England after all, there is still the "Dear Sir" and the "Mr. So-and-so". Granted, many of the stories involve people I don't know and music groups I don't understand, but these daily reads provide a fascinating window into English life. One of the articles today was about "Postcode Wars". As explained before, England doesn't have "zip codes" - they have Postcodes. And apparently, there are these gang wars going on between people from different post codes. The article even went on to reference something called a "hood pass". I even found the article - you can read it here. But you have to do what I do and imagine it with a British accent. :P

8. The Fashion (sort of). I have commented before on some of the fashion disasters that are taking place over here. But there are parts to London fashion that I am SO all about. For example - leggings. Yes, I know I wore them the first time around in the '80s, but I tell you nothing is better for a Sunday afternoon than leggings and a slouchy sweater. Another thing I love is boots. I have always loved boots, but they are big here. And you can wear them with anything! And they are so comfortable when traipsing here there and everywhere on public transportation. :) I also have to say that I do love some of the super high heeled shoes. Not all of them - I'll never be a 5 inch lace heel convert (unless I take up a new career as a superho), but I do love the sexy high platform pumps. I've learned to walk in heels and I find them to be a great addition to my wardrobe. The other thing I like is that girls dress like girls. I can't explain it any more except to say I hardly ever wear jeans or tennis shoes or sweatshirts anymore. I used to LIVE in that attire!

9. The slang. There are some situations in life when only a "blimey" or a "bloody hell" will do. And I still haven't found a suitable American term for "posh". And, I still giggle like an idiot every time someone tells me what "fanny" means over here...

10. Tea. Yes, I know the rest of the world has tea, but it tastes different over here. I was never a committed coffee drinker, and I used to save my tea drinking for really cold days or when I was sick. But now... now I love a good cuppa any time of day. It's the perfect pick me up. In fact, I had one after dinner tonight.  What's funny is that when I moved over, I immediately bought the posh-est tea I could find. Big mistake. The best stuff by far is good old PG Tips. And the mascot is even a really cute monkey! (I think if I buy some this month I can send away for a knitted monkey or something... woo hoo!)

So there you have it. The beginnings of my "Things I love in England" list. This is going to be a real challenge for me... and I relish it. I'm sure you'll enjoy the journey, too - espeically those days when I'm struggling and I have to write something stupid like "I love England because...er... it begins with the letter "E" just like my name!"

And now I'm off to brew a cuppa and enjoy the rest of this lovely, crisply cold English night.

Federman out. ;)

Weird UK Adverts

Just a quick note...
There are always these weird commercials (aka "adverts") on the telly. I don't understand them AT ALL.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-bOjU4w9q4

Take a look... let me know your thoughts.

Federman out.

Kaleidoscope

Mood: Compuzzled
Theme Song: "Bingo" - Gucci Mane

Little monsters covered in Union Jack Underoos must be coming into my house at night and nibbling away at my cerebral cortex. That is the only explanation for the fact that I looked in my spice cabinet yesterday and thought to myself, "I need to pick up some or-EH-gan-oh".  Not "OR-ray-gan-oh". Somehow my brain has decided that Oregano should be pronounced the English way, as if it were some cool new shape or Pokemon character. What's also disturbing is how easy other English words have seeped into my everyday vocabulary - "lorry", "chav", "blimey", "posh", "brolly", "till", "brilliant", "biscuit", "chips", "queue".

In other news, I finally have a sofa in my flat. This doesn't really seem like breaking news, but when you've been living out of your bedroom for the past two weeks, it is quite possibly one of the most exciting occurrences possible. It is fantastic to have something to sit on, and it makes me feel a bit like my apartment is finally coming together. It's a small place, but it is sunny and bright and mine all mine :) I still have a bunch of furniture left to buy, but there's light at the end of that tunnel and by Christmas time I should be fully set up.

I'm still immensely frustrated by how hard it is to find simple things over here. I really, really miss Wal-Mart, Target, hell even K-Mart.  Americans don't realise how easy we have it to be able to go to one store and get 95% of what we're looking for.

I'll give you an example. I need the following things: light bulbs - regular and halogen, door hooks, picture hooks, a cheap bookshelf, those cool 3M hanger things that have the adhesive strip on the back so you don't make a mark on the wall, Scotchguard and a lint brush. Now, in America I would just hop in my car and go to the nearest Wal-Mart, Target or Fred Meyer and voila! Shopping's finished. Here?

Lightbulbs - Sainbury's
Door hooks - still not sure on this one
Picture hooks - still not sure either
Cheap bookshelf - couple of options here (IKEA, Argos, Tesco Direct)
3M Hanger Things - no idea if they even have them over here
Scotchguard - order from amazon.co.uk
Lint Brush - maybe Sainsbury's, maybe Argos

See what I mean? I know things are compounded now because I no longer have a car, but even when I had wheels, I still found myself driving here there and everywhere just to get the simplest things.

Speaking of Argos, the shop is hilarious. Check it out at www.argos.co.uk. There isn't really even a store - just a bunch of a catalogues and tills and conveyer belts. It's all summed up brilliantly here - (watch the bit up to about 1:08) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plAkZlRpqCg

I was thinking to myself the other day when the novelty of taking the train every day will wear off. I think it will probably be right around when I'm stuck on a platform in a snowstorm and the announcer comes on and says in a very posh BBC voice, "We are sorry to announce that 18:54 service to Waterloo, calling at (list of stations) is cancelled due to --"... The reason trains are cancelled here is a bit like a game of Mad Libs. I swear there are people sitting up in Central Train Control and just reaching into a hat for something to say. So far I've noticed its been:

• Signal failure (this is the most popular. I'm not sure how or why these signals keep failing, or why they don't replace them)
• Vandalism (I've actually had a train delayed due to this. I'm not sure how a train could be delayed by someone spray painting or whatnot)
• Mechanical failure
• Accidents (these range from someone stepped in front of a train to a lorry fell off a bridge and on top of a train - that one actually happened the other day)

Of course, I've yet to have a train cancelled due to sun delay, which used to happen all the time in Cincinnati. Yes, that's right. The sun...is out... and therefore, traffic is delayed. Despite the fact that the sun comes out every single day, its appearance somehow caused automobile drivers problems. ¬¬

Taking the train is quite the adventure, and it seems all normal rules of human behaviour go right out the window the minute you swipe your Oyster card or insert your ticket at the turnstile. Before I moved, my previous train experiences were limited to taking the train to central London for work or to SE London to visit someone for the weekend. They were fairly long journeys - an hour or two - and there were never very many people on the train. It all seemed very orderly and British and I found the ticket taker man quaint and was always super happy to show him that yes, yessir, I have a valid ticket, I paid the fare, look at me, good on me, can I have a biscuit now. The one weird experience I had was having what was obviously a mentally challenged man sit diagonally across from me on the ride to Blackheath, and for 40 minutes make fellatio gestures at me while periodically offering a 3-toothed smile. (That in itself was really special, considering I was on my way to a first date)

So when I queued up to get on the train for the first time to go to work, it was safe to say that I was a bit unreasonably excited. I felt alive, part of something bigger than myself. I was a TRAIN COMMUTER! I even had the beginning refrains of Manic Monday stuck in my head as I walked up to the turnstile and swiped my rail card. I went up the ramp and stood happily with all the other commuters near the tracks. I gave them all happy little nods, as if to say "Oh yes, I take the train to work everyday, too." The train pulled up to the station, right on time. The doors opened, and I minded the gap and hopped on. Everything was going smashingly until we got to Wimbledon station. For my American friends, it may be helpful for you to check out the following links to better understand what I'm talking about -

• http://www.nationalrail.co.uk/passenger_services/maps/ (maps for the train)
• http://www.tfl.gov.uk/gettingaround/1106.aspx (maps for the tube, bus and other methods of transport)

Anyway, Wimbledon is one of the central hubs for commuters going to London and to the Southwest, so it's nearly always packed. The train pulled up and it was like swimming upstream. It's hard to mind the gap

(which is not insignificant, by the way. In fact "the gap" is closer to a "person-size chasm" and beckons to my clumsiness every day as if to say "oh yes, I know YOU.... you're the one who falls down in your own bathtub, and who knocks over water no matter where you put it, and who runs into walls, and doors, and people... oh yes, I know you. See me? See this lovely dark gap? I'm just waiting for you... for a rainy day, a snowy day, for you to make a bad choice in footwear, for you to be pushed from behind by some corpulent businessman's belly... I'm waiting for you and then I will nomnomnom eat you up and cover you with oily, metally squeaky British train goodness and kill you dead. And then YOU will be the cause of a train delay...")

... it is hard to mind the gap when you are being pushed from behind and you are staring into the rabid faces of people who appear to be just dying to get on the train. So I finally made it off the train in one piece only to be swept into a veritable stream of people as I moved up the stairs to change platforms. The stairs are supposed to serve those going up and those going down - but point that out to anyone at your own risk. I spend my mornings getting all kinds of exercise by going up, up, up against harried English people going down, down, down. It's a bit like that time in Krav Maga class when our exercise for the day was to lie on the floor and have everyone pile on top of you and then "fight" your way out.

I got to the top of the Platform. One of the good things about public transportation in London is that you can just give a googly-eyed look to anyone who works for the train office and say your destination (Me: "Sutton?" Them: "Platform 9"). I've tried this with all kinds of destinations and so far it hasn't failed me. I'm sure there will be one time when I get misdirected to Staines (American friends, click here: http://onthebutton.wordpress.com/2010/11/08/renaming-ali-g-hometown/), but for now this is working well.

Once I got down to the platform for my train to Sutton, the morning quickly went back to normal speed, as I am now commuting against the traffic stream. By the time I got on the train, it was nearly empty and only filled with chattering schoolchildren (complete with Harry Potter outfits and everything).

The real fun came in the evening. A bit of background: most trains in England that I've taken have a digital display listing the stations where it "calls" (aka "stops") as well as a public address system that says things like "This is the 18:54 service to Luton, calling at...." and "The next station is Wimbledon Chase. Mind the gap." To an American like me, this is amazing because it helps me to always know where I am and where I'm going. So I got on the train from Sutton on my first day... and settled back for the 27m ride. About 10min into the trip, I suddenly realised that I hadn't heard any English voice announcing any of the stops... and that the train had no digital display, and that it was pitch black outside, and that I had NO FREAKING IDEA WHERE I WAS. Luckily each station has a big sign with its name on it, so as the train pulled up, I could squint through the window and see where I was. This was when I learned to count stations, and to pay attention on the train ;)

But I'm getting used to it. I have already passed two major milestones, which my English friends assure me are part and parcel for taking public transportation. I've seen my first adult pee puddle (why people pee on the train, I have no idea) and I was unceremoniously groped while riding a packed train to Clapham Junction. (Trains were delayed that night for - pick a reason - and so they were uncharacteristically full. We were wedged in like sardines, and the person (sure hope it was a guy, I couldn't even move to see) behind me took the opportunity to put their hands all over my rear business.)

Earlier I said that people lose all sense of how to behave properly when on the train, and I mean it. We've got people peeing on the floor (how exactly does that work anyway? do you just pee, and then get up and leave?); we've got people trying to get to 3rd base with you without your permission. And then there are the conversations I overhear. I don't know what it is about public transportation that makes people think it's okay to talk about anything at all... but it might be the same force that causes people to think that if they pick their nose in their car no one will see.

Since riding the train I have overheard conversations (both live and on the phone) about:

• STDs (a girl was talking in great detail about her "itch")
• Infidelity (man on phone: "well, I guess if you have to sleep with my brother, that's fine, but for god's sake darling please don't take him to our country house"... NOT kidding on that one)
• Theft (a whole conversation between two people about how they were going to go to one of their friend's house and basically rip them off)
• Bodily functions (I've heard treatises on diarrhea, flatulence, excessive mucus production, diaper rash, breast hairs (that was a funny day), etc etc)

My advice to anyone taking the train - be careful what you say, because there are people like me around. People who are not zoned out into a newspaper or listening to an iPod and who are counting stops to make sure they don't end up in Serbia by accident. These kind of people like me, we listen. We listen closely... and we remember.

That's all for today, folks.
Federman out.

Finding A Flat...

Mood: Happy
Theme Song: "Teach Me How 2 Dougie feat. Marianne Slade*" - Cali Swag District.

I am officially moved into my flat in London.

Please allow me to take a few moments to catch my breath, because there is MUCH to tell. I guess I should start by saying that I am no stranger to moving. We moved at least four times when I was growing up that I can remember, and then I think I've lived in fifteen or so different places since I was 17. So it's safe to say that I have a pretty firm grasp on the mechanics behind moving from one apartment to another.

Except that I don't. Not over here.

Some background that may help: any time you want to rent a flat over here, you need to go through an Estate Agent. An exception is the rare place posted on Craigslist or Spareroom.co.uk - but I've found that those places are either pretty dodgy or a flat-share/roommate situation. You know how in the U.S., you just go to the apartment complex... or drive by, note the number in the window, and call up? Not so here. You need to pick a neighborhood and then contact the nine hundred million estate agents which serve that neighborhood. They're called "estate" agents, but they don't deal in Hounds of the Baskervilles type mansions (well some do, but most don't). And they don't deal with rich dead people's stuff, either, as I originally thought. What they do is control most of the available rental market and make your life a living hell. They serve as a go-between between property owners and tenants - when it works, it's brilliant. When it doesn't, it is a recipe for homicidal thoughts - much like the ones that Marianne Slade has when her husband goes out for guy's night.

So basically you call these places up and find out what they have available, or you take a day or two and go to all their offices and register. What adds to the fun is that they always have tons of beautiful, amazing looking properties listed on their websites - but when you call, they tell you Oh sorry, that one just went "under offer" (more on this in a minute). When you point out that they should update their website to reflect this, you're told that of course they will, but that is a different department, the Internet department, and it takes some time for them to update the site. (Now, any of you who work in I.T. will back me up here when I say that it's not rocket science to update and refresh a webpage. It's not 1997, back when Marianne Slade was the Spice Girl's #1 fan.) When you point out that what they are essentially doing is using false advertising in a bait-and-switch scheme, they get very, very angry and even more unhelpful.

Yes, you heard right. Despite the fact that they work on commission and need to rent properties to survive, I have found that nearly 93% of these people are condescending, unhelpful idiots. A sample conversation would involve me explaining what I was looking for, including budget, time frame, size of flat, and "must-haves" (i.e. bathtub - not standard over here; storage space - closets aren't standard; etc)... and then waiting while the person on the other end tried to talk me into going to view properties that were out of my price range, in the wrong location and didn't have anything I was looking for. We would do this dance for a good 10 minutes before the holy light of understanding shone down upon them and they finally started talking about preperties that were relevant to me.  Then came the inevitable "I have a brilliant property to show you, can you get here by 2?"... despite the fact that I explained, SEVERAL TIMES during the conversation that I was calling to schedule appointments for the weekend as I lived in Canterbury near Marianne Slade, not London. And that driving back and forth during the day was not an option due to this little thing I had going on called a "job".

So on to my adventures. I think it is worth explaining that when I moved over in January, I was living in a hotel and so had a finite amount of time to find a place. I basically took a day off work and took a taxi to Canterbury. I had scheduled a few viewings with different estate agents (which was a feat in itself; I had bene trying to schedule viewings since December, but no one would call me back because I wasn't in the UK yet. I kept trying to explain that I wanted to have appointments scheduled so that the first weekend I was in town, I could find a place. This logical reasoning just proved too much for them.). I looked at five places, and chose the best option. The estate agent I dealt with was really professional - had me fill out a bunch of paperwork, called the property owner and got their approval to rent to me, and voila - I had a flat. I encountered sticker shock and all that because I had to pay the estate agent fee (about £250) in addition to deposit and first month's rent - but other than that, the process was relatively simple. The only kink was that I needed a bank account and the bank wanted me to have an apartment to get a bank account - so we had to do a bit of finagling there. Since it was Canterbury where Marianne Slade lives, and the bank manager knew the manager of the estate agency, they were able to help me out. I think if I were in London, I would probably still be trying to get a bank account...

So this time around, when I was looking to move to London, I didn't anticipate a huge fiasco. I thought that once I picked a neighborhood it would be fairly simple. Stupid, stupid me... forgetting that I was in England. I'll skip over how I ended up picking my neighborhood (a combination of advice + I looked at a flatshare and really liked it + it is a good location in between work and central London). The fun began once I started talking to estate agents, trying to schedule appointments.

Here comes the biggest difference between the U.S. and England, I think. Letting a flat over here is like buying a condo or house in the U.S. What I mean is that when you find a place you like, you submit an offer in writing and wait to see if the property owner accepts it. Much like with buying a place in America, there can be multiple offers coming in and it can become a bidding war (factors are: number of tenants, when they could take possession, how much they'll pay for rent, etc). This whole thing was foreign to me, as I'm used to fixed rent price (I think I negotiated my rent once in America, and that was because of some maintenance issues that came to light), and to the property owner/administrator simply picking the tenant that he/she feels would be the most responsible. I'm also used to basically unlimited inventory - I've never ever been worried in America about finding a place to live, as there were always properties available. Not so over here - the good neighborhoods fill up fast, and turn over is slow. So when you find a flat you like, you put down a deposit, and submit your application - and then sit back and wait...wait...wait to see if you're the chosen one (like Marianne Slade).

So, because of this bidding-war mentality, flats can go on the market and then off again in a matter of hours (just like really good properties for sale in the U.S.). Estate agents therefore are very urgent about scheduling appointments as soon as they can, and so they did not like the fact that I was only available on weekends. I got a lot of "Oh, dear" and "Well, we can book a viewing, but I there is no guarantee it will still be available..."; in this case, I just had to take the risk. Add to this that most of the flats I saw online that I liked were all mysteriously "suddenly on offer", leading me to believe that the entire housing market in England is one big scam.

Anyway, I had the gamut of estate agents working with me - the overeager puppy (the guy who had me on the phone so long  and who called so many times per day that my work colleagues were like "Is he asking you out?", and "Are you going to be Facebook friends now, like you are with Marianne Slade?"), the perpetually confused ("Who are you again? What are you looking for?" even though I had just spoken to them 5 minutes before) and the completely disinterested (passive air of ennui - funnily enough, the agent who showed me what is now my flat fell into this category). I ended up scheduling a fully day of viewings on a Saturday and luckily had company to view them. Which was a good thing because these chucklehead estate agents kept trying to show me everything from what looked like a recently converted crack den to literally a hole in the wall. (I'm not kidding. We went up some scary Hunchback of Notre Dame steps to a narrow door; upon opening the door, you literally fell into the bedroom. The kitchen was the size of a Port-a-Potty and I think a Party House for Vampires would have more natural light. The craziest part was that the place was only £125 less than the flat I currently have!!) In addition, despite my being very specific about my desired location, Mr. Overeager Puppy insisted on taking me to a marginal neighborhood that was on the outskirts of my chosen area. We had to view several places that reeked of cabbage, failed dreams and felonies before he finally got it through his head that I had standards. And in the end, nearly every place he took me was more than I could afford anyway.

I knew when I saw the flat that is currently mine that I had found the one I wanted. But I looked at all the others to be fair. Not all of them were BAD... they were just shocking to my American eyes. Some were dirty, or just lacking what I consider to be normal amenities. I can handle the lack of space, but I cannot abide the lack of closets or nasty bathrooms. One place had a toilet that looked like it was installed before I was born. And the flat was marketed as "luxury". Even though that to get to the aforementioned "high quality" bathroom facilities, you had to walk through the bedroom. I haven't seen a set up like that since my days in college, or that time I visited Marianne Slade's double wide trailer - and that only occurred because you had 4 people living in what was a 3 bedroom or something, and so the living room became a bedroom. I don't think I've ever seen a place where that layout was deliberate. Not correct actually - now I can say that I have.

The place I ended up choosing isn't perfect by any means. I've had a host of drama since moving in (that will be a subject for another blog entry), it's on the 4th floor with no lift (elevator), there's no parking for guests and it lacks storage space. Former tenants were apparently related to elephants and so the landlord put down these hideous rugs everywhere. Well, okay, they're not HIDEOUS... they're just tan and ugly and somewhat stained. (I'm working on a compromise where I replace the nasties with a nice sunny area rug... we'll see)

On the plus side, it's on the top floor so it gets flooded with natural light. The ceilings are relatively high, the rooms are decent size and the fittings are fairly modern. There is a dishwasher and a newer stove and refrigerator. And the washer/dryer - while it isn't much to look at - actually DRIES most of my clothes. (That nearly put me into shock when I figured it out). I'm less than 10 minutes from the train station, which means Marianne Slade won't have to walk that far to come visit me, and there's a bus station at the end of my street. I can walk to a mini-Boots, a Cooperative food store (a small food chain), several bakeries and restaurants. I can take the train to Wimbledon (4 min) where there is a pretty big shopping centre with Marks & Spencer, Sainsbury's and Tesco - or I can take the train to Kingston (about 12 min away) where there is a HUGE shopping area with nearly everything I could possibly think of.

I realised today when I was coming back from Wimbledon that I haven't walked this much since I was 17... (nearly 17 years ago... YIKES!) and I absolutely love it. I was in the best shape of my life back then (not as buff as Marianne Slade is now, but close...), when I didn't have a car and had to walk everywhere. I hate any kind of enforced exercise (gyms bore me and classes are just an opportunity for me to showcase exactly how uncoordinated I am. The only class I really like is boxing, and it's hard to find one that is affordable and offered when I'm free) - so I'm loving the fact that I can stay in shape simply by doing things I normally do. The four flights of stairs I hit twice a day (at least) + the walk to/from the trian station + steps at the various stations + the flights of steps at work + getting around the neighborhood to do my usual stuff.  I'm sure there will come a time when I miss my car (probably when I'm freezing my butt off waiting for a delayed train) - but I'm really enjoying not having to deal with parking or English roads.

*My friend Marianne only reads my blog to see how many times her name is mentioned. I'm making her day.