Brit in the USA

Free Burma

2007-10-04T00:48:00.000-07:00

Allow me to get political for a moment, if you will.

As a Buddhist (though admittedly, not a very good one), the latest news from Burma has affected me deeply. The military rule and the treatment of Burmese people is bad enough, but hearing news that monks have been beaten and killed for peaceful protests just infuriates and saddens me.

There will be a peaceful protest of the Burmese government's rule and the world's lack of supportive action to the Burmese people this Saturday in Los Angeles (for those in other counties, states or countries who want to protest, please see this link for details on your area). The protesters will meet outside the Kojak Theater in Hollywood at 4pm and the protest will continue until 7pm; there will be no marching due to city restrictions. There are more details here.

If you can, PLEASE be there. Protesters should try to wear something red, and bring signs and candles or be prepared to chant slogans. Even if all you can bring is yourself, please do so if you can.

Why are we protesting? By now, almost everyone is aware of what has been happening in Burma over the last week, but if not, here are some articles from the BBC recapping the situation:

Q&A: Protests in Burma

Burmese media cut off

Who are Burma's monks?

Aung San Suu Kyi

Ignorance

2007-07-03T13:15:00.001-07:00

I bought this beautiful shirt from Threadless the other day (click the image for a bigger version). I love the message behind it, that all people can get along and have fun if they put aside their differences. It makes me happy and squishy inside and I knew I had to have it.

So I wore it to work and proudly showed it off. One co-worker frowned and pointed:

Co-worker: "Who's that?"
Me: "Uh ... that's a Muslim Imam*."
Co-worker: "Oh ... I thought maybe it was Saddam Hussein or someone because he was wearing a turban."

WHAT. I was actually so stunned I had no idea what to say, I think I ended up laughing nervously and walking away. It deeply saddens me that "turban = terrorist" to so many people now. Growing up in London, I saw people wearing turbans every day and it never registered as unusual. But recounting this story to Americans here, they've nodded sadly and admitted that to many, turbans now mean a person cannot be trusted.

I wish I could pass it off as one ignorant person, but the truth is that it is a consistent issue with humanity. We love to segregate people and fit them into nice little niches. After all, it's much easier to simply dismiss someone outright for the color of their skin or for their religious beliefs than to get to know them and judge them fairly.

An ex-co-worker and I decided to have coffee and catch a movie after work one day. He admitted that I confused and frustrated him, because he couldn't fit me into a niche. I have long, black hair and facial piercings, which made him think I was a goth. But I am Buddhist, I generally listen to Japanese pop music and I knit on my breaks at work, I love to cook and take care of my pets and I am bi in a same-sex relationship. He had no idea how to segregate me, and when I suggested that he just accept me for who I am, he looked totally lost.

Some people need to learn to form impressions with their heart first, and eyes second.

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* After a bit of research on Wikipedia, I have discovered I may have been wrong to call him an Imam. In fact, I'm not sure exactly what would be the correct term, or whether it can even be determined from the picture. A Mullah? Muezzin? Any Muslims reading this that could clarify for me?

Pizza pizza

2007-06-25T12:34:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, huh? I've been a little distracted with a new job.

Speaking of which, yesterday we had pizza for lunch, from Dagwoods. We were peering into the boxes to figure out what everything was, and the following exchange occurred:

Co-worker: What's that?
Me: Margarita.
Co-worker: What?
Me: Marga ... wait, is this a British thing? It's cheese and tomato sauce.
Co-worker: *laughs* Yeah, it's a British thing.

So yeah, a basic pizza is just a cheese pizza here. Filed that one away for future reference!

Z Day

2007-06-14T13:35:00.000-07:00

So as you probably know, everywhere's pretty much overrun with zombies right now. I went out to get the mail yesterday and some huge bastard lurched around the corner and lunged at me, throwing me back against the mail boxes. He groaned "braaaaaaaaaaaaains" and then got a funny look on his face and sniffed my head.

He then pushed me away and grunted, "mad cow!" and headed off in the opposite direction. Bloody cheek.

So currently the only ones that are safe from the zombies are the Brit expats right now, so I think we're gonna go down the King's Head later and have a pint while the world ends so we can have a good moan about it. I wonder if they have any Queen on the jukebox?

The Red Coats are ... here?

2007-04-16T17:29:00.000-07:00

Last night I had to do some shopping at Trader Joe's and was oohing and aahing over their cheese section; it's one of the best places to get good cheddar here. The Scottish guy next to me struck up a conversation about which ones are good, and I mentioned that it was so hard to get good cheese here, being that I moved here from England and I'm used to the choice back there.

The look he gave me was a mixture of amusement and absolute disbelief. He just said "uh huh" and made his excuses before leaving. It was clear that he absolutely did not believe I had even set foot in the British Isles, let alone grew up there. Of course, a lot of people here love to boast of their 1/8th Irish blood, or their 7/13th Scottish blood, or how their ancestors sailed over on the Mayflower.

I think I passed the test! My Nan is in Florida right now on vacation, and she was telling me how frustrating it is when people fawn over her accent all the time she's there. It's for that exact reason that I generally speak with a Californian accent until I'm talking with my family. It's not perfect, and if someone knows I'm English they'll pick up on the nuances and turns of phrase that give me away, but to most people I meet on the street, they don't notice a difference.

And that's just how I like it.

It has not been a good day

2007-03-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Los Angeles drivers,

Going backwards at a green light is not the same as going forward. Just so you know.

My sanity would prefer if you remembered this rule.

Love and kisses,

Me

Geography lesson

2007-03-26T20:51:00.000-07:00

Today at the grocery store, I peeked at the fish counter and saw cooked crayfish for $3.99/lb. Yum yum. The condensed conversation with the fish monger went something like this:

Him: "So are you from the South?"
Me: "Oh no, I'm from London, England."
Him: "Oh! So the east coast?"
Me: "Uh no, England. The country."
Him: "Which part of England? Like Paris?"
Me: "......."

Observe the wonders of the American public school system at work, dear readers. Isn't it terrifying?

At last, an update!

2007-03-18T02:29:00.000-07:00

I haven't updated in a while, have I? Sorry about that, folks!

In the time I've been away, I passed my driver's test! I never bothered to learn because growing up in London meant I had a lot of public transport to rely on to get me from A to B. Sadly in LA, it is almost impossible to get around easily without a car, and so I bit the bullet and learned to drive. I passed first time, and received my license on Friday; I must be one of the only people in the country with a decent photo!

And now of course, that means I have an officially recognized form of ID. I had a rather rude wake-up call a few months ago when attempting to buy Sudafed, a decongestant containing pseudoephedrine. Despite having my British passport and my green card, I was turned away. The reason? They had to scan a state ID or driver's license into their system and without it, no drugs. How very frustrating.

Recently I have agreed to a grocery swap with an expat friend of mine. She is an American living in England, and requested that I send her some American staples in return for English grub of my own. Sounds like a fair deal to me, and should save us both a tidy sum in import costs.

On a parting note, I've been reading more blogs lately, and one caught my eye. The author mentioned that the teacher of her children asked if sarcasm was a common form of humor in her household, to explain her kids' behavior. She responded "y'think?" It made me smile, since sarcasm is such a common form of humor in the UK that you become the rarity if you don't use it.

NHS vs insurance

2007-01-14T00:52:00.000-08:00

I am sick. There have been a lot of nasty viruses being passed around lately and now it is my turn. It's nothing more than a bad cold, but it does want to make me do nothing more than curl up in bed with a cup of tea and a book.

Following a theme, NHS Blog Doc wrote a report about the differences between UK and US healthcare here, and I've had numerous debates with people on the pros and cons of socialized medicine.

Several years ago, I needed to have my wisdom teeth pulled. I was getting severely painful abcesses and my dentist referred me to the local hospital. About six months later I was seen and x-rayed, and told I'd go on the waiting list which was around twelve months at the time. My mother had insurance through her work and called back the doctor to ask if that would make a difference. He said, "I can do next Monday if you like?"

I have not had many major run ins with the NHS, barring the usual antibiotics prescriptions from my local GP. So it makes sense that mere months after moving to the US I would have a rather nasty medical emergency. I managed to slip in the kitchen and stab myself in my left hand with a large knife, resulting in a panicked dash to the local ER. Several hours and a few stitches later, I was sent home. For five stitches, a mild sedative (I really don't like needles) and two bandaids I was billed around $1800.

$1800! I was mortified, and of course I wasn't covered by insurance! I was lucky that my father agreed to pay for the treatment, or I'd have been in a horrible situation. But it really made me think just how frightening it can be to know that if you have a serious accident or are diagnosed with a long-term illness, that if could bankrupt you or your family easily.

From this perspective, it would be easy to take comfort in the idea that in the UK if you fall down and break your leg, you will be treated and sent home and won't have to pay hospital fees. But at what cost? Of course there are the taxes that fund the NHS, but it's the hidden costs that only become apparent when you need them.

NHS Blog Doc writes regularly about his patients on a personal level, of how difficult it is to get mental health treatment for people with severe schizophrenia (as long as they haven't actually gotten violent), how he has to make agonizing choices on how to refer possible cancer cases, how infuriating it is to see his patients frightened and in pain and asking him why they have just been put on another waiting list.

I don't know what the answer is. I don't know much about the politics and costs involved in healthcare. I just know that people have a right to prompt and safe treatment, no matter how much or little money they have.

On a lighter note, I need to update my blogroll; I've been reading some new blogs lately and I'd like to write a little about them soon.

The Good, The Bad and The Geeky

2007-01-09T23:59:00.000-08:00

First post in a while and it's off-topic! Well, it's my blog, so I suppose I can write about what I like. And this is a subject that's quite close to my heart.

I, my dear readers, am a geek. I am addicted to the internet, I play video games and I make jokes with friends about the latest updates to Slashdot, b3ta and my blog list. I have more blogs and journals than you could shake a stick at, and my idea of a fun night is sitting around until 3am with a group of friends, eating pizza, drinking beer and playing Taiko Drum Master and Dance Dance Revolution.

Like most gaming geeks, Jack Thompson is a name that makes me roll my eyes instantly. Jack is an ambulance-chasing lawyer who is so against video games that he seems to foam at the mouth at the merest mention of the evil media. He is utterly convinced that the pushing of buttons to control pixels on a TV is responsible for the downfall of youth in modern culture. The Wikipedia link gives a few examples of the kinds of suits he has filed against game manufacturors, and also highlights just how frighteningly crazy this man is. Almost all of his cases have been thrown out of court. It should also be noted that he has not actually played any of the games that he files against; in fact he often cites "evidence" that is confused or completely wrong due to his lack of knowledge of the media he is so against.

But this is not a rant about Jack Thompson, in fact it is about a documentary that he participated in. Moral Kombat (a play on the title of a game named "Mortal Kombat") is a documentary created by Spencer Halpin supposedly taking a candid look at violence in the video game industry and how it affects youth culture. The ~~propaganda~~ trailer can be seen here. Tell me if you see the balance there, because all I can hear are anti-video game warnings amidst the dramatic piano music and swooshing graphics. And as Tycho of Penny Arcade stated, "to dredge up that fruity "9/11 Terrorists Trained On MS Flight Simulator" stuff to score rhetorical points in a completely unrelated discussion is (I have chosen to be polite) weak sauce. You'd better have a Goddamn good reason for invoking that day, and "so I can sound like a smart motherfucker on the teevee" ain't gonna cut it."

Video games are not all for kids. A great number of very popular titles (Grand Theft Auto, Gears of War, Brothers in Arms, Silent Hill, Fatal Frame, Siren, Bully, etc) are aimed at an older audience and are rated as such. Parents should take the same care in purchasing video games for their children as they do with movies; if you wouldn't buy your child a copy of The Exorcist, why would you buy them a game with this cover?

The concerns of those who criticize the gaming industry so openly are that the violence displayed in games aimed at an older audience will warp children's minds and encourage them to enact such violence in the real world. I call bullshit. I have played many of the games they list and let me tell you, they don't inspire me to follow through on my pixelated character's actions. In Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, you play a Mafia member who has just been released from prison and who performs deeds and missions for people in the city, bumping off those in power and eventually growing to become a crimelord. You steal cars, shoot people down and generally do what you like. One misconception often cited by Jack Thompson and the like is that you are "rewarded for killing cops"; while it is perfectly possible to kill a cop in the game, the only reward you get is more cops coming after you to arrest you! And yet despite the hours I've wracked up in this game, I've never had the urge to steal a car or start shooting people down in the street.

The fantasy world in a video game is just that; a fantasy world. If someone is inclined to reproduce the script of a movie or video game in real life, then they would have to have a pretty slim grasp on reality in the first place. Silent Hill is a series of horror games in which the protagonist is trapped in a demonic town full of monsters and nightmares. Yet I am able to play this game and go to bed content with the thought that nothing is waiting for me in my closet. I am safe in my knowledge that it is a game, it is fantasy and not reality. Mario Brothers has never inspired me to jump up and down on turtles and mushrooms, Sonic the Hedgehog has never inspired me to steal gold rings and Pacman never inspired me to pop pills.

If you are so inclined, check out the comments to the original blog post I got this from for some articulate, intelligent and well-formed responses from the gaming community at large concerning the fears of those in the documentary.

Happy holidays

2006-12-24T01:21:00.000-08:00

I'm off to Northern California -- a small mountain town called Boulder Creek, to be precise -- for a few days. It's going to be a lot chillier than I'm used to!

Happy holidays to one and all. See you for the New Year!

Boarding schools

2006-12-22T02:13:00.000-08:00

I grew up reading books that romanticized all girl boarding schools, talking of lacrosse and midnight parties and girly fun. This following post from the blog of Dr. Crippen, NHS doctor, shatters the illusion for me.

Warning: this is not for the faint of heart.

Irene came today. She is 55. She works as an insurance company executive. A child of the sixties. She has piles. Bad piles. They had been troubling her for several weeks. A little painful, a lot of bleeding.

“It’s like a bunch of grapes hanging out of my bum,” she said. I had a look. Dear me. She got the Crippen Golden Suppository of the Year award. They looked awful. Worst I have seen in ages. A proper rectal examination was out of the question without an anaesthetist.

I asked her if she had had any change in bowel habit.

“Absolutely not. I always open my bowels at exactly 7.45 am in the morning. Always have”

Some patients, usually older than Irene, believe that if you do not open your bowels at the same time each day, the world will stop turning. She did not seem that sort of person. I smiled and said something about her being very precise about the timing.

“Oh yes,” she said, “It was school. I went to a boarding school. We were trained to do this. I have never got out of the habit.”

The story emerged. She was at a famous English girl’s boarding school for six years from the age of eight to fourteen. I had better not mention the name of the school but you will have heard of it. At 7.30 a.m. every morning, the girls had to go to the lavatory, open their bowels, and then stand outside with the door open until matron had inspected their stools.

I was entranced. A thought occurred. “I don’t want to pry, but wouldn’t the toilet tissue…er…obscure the evidence?”

No. Because the girls were not allowed to wipe their bottoms until matron had conducted the stool inspection. And what happened if they were unable to perform? They were given a second chance after lunch. If there was no result this second time, they were taken off to the sanatorium and given a dose of some foul tasting brown medicine, and the process was repeated the following day.

Those of you who have experience of English girl’s boarding schools will believe it. The rest of you may not. You may even mock. But let me remind the doubters amongst you that it was this sort of public school training that made the British Empire what it is today.

Indeed. I'm sure the British Empire would have been nothing without regular bowel movements.

Ahem.

New job

2006-11-20T19:58:00.000-08:00

I just started a new job, so updates here may be even more sporadic than usual while I adapt.

Sorry about that, folks.

Icons of England

2006-11-12T19:39:00.000-08:00

ICONS Online is a not-for-profit group that has started a project to list icons of England, known simply as ICONS. Who knows why on Earth they're doing it, but it's fun.

Things like Winnie the Pooh, the Oxford English Dictionary, a cup of tea, The Archers, Monty Python, morris dancing and the Domesday Book are there along with hundreds of other nominations, all of which can be voted for or against by the public.

In unrelated news, I start a new job tomorrow, my first work since I arrived here in the US, thanks to an abnormally long wait for my green card. It's situated in a small Japanese district of West LA, so it'll be Brit in Little Japan in the USA. I hear working in the US is very different to working in the UK, but it'll be a relief to finally have medical insurance. Here's to hoping it all goes well!

Penny for the guy?

2006-11-05T13:49:00.000-08:00

Today is (was?) Fireworks Night or Bonfire Night in England.

Otherwise known as Guy Fawkes Night, it commemorates Guy Fawkes, an English soldier, and his attempts to detonate barrels of gunpowder in order to assassinate King James I and the members of both houses of Parliament. Why we celebrate this attempted murder is beyond me, but we do it all over the country, and with gusto. There's usually a bonfire -- carefully poked to ensure there are no sleepy hedgehogs taking a nap inside -- and fireworks, cocoa and hot soup, hotdogs and burgers and of course, sparklers. There are also children who make a "Guy", a scarecrow like figure from old clothes, then toss him on top of the bonfire. Lovely.

Sadly, fireworks are illegal in the state of California, as I discovered to my dismay on July 4th this year, so there will be no impromptu celebrations here. It makes me nostalgic for my cold, wet November fireworks displays that we attended every year at my old primary school.

Freecyclin'

2006-10-29T22:00:00.000-08:00

Since I've been in the US I've been a subscriber to Freecycle. It's a non-profit organization of mailing lists all over the world, designed to keep unwanted items out of landfills for just a bit longer.

It's very "one man's trash is another man's treasure" in its design. I have an item that I no longer desire and offer it on the mailing list. Someone else asks me for it and I arrange for them to come and collect it, thus keeping it in use for a little longer. We've been gifted some wonderful items this way, and have given some of our own.

It's a really great idea and I encourage everyone to subscribe to their local chapter and join in the fun. I'm all for doing my bit to ease the burden on landfills, even just a little.

Food, glorious food

2006-10-26T19:28:00.000-07:00

Following on the food theme, I am being spoiled rotton by cheap supermarket prices here. LA is one of the most expensive cities in the US (I am pulling that fact out of my ass, so there) but when compared to the prices I was used to in London, it's a bargain.

Part of the savings come from the fact that the US is so large, and has such a varied climate. All kinds of produce and meat can be raised and harvested, transported cheaply and passed on to the consumer with little effort.

Our regular grocery stop, Albertsons, is fairly basic. Not as well-stocked as an average Tesco or Sainsburys, but with all the basics and a large, cheap meat section. The deals they have are amazing to my British wallet; 10 items for $10, 24 cans of soda for $4, fresh pineapple for 99¢ a pound ... things that are unheard of even in the best of supermarket sales where I grew up.

And then there's Trader Joe's. I adore Traders, when I am brave enough to face the crowds it draws. Traders is a little like Waitrose or Marks and Spencer in that most of their food is organic, healthy and a quite posh. What they have over the aforementioned stores is that it's also cheap, and the people who work there are quite lovely. I've yet to meet a grumpy worker in our local store, and they're always ready to chat and joke with us at the checkout.

Of course, my favorite place to go grocery hunting is Mitsuwa, my local Japanese grocery. What they lack in sales and bargains they make up for in quality of fresh produce and the sheer joy of poking around foreign food. The import prices are very good and there's something childishly gleeful about browsing the isles and filling my basket.

Despite all these wonderful bargains and the quality of foods available to me here, I still miss my English grub. Walker's crisps, GOOD cheddar (none of this orange crap that passes for cheese here), Branston's pickle, Heinz Salad Cream, HP Sauce, custard creams, Jammy Dodgers and rich tea biscuits. And don't get me started on fish and chips with mushy peas.

Still, you win some you lose some. Being a budding cook, I have to say the quality and price of ingredients here makes me utterly joyful. And besides, I can always take a weekend trip to Tudor House at Santa Monica to get my OXO cubes.

Bag lady

2006-10-26T19:20:00.000-07:00

We do most of our food shopping at Albertons, a West coast chain of supermarkets. A while back when we were watching the cashier beep our items through the scanner, I casually picked up a bag and started putting groceries in the cart.

"How helpful, we should hire you!"

I blinked. "Sorry?"

The cashier grinned, "we should hire you, we need good baggers like you! You make my job easier"

And then I remembered that here, you don't bag your own groceries. Or rather, you don't have to, as someone will come along and do it for you. It all feels rather lazy to me, and sometimes I just grab a bag and start bagging for myself, much to the surprise of the cashiers.

I quite like the set-up I saw in Germany, in places like real. There are no wads of plastic bags waiting for you at the check out. You have to bring your own bags -- canvas, plastic, whatever you like -- and bag all your items yourself. Very eco-friendly, a lot of stores would benefit from introducing this policy.

I wonder how it works in other countries?

Shall we dance?

2006-10-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

As the title of this blog suggests, I am a native born Brit, English to be precise (well, half Irish, but now I'm just getting picky). Most English speaking cultures tend to be pretty similar due to their shared ancestry, but one of the things I have found myself coming up against again and again is the lack of ... well, Englishness here.

In England, we communicate through an elaborate dance of body language, gestures, grunts and assumptions. We have our little rituals and unspoken messages, and everyone understands them. We know that if we have an electrician checking the wiring, we must offer them a cup of tea. We know that we must change the subject if our conversation partner begins to look even slightly uncomfortable. We know when and how to form orderly queues, and we know that we are expected to take only our share and nothing more and to keep things "fair".

Speaking of queueing, George Mikes once said, "An Englishman, even if he is alone, forms an orderly queue of one." He is absolutely right, and my friends here find it hilarious how twitchy and passive aggressively snippy I get when I see someone threatening to queue jump.

It's little social cues like this that don't exist here, and that trips me up more often than not. I am always secretly horrified when guests stomp around in dirty boots or kick them off in the middle of the floor, then head to our fridge to poke around and grab a soda without asking. I mean, I would never say anything -- that would be far too un-English -- and if I minded that much, I wouldn't invite them over. It just makes my inner Englishman petulantly wibble his stiff upper lip. How you behave at home and how you behave when a guest are two very different things in England, and the line is much more blurred here.

There is a tendency to be far less withdrawn and more openly critical here, which is both a blessing and a curse. If someone thinks something they will say it, sugar coating or not. But I still find myself looking for hidden messages and reading between the lines, forgetting that it doesn't really work like that in the US. It works in England because everyone does it, almost entirely subconsciously. Here? I am a dancer alone, and that is both amusing and frustrating to those I keep trying to tango with.

Is it easier with everyone saying what they think? Perhaps in theory. But I wonder if I shall ever get used to this upfront, unashamed honesty. Sometimes I long for my complex, silent, polite social waltz.

Driver's mis-education

2006-10-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

As a born and bred Londoner, I never bothered to learn to drive. A lot of expense to go to when the London Underground did a very nice job of ferrying me to and from work for less hassle and cost.

Here in Los Angeles, it's a little different. The only public transport is a slow, unreliable bus system that doesn't go to half the places I want to, so as soon as I got my green card, learning to drive was high up on the priority list.

Driver's Education is a popular course here at high schools where students get to drive in a dual-controlled car as basic practice for their test, and to get their learner's permit. I've not heard of a similar scheme in the UK, but it strikes me as a great way to get kids learning to drive. Personally, I'd have liked to have gotten the practice in that early without having to figure out how to pay for lessons.

I'm being taught by my partner, which is working out well for the both of us, and am scheduled for my test soon. The rules of the road are slightly different here than what I was used to seeing in England; there are less roundabouts for one! The biggest difference for me has to be in the size of the roads; in London, I'm used to seeing Victorian roads built for horse carriages, not three lane streets. And of course, the "right turn on red" rule, which says that even if the light is red, you can take a right turn when the road is clear, so long as there are no signs prohibiting it. Madness!

And let's face it, LA drivers are not known for their skills. There are a lot of people yapping on cell phones while they drive, ignoring pedestrians, cutting people off, refusing to let you merge ... The list is endless. Back when I was still learning how to turn, I had a soccer mom in an SUV come up behind me. I put on my left turn indicator, but before I could make the turn she lurched out and overtook me on the left side. I was so amazed I just sat there and watched her. As I learned that day, being a defensive driver in LA can really save your ass sometimes.

So wish me luck, people. In ten days time, I may be holding my very first driver's license!

Broom broom

2006-09-24T22:31:00.000-07:00

Nothing for over a month and then two posts in an evening!

A friend linked me to a post from another blog, a commentary on Los Angeleno's attitudes towards traffic and driving. I have learned that you can't judge how far something is by the distance in this city; it is by the amount of time it takes to get there.

I myself am still learning to drive, but so far have not had too much difficulty, even tackling the 405 each Saturday morning. The 405 freeway is one of the busiest in the area and gets choked up with traffic even outside of rush hour.

Here's Crazy Aunt Purl's discovery about our attitudes towards our beloved motor vehicles: Less Than Zero.

I am still alive!

2006-09-24T21:45:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's been a while. I've been distracted lately, but I'll make an effort to update a little more often here.

Last week we took a vacation to a beach house in the Laguna hills. It's a very affluent area and we're extremely lucky to be able to rent a beautiful house in the gated community of Three Arch Bay every year. For those who are unaware, gated communities are absolutely beautiful, like posh estates with guards at the gates that supposedly lower crime within the area. Of course, you pay for this service, and I have seen tags of $2,000,000 for houses where we rent. They're beautiful, but not THAT beautiful, and the one we rent is only a one storey, two bedroom house at that. But still, the clean and tidy appearance of the community and the two minute walk to the private beach makes it a beautiful place to vacation and get some time away.

On a slight tangent, many of you are probably now aware of the e-coli spinach scare in California and indeed, across the US. It's not a huge deal, any risk can be eliminated by cooking the spinach to 160F, but still the concern is how it happened in the first place.

We're a little short on money, and yet are able to buy extremely high quality and organic meat and vegetables through our local farmer's markets. There's a new one that just opened at the end of our street that we walk to on Sundays (when we're awake in time!), a large permanent one that's twenty minutes away and more than I can count on both hands within a ten mile radius. With California's varied climate between the north and south of the state, we have access to a wide range of fresh produce.

That, and one of our local 99¢ stores has expanded their occasional fresh produce samples into a permanent fixture, and while the choice and quality can be variable, being able to buy vegetables and fruit on such a small budget is a godsend on tight months.

99¢ and dollar stores are a new, fascinating concept for me. Sure, we had pound stores in England, but they generally sold the same old crap. There are three in the local area that we frequent; one has foodstuffs and fresh produce, and even alcohol (their wine section is nothing to write home about, but it's cheap for cooking with!), another has selections of craft supplies, silk flowers, vases and crockery, and the other has tupperware, clothes and cleaning supplies. If we're lucky, we can get around half of our monthly shopping at these stores along, stocking up on meat and more exotic ingredients at the chain supermarkets and ethnic stores.

And I always thought Southern California was an expensive place to live!

You know you're from LA when ...

2006-07-31T23:53:00.000-07:00

I don't usually follow these, but this had me laughing out loud! It's almost pathetic just how many are already second nature after a year here. Thanks for the link, Brit in LA.

You Know You're From LA When...

You're driving on the 101 and see a clear cut definition of where the smog begins and ends

You go to a karaoke bar and battle with seven year old divas-in-training who are trying to steal your thunder

You're sitting in traffic for at least an hour at any given part of the day

You go to the beach and see that real lifeguards actually do look like the lifeguards from Baywatch

You see purple and gold and the word "Threepeat" on every corner

You begin to "lie" to your friends about where you are (i.e. "Yeah I'm like 20 minutes away") - when you know that it'll take you at least an hour to get there).

You eat a different ethnic food for every meal

You look around at the nice cars around you during traffic, thinking it'll be your favorite Laker or WB star.

You make a conscious choice to watch Jay Leno over David Letterman

You mourned for Tupac and not for Biggie

You know it's best not to be on the 405 at 4:05 pm.

Getting anywhere from point A to point B, no matter what the distance, takes about "twenty minutes".

You know what neighborhood someone lives in by the degree of damage incurred during the riots.

You've inadvertently learned Spanish.

You've got to bring the cat/plants in when it drops to 55 degrees.

In the "winter", you can go to the beach and ski at Big Bear on the same day.

You've bumped into a celebrity at El Pollo Loco.

You know what "sigalert", "PCH", and "the five" mean.

Your pizza delivery guy is also on contract with Warner Bros.

If your destination is more than 5 minutes away on foot, you're definitely driving.

You have a gym membership because it's mandatory.

Your TV show is interrupted by a police chase.

You can't fall asleep without the lull of a helicopter flying overhead.

When tourists ask where they can get souvenirs, you direct them to Venice Beach.

You know someone named Freedom, Rainbow, Persephone or Destiny.

You've trespassed through private property to get to the "Hollywood" sign.

You've partied in Tijuana at least once.

You know Hollywood has a "lake".

You don't stop at a STOP sign, you do a California Roll.

You've lost your car in the Century City Shopping Center parking lot.

You've ever bought oranges, flowers, cherries or peanuts on a freeway off-ramp.

You think that Venice is a beach.

You drive next to a Rolls Royce and don't notice.

You've started crossing a street and returned to the curb when the DON'T WALK sign started flashing.

You've never listened to NPR.

Calling your neighbors requires knowing their area code.

You have a favorite Thai restaurant.

You think Johnnny Rocket's is an accurate depiction of a diner.

You think Manhattan is a beach.

You eat pineapple on pizza.

You've been to Disneyland more times than Downtown.

When giving directions , you follow up with the phrase: "With/Without traffic."

You classify new people you meet by their Area Code. An "818" would never date a "562" and anyone from "323" or "213" is ghetto/second class. Best area code: "310."

Driving along, you see a high-speed police chase approaching in your rear view mirror. You don't panic or even flinch. Instead, you call your friends on your car phone and tell them you're on TV.

You know that if you drive two miles in any direction you will find a McDonald's or a Starbucks.

Your cell phone has left a permanant impression on the side of your head.

You never, ever go into the water at the Beach. You barely touch the sand.

Everyone you know has 3+ phone numbers. Home, Office, mobile, pager, two-way, voicemail.....

It is not unusual for your waitress at a restaurant to have blue streaked hair, a dragon tattoo and tounge piercing.

You are awakened in the middle of the night by a moderate earthquake. Your reply: "That ain't even a 5-pointer" and go back to sleep.

You think you are better than the people who live "Over the Hill". It don't matter which side of the hill you are currently residing, you are just better than them, for whatever reason.

You live 10 miles from work. It takes you 60 minutes to get home.

Walking out of Jamba Juice, you see that a movie is being shot on-location across the street.

You are not happy, or even slightly exited that there may be a movie star there. You just say, " They f*ckin better not be blocking my parking space."

You have to yell at your bank teller through a 2 inch thick wall of plexi-glass.

That last one goes for your local convienience store man, too.

You go to Las Vegas for a weekend getaway and the whole trip cost you $50.

You personally know at least 5 people with agents.

You personally know at least 3 people who have been in a movie or TV show.

You know what In N Out is and feel bad for all the other states because they don't have any.

You know that not everyone in Beverly Hills is a millionaire.

You know who the tinsel underwear dude in Venice Beach is.

You've done something on a street corner in an attempt to get money (i.e. sang, tap danced, told jokes).

You've gotten parking tickets from parking in the red zone in front of your house.

You say you live in LA when really you live in a subsection of a subsection of a subsection of southern LA.

Any major movie star is picking out the best portobello mushrooms next to you at the grocers and you don't notice.

The guy at 8:30 in the morning at Starbucks wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses who looks like George Clooney IS George Clooney.

You really can never be too rich or too thin.

The gym is packed at 3pm...on a workday.

The workday starts at 10am...or whenever you get out of your therapy session.

Any invitation comes with, "Starts at 8pm or as soon as you can get through traffic."

You have never met a waiter that wasn't really an "Actor."

You never go to a coffee house without a copy of a script - any script.

It's sprinkling and there's a report on every news station about "STORM WATCH '99"

You call 911 and they put you on hold.

You have to leave the big company meeting early because Billy Blanks himself is teaching the 4:30 tae-bo class.

The three hour traffic jam you just sat through wasn't caused by a horrific 9 car pile-up, but by everyone slowing to rubberneck at a lost shoe lying on the shoulder.

A nurse can look at you in all seriousness and ask, "you don�t drink or smoke, right?"

All the "cool gyms" allow pedestrians on the street a full-view of those working out. Literally, you can�t drive by Wilshire without staring into L.A. Fitness. Perhaps a new form of window shopping?

The hot seasonal party favor is a candied apple from Neiman's. The apples are called "Skinny Dippers."

The waitress asks if you'd like "carbs" in your meal.

Bars card. For real.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Los Angeles.

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Chalk and cheese

2006-07-30T15:39:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in my previous post, I start a new job tomorrow. It is for a Japanese company in the nearby city of Torrance, a temporary position to ease me back into the world of work after a year of loafing around the house.

As a half-English half-Irish woman, it can be surprising for many Japanese to see that I speak the language quite well. As a fan of the culture and literature (not to mention anime and manga -- that's cartoons and comics), I decided to go to university to learn the language after Sixth Form (that's the last two years of High School to Americans). SOAS offered a one year "business man" diploma course; a full-time course designed to take students from zero knowledge to near fluency in just under a year.

It was a difficult course, but extremely rewarding, and I gladly accepted the opportunity to spend five weeks in Japan for work experience. Reading about the attitudes and culture in a book is one thing, but actually seeing it happen all around you is something entirely different. Despite my studies and knowledge of the language and attitudes, there was still something of a culture shock.

And yet since I've moved to America, I've come to realize just how similar Japanese and British culture really are. Both are "small island" countries with rich history and tradition, strong military pasts, a surprising array of -- often humorous -- accents, citizens that are extremely proud and yet loudly critical of their home, and so on. Despite Americans speaking the same language as my birth home, I find I almost have less in common with them than my Japanese friends.

It can be difficult being a stranger in an unfamiliar land. All you need do is take a trip to your local China Town or Little Tokyo and you'll understand what I mean. I speak Japanese fairly well, but while in Japan there was a huge sense of relief from finding a McDonalds or a 7/11 for some sense of familiarity.

Today, my girlfriend and I took a trip to China Town, a favorite hangout of ours. It's cheap, cheerful and we can get good food and entertainment for a day. Seeing these people milling around, finding their favorite Chinese groceries and poking through souvineers, buying dim sum for lunch and chatting with friends, it makes me wonder if they -- and other non-native English speaking immigrants -- feel the same homesickness. While I may miss my homeland, at least people here speak the same language. What must it be like to live here, not only in a different culture but speaking a different language, I can only imagine.

I wonder what drew them here? For some, perhaps it was an escape from poverty, a dictatorship or harsh government practises, a lack of employment opportunities or a lucky break offered by a rich foreign relative. But for those who came from wealthy lands and good backgrounds, I wonder what made their decision for them. A job offer? A desire to see a new culture? A long distance relationship?

Or perhaps like me, the fulfilment of a childhood dream of living amongst the stars?

In sickness and in health insurance

2006-07-30T00:24:00.000-07:00

Being from the world of tea and cucumber sandwiches, I am familiar with those standard conversation topics us Brits tend to stick to. The weather, public transport, "kids today", and so on.

One subject in particular is the NHS, or National Health Service. Funded by taxpayers' money, it entitles Brits to free healthcare and extremely cheap prescriptions, usually a flat fee of about £6 for each refill, last time I checked. One of the upsides is that you don't have to worry about insurance or paying for treatment. One of the downsides is that there are excrutiatingly long wait times (anything up to and over 18 months, even for important surgery).

I didn't get employment authorization when I originally arrived here, instead waiting for my green card. As things were a bit tight financially, I didn't take out medical insurance, deciding to simply wait it out. The last medical procedure I'd had was having my wisdom teeth taken out a few years ago, surely it'd be fine.

Famous last words.

Sometime around August, I was prising some brownies out of a pan -- and no, they weren't "special" brownies, smarty-pants -- with a knife. A very sharp knife. In hindsight, it was a very silly thing to do, and my hand definitely agreed with me when I slipped and stabbed myself through my left palm. Cue a large pool of blood, me almost fainting, and a panicked drive to the local hospital. The triage nurse saw that the bleeding had stopped and after a six hour wait, they finally took me out back and stitched me up. No permanent damage, five stitches and some gauze (and a lovely sedative because I really don't like needles) and I was off home.

Imagine my delight to receive a hospital bill to the tune of around $1500. No offense to them, but the care wasn't that good! It was paid off eventually, with help from my Dad, but it really did bring home just how important insurance is. In particular, how much worse it could have been. What if I'd been at home with no one to drive me to the hospital? I'd have to pay for an ambulance. And what if there'd been permanent damage and surgery costs? The amount could easily have spiraled into tens of thousands of dollars if it had been just a few milimeters deeper. Not to mention what if I didn't have a willing relative to help with the costs?

There are free options, though they are not easy to find. The Venice Family Clinic is a local center funded entirely by charity donations. They serve the homeless, poor and even those who manage to survive but can't afford insurance. By offering free healthcare and prescriptions, they offer hope to those who might not otherwise afford the antibiotics for their chest infection, for example. While a place like this is invaluable to those in need, they can only afford to offer limited services; low-grade painkillers, antibiotics and basic prescriptions. If you need anything stronger, you'll have to find somewhere else, and pay through the nose for it.

According to "Living and Working in America", 42.5 million Americans do not have medical insurance, and a further 65 million have inadequate coverage. These statistics are alarming, and unfortunately not exaggerrated. Complete coverage is expensive and can be difficult to obtain if there are any pre-existing conditions. Many live in fear of contracting a long-term illness or being involved in a serious accident and being bankrupted.

What's the solution? I don't know. Perhaps Americans should look to Western European private medical practises, or perhaps there should be stricter controls on pharmaceutical company profits and insurance costs.

While living in Germany for a while a few years back, I found that healthcare was mandatory; my workplace insisted that I choose a provider, and they would automatically pay a certain amount of my wages to them every month. The one time I visited a doctor, I simply paid a €10 introduction fee, and a small sum for my prescription, around €5, I believe. Though my experiences were limited, the impression I got was that Germany had the medical insurance system neatly arranged and implemented. If my observation was correct, it makes me wonder why the same idea seems to fail so badly here in the US.

Thought-provoking stuff, but unlikely to be resolved anytime soon without drastic reforms. As for me, I start a new job on Monday and plan to arrange insurance ASAP before I bake any more brownies. And if anyone asks about my scar, I tell them aliens abducted me and put an implant in my palm to contact Elvis from beyond the grave.

Well, it's a bit more interesting than "attacked by baked goods", don't you think?

Oops!

2006-07-25T19:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. Things have been kind of crazy here and I haven't gotten around to it.

I'm working on a post and should have it up before the weekend.

Anniversary

2006-07-08T23:52:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of my arrival here in the US.

Needless to say, it is not as easy to get into the country legally as many of my English and American friends thought. The immigration system is expensive, time consuming, finicky and extremely frustrating.

A year on, I can safely say that I do not regret my decision to move here. There are things about England that I miss. Fish and chips, a good kebab (is there such a thing?), nice friendly pubs, days out in London ...

There are so many things that I love about LA, though admittedly it is a city many dislike. While it is polluted, many areas are rundown and it can be somewhat dangerous, the same could be said about London. It's just warmer here.

Hopefully this time next year I will be feeling the same way. Fondly nostalgic, but not remorseful.

Happy anniversary!

Unafraid

2006-07-08T20:06:00.000-07:00

On July 7th last year, I was standing on a train platform at South Ruislip, waiting for a fast train into London. The trains were typically running late, and those of us waiting began complaining to each other about public transport. I remember laughing with a man about London grinding to a halt the day after winning the 2012 Olympic bid.

After a while, someone suggested that there were no trains coming at all, and we began to speculate as to what had happened. The wrong sort of leaves on the line? Trudging back to my Nan's house on foot, I called her on my cellphone and she told me that there were bombs. Bombs?

I discovered that there had been four bombs detonated in central London, multiple dead and god knows how many walking wounded. We knew it was coming, we'd been waiting since 9/11, but it was still a shock. And yet I remember being utterly fixated on whether my flight for Los Angeles the next day would be canceled.

Watching the news was emotional, to say the least. Tony Blair looked obviously shaken and we were glued to the updates of the injured and dead. I called several people in the US to make sure they knew I was alright and pass on the message, and called my Dad to try and arrange transport back to his place.

And yet the thing that sticks out in my mind more than anything? The production of a t-shirt with a simple slogan.

There was no weeping in the streets, no wailing and gnashing of teeth and gibbering about ebil terrorists. Just snarky humor, a cup of tea and a nice biscuit. After the shock wore off, there was indignation, sarcasm and unwavering city-wide -- and national -- pride.

Us Londoners? We're unmoveable. And fuck if any terrorist bastards think they can bring us down. I may be in LA now, and I may be partway to becoming a US citizen, but I will always be a Londoner at heart.

Independence Day

2006-07-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Tuesday was my very first Fourth of July. Some of my girlfriend's work colleagues decided to make it worth remembering by bringing a portable grill, weiners, buns, potato salad, corn on the cob, all manner of condiments, tiny flags, poppers and a highly appropriate movie, "Team America: World Police".

The movie did make me laugh a lot. What can I say, I have a sick sense of humor, and I'm something of a South Park fan. Despite the horrible foreign stereotypes and jokes, the humor at the expense of the so-called rescue team is what really stuck with me. Their enthusiasm and belief that it was their responsibility to police the world leads them to annoy and frustrate everyone, despite their oblivious attempts to protect world peace.

Since arriving here, I have noticed that people have a tendency to take themselves very seriously in this country, compared to the attitudes I was used to back home. Living in California means things are somewhat more laidback than other parts of the country, but there is still that confident, slightly brash arrogance that many Americans exhude. As a born Londoner, I am used to city life, but it has taken a while to understand that people are not rude for asking me how I am when I'm buying my lunch, or for stopping me in the street to tell me they like my shirt. I am used to a city where everyone ignores everyone else, where people can take the same train to work for five years and never make direct eye contact.

The confidence and friendliness is refreshing, if a little annoying at times. One thing that always bothered me a little about the English was the lack of patriotism. I was guilty of the same attitude, the need to leap to my birth country's defense at even the smallest hint of criticism from an outsider, and yet I couldn't tell you when St. George's Day was. Here, people wave flags, celebrate their independence and will gladly tell you that they love their country. Some of them may not love their current government or have problems with some people on the other end of the political or religious spectrum, but by god they love the soil they stand on.

One of the movie's most amusing and cringe-worthy aspects was the way the team continually managed to blow up historical artifacts like the Louvre and the Pyramids of Giza. Along with this dedication to Do The Right Thing and Save The World, they managed to destroy everything else in the progress. The theme song's lyrics, "America, f*** yeah! / Coming again to save the mother f***ing day, yeah" pretty much summed it up for me. That misplaced gung-ho attitude, at the same time admirably patriotic and also utterly reckless. It's a matter of national pride and yet continually gets government administrations in trouble for going just a little too far in trying to Save The World. Of course, "Team America: World Police" is a gross caricature of all stereotypes, which is part of what made it so memorable. Not all that great, but certainly something that made me think.

At times, I long for the insivibility of being a Londoner, of being able to go through an entire day without speaking a word to anyone. And yet there is something very comforting about having a stranger compliment my outfit, or having a spontaneous conversation about dinner plans with someone in line at the grocery checkout. I'm extremely proud of my English roots, and it is a relief to know that I can continue to maintain dual citizenship when I naturalize in three years time.

Oh and after the movie? We watched the firework displays from Venice Beach. I feel like a true Californian already.

Introduction

2006-06-29T18:16:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog, Brit in the USA. I'm still working on the design aspects, so please bear with me. ;)

So, a little bit about me. I grew up in West London in a historical town called Ruislip (Rye-slip). As much as I loved London, I had dreams of living in Hollywood since I was a kid, and when I was able I hopped on a plane and started a new life in Los Angeles, California.

The first thing many people comment on is my lack of accent. I worked hard to ditch the "I'm from London, innit" accent so I wouldn't be accosted in the supermarket and asked to "say something!" like a performing poodle (yet it vanishes the second I talk to my family on the phone). But despite my desire to fit in in my new home, I am proud of my English roots.

It is commonly said that England and America are "two countries separated by the same language", but that is not the only hurdle I have come across. The cultures are entirely different and I've found myself taking an amusingly anthropological stance in observing the behaviors of those around me compared to those little foibles I grew up with.

Hopefully this blog will be an insight into several cultures and should be of interest to Brits and Americans alike.