Holidays

So being on holiday does something to the soul... something that makes me want to drink more coffee and read more books AND doesn't really make me want to blog. Shoot I don't even want to check my email (which has been thankfully empyty) or facebook, let alone go through the effort of writing a post, do you'll have to deal with us if we take a technology holiday to match our physical one. We have photos and stories to share but those will have to wait till a time of greater ambition, which may be tomorrow or may be next week.

As a final thought though I just wanted to say I love the idea of being relaxed enough to take a holiday from all the ways we are connected. I love my email, wi-fi, my phone and all that comes with those but I had forgotten the deep seated pleasure in not worrying about them whilst reading a book in a comfortable chair in my pajamas. Simply lovely.

Speaking of which...

Funny Photo Friday: They don't make em like they used to

Remember when all you could get from a vending machine was a can of coke and a chocolate bar? Maybe a bag of chips? No more...

We may have posted a few of these before... but here is a vending machine in Dublin. The beer cans were in the bottom row... You did have to get your credit card approved at the hotel front desk, at least.
An airport near Durham. 50p for a few plastic ziplocs for your liquids. Extortion.
Airport in London. Forgot something to read?
Detroit airport. Fancy an ipod?

Another month, another transatlantic flight.

Today, we fly. Again. We are spending two glorious weeks in the snow-filled fields and forests of the Correct Spelling People. (They're related to the Letter People, but they never got their own television show on PBS.) We're kinda excited.

We'll make every effort to meet up with those we can meet up with, but if you feel neglected or simply feel like taking the initiative since you never did ask that girl out twelve years ago and she was pretty cute and it's now time for you to be a man, post a comment or send an email, and we'll reply/give you a call. I'd rather not post my parents' phone number on the web. For that matter, we can give you our AMERICAN cell phone number which we acquired in NYC last month because we thought it would be a useful thing to have while we're in country and because we missed the 646 area code. Don't worry, we're smarter than a contract; it's pay as you go. Reach out and touch someone.

Things people here have told us about America(ns) that made us laugh.

Are you going to clap when we land? I thought all Americans clap when a plane lands.

Jaywalkers get arrested all the time in the USA.

What do you call these? Candied yams, right? Say 'candied yams.' [To another British person:] Americans don't call these sweet potatoes, they call them candied yams.

But your speed limits top out at 50 mph. Or is it 55?

You don't have veneers? I thought most Americans had veneers on their teeth.

Funny Photo Friday

With cold bugs flying all over the place these days, I found myself reading the label on a packet of throat lozenges the other day and then giggling. In case it's not clear, here's what it says:

Overdose of menthol may cause severe stomach upset, feeling or being sick, giddiness, shaking, drowsiness.

I don’t know what’s funnier to me- the fact that feeling and being sick are different things in this country or that a lozenge could cause giddiness. Really? Giddiness? Bring it on.

The long night

I arrived at work this morning in the frosty twilight of predawn, a dramatic wash of light from East to West painted across the sky, and I left the office with coat buttoned up and hat pulled low against the icy pitch blackness of a ‘night’ already two hours gone. I enjoy the long summer evenings of the 55th parallel, but, goodness me, this part is tough.

Nightshift NYC

Our friends are on the radio! (you should listen to them here)

I can't say the delight I had upon hearing their voices over the glorious inter-web. These are good friends whose company we deeply enjoy when we can get together (which was never that often even while we lived in New York), and they are on radio promoting a recent book project about nightshift workers in New York. Having just finished it, and enjoying it deeply, let me say you should all buy it... well ok, all of those of you who are interested in good stories about interesting people. And I hope that is all of you.

Anyway, I love the internet... and friends who do interesting things. Yeah! Nothing new to say aside from that, I'm rather proud of them and really like their recent project (and they were on the Leonard Lopate show, cool!).

p.s. buy their book!

Funny Photo Friday: Strictly, even.

Grand Central Station, New York City

Well who knew?

Well, as we all know the Internet is full of gloriously pointless things. A new favorite one is here, which will evaluate your blog according to Myers-Briggs. Well turns out good ol' Wallstraville is an ESFP; who knew?

In case you forgot what an ESFP is, the typealyzer lists it (mildly comically) as:

The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead - they are always in risk of exhausting themselves. The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation - qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.

D'ya reckon so?

I think of hillbillies and a slow appalachian drawl when I think of the word "reckon." "Whaddaya reckon?" "Ah reckon so..."

But here? Reckon is a common word. I heard it today on the train from someone trying to get connected with the train's wireless internet. "How do you reckon we get hooked up?"

Funny.

the plight of the architect

I just wanted to make an announcement. I am, should the National Council of Architectural Registration Boards accept all the pages I recently mailed in, sixth-sevenths of the way done with my internship requirement.

Does this mean I become an architect in a few months? No. It means that after 4 years of undergraduate education in general studies (specifically engineering and art), 3 years of graduate study (although I think more if you count the number of waking hours spent working above the average grad student), and at least three years of working, I am allowed, yes, even encouraged, to sit for the 9 separate required exams (to become 7 in number in 2009). These must be taken all within 5 years of each other. When all have been passed successfully and paid for, then, with a bit more paperwork and a few additional fees, I can register as an architect.

That makes: 4 years uni + 3 years uni + 3 years working + 1-5 years testing
Here in England, it tends to be 3 years uni + 1 year out working + 2 year uni + 1 year working + 1 oral and (sometimes) 1 written exam.

Something doesn't look right there...

***
And just a side note on my personal mission to Educate the Public:

But at least you make lots of money to make up for all the effort, right?

Wellllll... maybe. Let me just dispel the myth a moment. The average architect's income is $58,000 per annum. (I've been searching and found numbers from $36,000 for newbies to this one- the highest I've seen- for all architects. This number is from here.) That's not bad. But that's not great either. At least it doesn't seem to be anywhere near what people must think it is judging by their facial expressions. And it doesn't seem nearly in line with other professions requiring a similar level of schooling (law, even medicine). Salaries also vary considerably based on where you are in the company and where you are in the country. And, while I'm at it, I think this line from the link listed above is apt: "I believe if a median hour/week figure were factored into this median salary, an architect would be paid the same as someone at dunkin donuts. "

Am I complaining? Yes. I admit it. I am. However, I also enjoy my job and, honestly, I like the respect it gets! I am amazed at the number of positive reactions I get when answering questions about my career. People find it interesting in a way that I am not sure I always do. But hey, I'll take it.

Fancy a film?

I have a terrible, horrible fault. It's awful, and I hesitate to admit it. And yet. I am somehow compelled by the blogisphere to reveal this dirty, dark secret.

I watch bad movies. Really. Bad. Movies. I'm not sure what it is. It's not that I enjoy them, necessarily, or that I seek them out. But if there is an old movie about a terminally ill woman trying to gain the right to kill herself or a divorced mother estranged from her successful daughter, anything with Sally Field or an autistic salesman, especially made-for-TV-only, provided there is nothing else worthy of my attention on television, I will watch it. All of it. If I change the channel within the first 15 minutes, I'm alright. After that, I am stuck like deer in headlights. I can't look away.

Although there were symptoms, I wasn't aware of the predilection until moving to this country. They play a LOT of bad movies here beginning on Friday afternoons and continuing through Sunday evening. Anything from 1952 to 1997 is fair game, although I've discovered the best (worst?) films are those produced in the late 80's to early 90's.

I was hoping I could cure myself through written catharsis, but this afternoon, Fluke, Pillowtalk, and Cats & Dogs are on. A man who reincarnates as a dog, crossed phone lines bringing together a decorator and songwriter, and kittens trying to take over the world. I am definitely turning off the telly. Best not to even get started.

Funny Photo Friday: Seeing Double

Ever seen a DOUBLE banana? Me neither!

(this was in Nepal last summer)
















While I'm at it, here's another twin. I cracked this egg while making my very first pie crust for my very first with-the-real-stuff-because-we-couldn't-find-canned-pumpkin pumpkin pie. (Its yolk was to be brushed on the crust. Of course, I didn't have the foresight to look for a brush prior to cracking.) I know this isn't as strange as a double banana, but I still love it when it happens. I took it as a good sign for the pie.

'Hum, hum hum, just wipping the snow off my windscreen... hey come back with my car!'

Its been rather chilly the few days (several days at and below zero (we've both been rather happy to have that cold/crisp feel and smell) and so people are having to come out early to de-ice their windshields. But because of these chilly temperatures a new dilemma has been popping up throughout the UK.

The problem tends to involve people and their iced cars. As drivers come out in the morning, they turn the car on, put the defrost on, leave the car door open, and scrap the windows (or pour hot water on it... which I still find funny for some reason) until its clean and warm and then off they go. Well turns out aspiring car thieves have figured this routine out and now do early morning rounds waiting for an unaware driver to begin scraping the far side of the car, when the thieves hop in the open door and drive off with the car! And apparently this has happened enough over the last few days it's one of the headlines of the BBC this morning with the tag line, 'Rise in car jackings during morning de-icing.' They even have the police on telling you how to best avoid this problem (shut your door) and other tips for de-icing (like not putting boiling water on your windscreen because it will crack your windscreen, who knew?!).

Funny.

P.S. On a not so funny note, there is also a story one woman got run over as the car-jacker drove off and is in criticial condition.

P.P.S. It's is actually snowing at present here, how exciting!

A bit of nostalgia... English style

I remember dumping out the old tin of Lincoln Logs on the living room floor of my grandmother's house (The Cottage, we used to call it based on its lovely lakeside location and despite its permanency as their "real" house). I don't remember loving Lincoln Logs, but I remember being wholly satisfied with an hour or two of timber entertainment.

I have absolutely no recollection of why this came up at work the other day, but a coworker said that she used to create buildings with an aging set of toys at her grandparents' house, too. They, too, came in a tin. They, too, had a distinct antique smell. They, too, provided a specific set of building blocks and house parts. Only these toys weren't logs, they were bricks.

This, I love. Americans? We build using wood. But the British? Well, that just wouldn't make sense, so bricks it is- our cultural construction differences translated into our childhood toys.



(By the way, I found this link while looking for a Lincoln Logs photo. Wow. Talk about a life goal.)

The place where I live

Let's be cheesy for a minute here. Life is all about growing, and growing means changing, learning, discovering. I've been thinking about my homes recently, the places where I've lived, what they've taught me and how they've changed me. Sometimes the changes weren't for the best, like the subtle refocusing inwards that resulted from the first three exhausting years of my time in New York. Other times, my eyes have been opened to new, perhaps better ways of doing things, like commuting to work via train rather than car. As Josh and I are still so transient, each place we've lived teaches us a little bit about where we'd like to live next, what that community looks like and what that home feels like. So here are some things I've learned about living places from the places I've lived. I'd love to hear some of yours!

Read the rest...
Zeeland, Michigan
Population 7,000
3500 sf
5 residents + 1-3 cats

-Living near family (and I mean extended family) is worth something. A lot of something.
-Living near fields and forest provides places for hide and seek and climbing trees.
-I like small towns.


Calvin College
Population 2,400 (on campus)
150 sf
2 residents + an unending cycle of multiple goldfish

-Living near friends is worth something, too.
-When those friends are your family (roomate+cousin), well, that's even better.


Oxford, England
Population 134,000
120 sf
2 residents

-Living in a city centre is quite enjoyable.
-I like rainy places.


Grand Rapids, Michigan
Population 198,000
1800 sf
4 residents

-My first commute, a 15 minute drive to Calvin College, was the beginning of a love-hate relationship. Living near work/school is important.


New York, New York
Population 8,000,000
290 sf
2 residents + an unending cycle of multiple mice

-I do not need as much space as I think I do. In fact, close quarters makes for closer relationships- there's no escaping.
-The direction your home faces is important- sunlight is a good thing.
-An easy way not to accumulate things you don't need is to not have the space for them in the first place.
-I can live cheaply even in expensive places, and there's little reason for me not to.
-Little markets and shops are so much more fun than big grocery stores.
-I like big cities.
-(Good) public transportation is just about the best thing ever.
-Laundromats stink.
-Long work hours and 2 weeks vacation stink, too.
-Just five years in a place can still get you awfully attached to it and the people you love there.


Granby, Colorado
Population 1,670
1800 sf
3 residents + Izzy the dog

-Mountains look fantastic from your bedroom window.
-Four wheel drive DOES have a place in the modern world.
-Shorter work hours provide for a much more enjoyable and stress-free home life.
-Avoid moving into a brand new place. Things never go perfectly smooth the first time and you have to deal with issues like no TV/phone/internet/radio signal all at once or strange leaks in your bathroom.
-Remote-ness is pleasant, but tiresome.


Many towns, Asia
Population lots
13 kg backpack space
1 resident

-I do not need as much stuff as I thought to live happily. In fact, the fewer the items, the easier the load.
-The world is big and beautiful, and each place has it's own unique advantages.


Durham, England
Population 29,000
700 sf
2 residents + the professor and vicar downstairs

-I am happy when my commute is happy.
-Clear country of origin labeling on every food product is a fantastic idea. Hm, perhaps that's a little off-topic.
-Weather affects my mood a lot more than I think it should. Also, I like four distinct seasons.
-Again, I like small towns.
-Again, (good) public transportation is just about the best thing ever.
-Again, living near family is worth something. I miss them!

Spare change?

Someone asked me an interesting question last weekend: which currency, the pound, the dollar, or the euro, do you prefer to use?

I thought it was interesting because I've never considered this before. He didn't mean which worked the best with the exchange rate or with our confusing combination of British and American banks and credit cards, but which bills and coins did I quite simply like.

The three currencies are not the same by any means. Americans use bills for all dollars aside from the occasional dollar coin, usually acquired from a vending machine or people like my father who've tried faithfully for years to increase their circulation through personal use. Coins are more of an afterthought in the USA and come in confusingly named denominations.

Yes, I actually have something to say about this and you can read about it here...
The pound and euro use bills for fives, tens, twenties, and fifties, but both have one and two pound/euro coins, rather than paper notes. At first, Josh and I found these really annoying. The pound coin is heavy, and it doesn't take long to fill a pocket or wallet with these fat pieces of metal. It's difficult to break a bill without getting back a handful of change. However, over the last year, I've grown rather attached to the pound coin; it's got a really nice weight to it. The two pounder still gets to me, though- that's four dollars (alright, lately three...) worth of coin; something's just not right there. But I like being able to pay for real goods and services with pocket change. I now figure that if I have a bill, I am probably set for the time being (plus there's always an ATM card).

While my pockets here can produce a decent haul, a handful of American change is light and small and not worth a whole lot, but it sure can fill a big jar in a very slowly satisfying way. Pound coins are too precious to be hoarded away. The smaller coin denominations are different, too. We have quarters, not twenty cent pieces as the euro and pound. I like this. Fourths just seem more logical than fifths. Plus it helps hone those simple addition skills. On the other hand, if we divide a hundred dollars into twenties, why not do the same for a hundred cents? Why not have $25 bills or 20 cent coins? There are also two pence and two cent coins, both of which seem completely useless. Just extra change.

Although I do find it puzzling that queens still exist and get put on money, at least the pound (and the euro) are colorful and not drab green. The other thing with American money is that it is terribly confusing. Why don't the coins have numbers on them? What foreigner is going to know what 'dime' or 'nickel' means? And why is the dime so much smaller than the nickel in the first place? I do like the new states quarters, though. It's fun to peer into your hand to see if you've got any new ones.

Speaking of sizes, it's so much easier on the wallet that all dollar bills are the same dimensions, but would it not be so much kinder to the blind if each denomination stepped up in size as it did in worth as do the pound or the euro?

The more I write the more the pound and euro seem similar. Perhaps I'll have to do some more on-site research.I could keep going with this completely useless and rambling post, but you're probably getting bored. Let's just stop here and say I don't play favo(u)rites... money is money.

The thing about this house is

that the spiders think they own the place.



(Is it really necessary to build a web in my hairbrush? Our shower? The spice rack? Sigh.)

Funny Friday Blog Link (don't worry, we'll stick to the photos)

I have a serious pet peeve (pet hate) with living here: phone numbers. Everyone puts spaces, periods (full stops), or dashes in their phone numbers in different places, if at all, and I find it so difficult to listen, copy, record, repeat, or just use in general when they're not broken down into bite sized pieces. So... I found this recent post by our friend, Heather, especially amusing...

Check it out: Phone Number Rythmn

Funny Photo Friday: Maybe that means something different to you?

The first time we tried to visit Tesco (like Walmart) on a Sunday evening, we realized that perhaps our understandings of 'Open 24 hours' are not the same...

Happy Thanksgiving!

After a few conversations at work ("ew! pumpkin?!"), I decided to take in pumpkin pies instead of cookies today (I'll bring those to the gathering on Saturday instead).

We couldn't find canned pumpkin this year, so...

(my first ever!)

And all in this frustratingly petite "oven."

The busiest travel day of the year

I have only flown on today, the day before Thanksgiving, once, as cruel Final Review scheduling or, more recently, prohibitive flight costs, have kept us stationary for the holiday. I do not envy those of you travelling home. I vaguely remember a stifling bus ride with my suitcase on my lap, a living maze of stranded passengers lounging about on dirty terminal carpet, and an overtaxed ventilation system not quite able to keep up with the warmth and sweat of so many coat-clad people. I panicked when I saw the blinking departures list at La Guardia Airport, but a lucky break in my one-and-only, nearly-on-time West-bound flight prevented me from becoming what sat (a seat!) next to me: a young Minnesotan crying via telephone to her mother about her canceled flight and now-lost Thanksgiving dinner...

To celebrate our inertness, I’ve made cookies to inform my co-workers of the cause for celebration. I’m quite pleased with the substitution of Cadbury Buttons for Hershey’s kisses. We will also be joining other Americans this weekend for the real deal of turkey and pumpkin. We miss you, Feenstras and Wiersmas and Walls and Thieses. And our New York substitutes, the Bannons, we won’t forget you! One of these years Thanksgiving will again become a family holiday for us. Until then, we are thankful for the calm.

It's Official

Although technically it's been official for at least a little bit but I didn't find out till recently.

On my growing pride in America

Let me begin by saying this isn't about Barak Obama. I like the man, I'm glad he's going to be the President, but simply saying that I'm proud to be American because of Obama is both un-insightful and disingenuous.

Instead my sense of pride runs deeper and follows the core of the American dream. I am immensely proud that I am from a place that bases (or at least tries to base) its evaluation of people on their actions, character, and abilities. We really are a land of opportunity, and with hard work, a little bit of intelligence, and some luck amazing things can happen. While it is true that Obama serves as an example of this (seeing as how he comes from a familial status on the margins of society (when he was even part of it) and without a sense of familial prestige or power to claim the most powerful seat in the country), his interaction is not isolated.

We saw these moments throughout Asia as people referred to our home with glowing terms (despite our unpopular president and foreign policy) or spoke of their desire to one day go and live there. We saw it keenly in a man who was beaming having just obtained his US work visa. The words that concluded his final interview at the embassy crystallized something for me, and I'll never forget hearing, 'Congratulations, with hard work I'm sure you will succeed in the USA. Good luck.'

This pride has been growing the longer we've been overseas, but it swelled by leaps and bounds on Nov 4. And while I was happy with the outcome, I was proud of the process. I was stupidly proud that we have these elaborate rituals, that multi-year process in which we elect someone from the populous to lead. I like that we choose, that the president isn't appointed from on high, but that the good ol' plebs get to pick and that they can select from anyone. I am proud of my right to vote, that I can choose from one of the top two candidates but that I also could have chosen someone from the green party, or Ralph Nader. Shoot, I could have even written in Dennis Kucinich or Bugs Bunny. I have the right to choose my leader, and I like that.

Sitting watching TV on Nov 4th, with a bowl of popcorn I kept thinking to myself, 'Go America Go!' It was a happy moment.

Who says the british aren't polite?

I'm having to make some phone calls for work and while dialing I received this answer from one of the numbers I called:

It seems you've been lucky enough to dial a wrong number, so we are sorry to say you are going to have to hang up and dial another one.

Awesome.

Funny Photo Friday: I'm lovin' it.

Check out this lovely restaurant in Prague. Now look at what's on the umbrellas.

They just don't make 'em like they used to.

New York, New York!

It's always interesting to go back to a place you once called home but no longer do, those times a combination of attempting to fit back into an older version of myself, where all the parts are there, they are just now a little different. We were in a limbo between being locals and tourists, knowing how to get around the city but lacking the identification (and address) that put us as fully in the local category. I found the whole thing both familiar and alienating. Still it was good to go by old haunts (want to stop by Island burger for a milk shake?), see our old building (was it really that small?), think back to the challenging parts of New York living (how much does this apartment cost again?), and enjoy walking while refusing to take the subway unless we needed to (it's not that far from 97th to Union Square) and of course visit our friends. Read the rest...
In general, it was a great trip. When we got back to Durham and a friend asked how it was, 'refreshing' was the first word that came to mind. It was so good to have conversations with friends and not feel like we had lost ground ('friends of the heart' as an old faculty member of mine used to say). There was such a resonance to just sit and relax with people who know, understand and accept us where we feel the same for them. We had encouraging discussions about our future, and the many challenges therein, and I felt more at peace with how unknown this next stage of our life is.

It was a good trip and now I'm done reflecting on it. I'm glad we went, I'm glad we saw what we did and that Q and A got hitched (or celebrated getting hitched a few years ago), way to make an excuse for us to come guys! Congrats! Now, pictures!

A stop by our favorite BBQ place, which started as street food and then moved to its own establishment. If you every want some good meat soaked in spices make sure to go find Daisey Mae's.... hhhmmmmmmm.... BBQ.

On our way to eat Daisey Mae's we walked by Rockefeller Center, where we were hoping to see the map with colored states on the ice (as it was only two days after the election), but they were already taking the American paraphernalia down! Those jerks, have they no patriotic spirit? (Megan was quite distressed when we got there and these two posters were the only things left...)
We also just happened to be there for one of those few weekends when the colors are in full glory and haven't dropped yet. Central Park was simply at its finest.

The morning of the wedding we went out for brunch in DUMBO, it was a rather misty (some could say English) day. Not the best weather for a wedding but it added a nice mystique to the city.

These are the place holders. Cute eh? I mean who wouldn't want a little monster that holds his own eyeball?

There was a little army of the fellas... more than a little scary (but cute!)Since we did go there for a wedding after all, here is Megan with the lovely bride. (ahhhh) She can really clean up and behave when she wants to (Q that is, not Megan)Here is Q choosing not to behave. Mind you the girl can't be over 5'2".

We really spent the last few days in NYC walking from friend to friend. We always enjoyed walking vs. taking the subway, and if we have time, why not? Besides it's nice to get a feel for the atmosphere, the pace, and the surrounding buildings.
(I think this was taken because my wife is an architect.)

This one was taken on the flight back to the UK. This is another, 'Oh that's neat' comment from the architect I spend my life with, but I have to say that I also found this bit of Long Island interesting. While the USA may have a lot of space in some places, we can jam in just as well as the Europeans when we have to.

And lastly let me show off the self-proclaimed 'Crappiest shower in New York.'That's it on high. I was thankful that our friends put us up, but this was easily one of the worst showers I've ever seen. Oh, Lindsey. I laughed the first time I saw it...

Quickly...

Just to explain the dearth of posts this week, we went back to NYC last weekend to attend the wedding of some good friends of ours (Q+A! Ta-Dong!). It was a great excuse to get back to New York and see old friends, visit our dear church All Angels and re-connect with people we haven't seen in a year.

But because of that, we've been a little busy and rather jetlagged (both coming and going). We'll get back into the whole posting thing soon. I will say, though, that we walked past our old apartment on 48th. Same building. Same smell. Same name on the buzzer (two tenants before us). Same too-small, ancient garbage cans. Some things never change.

Funny Photo Friday

The funniest part of this picture that my sister took in India is that not a few minutes before, she'd seen a man peeing there. Ah, memories.

Funny Photo Friday: BBQ How To

Finally, always allow any food left on the grill to burn off before storage.

The Week in Review

In an effort to keep our carbon footprint in line with the average American's, we will be flying to New York City TOMORROW. If you live there, hopefully we'll see you. If you're getting married there this Saturday (you know who you are), we will see you!

Now, with that out of the way, let's talk about the rest of this week. God bless America! A little after midnight last night, Josh and I made a bag of microwave popcorn, grabbed the Halloween candy, and settled in to watch the election coverage on BBC. It was odd to see it 'unfold' from afar. I know I am relieved that the whole thing is over, so I imagine those who've actually been subjected to all the commercials and newscasts and phone calls and newspapers are even more so. We still find it bemusing that the UK had full 'US08: America Decides' coverage beginning at 11ish PM, about when the first state's polls would close and when most people head to bed, and continuing throughout the night. We do think the British love a good competition, so the little tally in the corner and the interactive maps seemed appropriate. However, I would tend to guess their own elections are not nearly so well-covered! But then ours aren't always so exciting, either...

I heard a few interesting comments yesterday about the election. First, someone asked if there were commercials (actually, he said 'adverts') during the returns because he imagined those would be profitable viewing slots for big companies. I suppose the question isn't too odd, considering BBC channels have no commercials at all, but I almost didn't know what to say. My answer was, yes, of course there will be commercials, and often. But I think he was expecting the whole thing to be more of a race or a match, 90 minutes in and out, with a moment of suspense at the end when everyone tunes in. I don't remember ever watching all the election results come in from start to finish on one television channel. I would flip through, see who was doing what where and when and in the HOURS between returns, I'd probably do something else!

And that was the other comment. Many people were considering staying up to find out the results. I was sorry to tell them that most networks would be loathe to make another early-call mistake, and thus would probably not make a call until well after most of the east coast results were in after 8pm... or 1am here. And then the polls would continue closing and reporting all night until Alaska was done at 6am (here). It's true that the East coast electoral votes are the more volitile and could cause the race to be called early, but 1am is late for me on any Tuesday. Ah well, the whole coverage thing was a nice idea in theory that just got a little thrown by the time difference, like a Singapore Grand Prix or a Chinese Olympics.

Although I am a little tired from our late night gluttony, today felt like a holiday. The USA had pulled through for the world, elected the candidate that nearly every British person would have chosen, and proven that idealistic dream of America as the land of possibilities still exists. But wait! It actually is a holiday today! It's Guy Fawkes Night! It's the night people set off fireworks and light effigies of a 400-year-old traitor and everything else they can get a hold of on fire (but only in designated areas, Health And Safety, after all). I saw four bonfires from the train on my commute home, and the fireworks are driving me nuts. There are few things more frustrating than a firework that you can hear but not see.

Anyway, this is a rambling post. We just wanted to fill you in on our exciting week and the exciting week to come. After watching all that American news, we are feeling a bit homesick, and the trip 'home', as Josh put it last night, couldn't be timed much better. I just hope they leave those red and blue states on the ice in Rockefellar Center. I want a picture; I didn't get one last time.

Some fun weekend reading

Prompted by a discussion about Sarah Palin and Alaska, some co-workers recently asked me which US state was smallest. Since Rhode Island didn't really mean much to them, they wondered just how small it was, and I wasn't entirely sure. When we looked it up online, Wikipedia's 1500 square miles didn't really mean that much to us... so we tried to find other things that were about the same size (if my last studio professor taught me anything, it was how important a scale figure is in a drawing...). This search brought up a surprising number of people trying to do the same, as apparently many things in the USA (Californian forest fires are a popular one) use Rhode Island's area as a comparison.

Right. The point. I somehow ended up on a website that compared the size of most of the countries in the world to the size of American states. Brilliant! Ever wondered how big Cambodia is? Well, that would be about the same as Missouri. Madagascar? Two Arizonas. So check it out...

Americans, know thy world, Part 1
Americans, know thy world, Part 2

Funny Photo Friday: Feed me!

In honor of Halloween, a photo of something cleverly dressed up as something else.

At a b&b in the Lake District.

There are moments

I usually try not to take myself too seriously, especially when blogging, so I'm going to have to ask you to humor me for a few minutes here in my ruminations.

There are moments when a travelling memory floods over me. It's often triggered by a smell or phrase, but other times, it's just some fleeting thought racing through the neurons in my brain, flipping switches and firing impulses, that makes an unexpected connection, uninvited and illogical.

Today I was opening some drawings on my computer and then I was walking down the sidewalk in Kathmandu. It was Nepal, our Nepal, not full of beautiful mountain treks, majestic snowy peaks or weeks of relaxed exploration as we might have liked, but the hot, smelly, dirty, stare-filled streets of its largest city with demands and requests and inquiries for tour guides, for money, for food, the unexpected poverty, the unending haze, the excruciating bus rides. The beautiful temples, intricately carved wooden lintels supporting multiple stories of red-brown brick over nearly-thousand-year-old windows, feet shuffling through marigolds, rotting fruit, candle wax, red paste, all the human detritus of temple worship, peppers and spices drying on woven mats on the streets, the baby in a cardboard box, her grandmother crowding over to coo and smile then leaning back to let us admire, the woman knitting the wool hat, the layer upon layer of color, texture, spice, smell, history. It's the joy of my family after months of separation, the laughing, the carefree-ness of holidays, the awkward readjusting for other people, even familiar ones, the hesitancy that comes with separation. Trying to get pages added to our passports, watching my parents deal with Chinese politics and failing- the disappointment of a missed opportunity, no Tibetan train, no Tibet. Squatting as my sister, mother, father, almost fragile in their relative paleness, play a game of little metal tigers and goats with a browned, leathery man, his face a more vibrant translation of his faded opponents'. Will they buy the woman is wondering. They'll buy the man is thinking. And the freedom of travel. Being free. Weightless, not responsible- is that the same as irresponsible?- yet weighted. Where will we stay tomorrow, the next day, the next month, we have to buy tickets, they don't understand, please don't snap at me, do you want to barter for an auto or should we just walk, he cheated us, my bag is heavy, so heavy, but surely there's something clean in here.

Movement on the monitor demands attention from my absent brain.

The drawing had loaded on my computer (my computer is slow), and I was back in Newcastle. Still an adventure, I suppose. But isn't every day? Can't everywhere be?

Survey

Having flown with a group of Britons over the weekend, I heard five separate times how Americans clap when a plane lands. I've flown frequently lately, and I have had this happen twice that I remember. Once in India and once when there was some extreme turbulence or something and then a perfectly smooth landing. I am fairly certain this second time was in the USA.

So. Do we?

(I say no.)

Funny Photo Friday: Eat up!

In honor of a Calvin alum whose blog we enjoy, here's a photo of a menu in the Lake District. Makes you wonder what they really serve with the rustic bread!

Business or pleasure? (a trip to Dublin)

Where to begin? First, some background information. For those Americans who, like me, have long thought the terms 'bachelor' and 'bachelorette' sound a wee bit degrading, here's your opportunity to use a new English term for a pre-wedding celebration: stag or hen do. OK, now that I think about it, those are just as bad, but regardless, Newcastle is a popular hen and stag party destination. The levels of drunkenness reached on these weekend-long excursions are fairly shocking to a girl who grew up in a county that didn't sell beer or wine on Sundays. I've been saving up photos to show the lengths people take, but I don't think my collection is complete enough to post just yet. You'll have to wait.

So to tie this to last weekend... two summers ago, a co-worker of mine got married, and the office (of mostly men) decided to take a weekend trip on the ferry to Amsterdam to celebrate. They had such a great time, they decided to do it again this year with Dublin as the destination. Someone at the office was in charge of booking our flights and hotel rooms and one office-wide meal. As we were waiting in the airport for our cheap Ryanair flight last Friday morning, I joined the banter about seeing Dublin from the inside of various pubs, and a co-worker turned to me and jokingly asked, 'Haven't you been on a lad's weekend before?' There was an architectural excuse originally, but in the end, everyone knew this office trip was just a lad's weekend, essentially a stag do without the justification. A lad's weekend with a few women, of course. A lad's weekend with the people you see every day for nine hours, who are your bosses or colleagues or merely acquaintances, the people who you may want to impress with your speed, articulateness, punctuality... not so much your drinking skills. For about the umpteenth time, I wondered what I was in for. (Side note: my computer's dictionary didn't mark 'umpteenth' as misspelled. Wow.)

Read the rest...
I'm glad I went. If nothing else, I got to see a very integral part of Northern English life. (I make no claims for the rest of the country. It may be only as big as my state, but even I can see the diversity in it.) I could easily argue that key element as alcohol, but I can also argue it as an evening spent with friends, creating stories, bonding through ridicule, broaching subjects bordering on 'too serious' for typical English conversation. It may be my femaleness that allowed that last one to occur, but I discussed sexism, racism, marriage, swearing, American city nomenclature, inhibitions, road construction, autism, smoking, xenophobia, diversity, the number of tigers in America, sportsmanship...

That being said, upon arrival and hotel check-in, we ventured forth to explore the city and made it only as far as the fourth pub. Luckily I had been to Dublin before, so I didn't feel obligated to part from the crowd for some sightseeing, but of the eighteen of us, I would estimate about twelve had never been. Apart from a wander by the three women, we pretty much spent the rest of that day in various pubs. The second day brought a lovely walk up a hillside south of the city for some beautiful views of Dublin bay and the sea, but that was followed by some quality pub time as well. Sunday? Do a bit of souvineer shopping for the kids and then wait for the airport bus in... you guessed it, a pub.

I have no idea how much those men spent on alcohol, but I would estimate each pub's tab (and we went to multiple per day/night) equalling my entire weekend expenses. It certainly made for some good stories, which were blearily recounted come breakfast. And the stories will continue to be recounted over the next few months, separating those who know them and those who don't, those who were there from those who were not.

I guess what surprises me most is that drunkenness in general is accepted, even encouraged. I remember reading articles in my trusty free morning newspaper (quality all the way) in New York warning employees not to get drunk at the company Christmas party. Here on Monday morning after the Dublin trip, I read an article in the British version of the same paper about the growing drinking problem in thirty-somethings and explaining alcohol units and recommended allowances. It's not an issue of the Christmas party, but any time someone leaves the office, gets married, or simply proposes a Thursday/Friday night out (Thursday for my office). Drunkenness in front of or even with your boss is not frowned upon, but inevitable. I suspect it is rather more explicit at my office due to the dearth of women and a younger boss who enjoys good food and drink and sharing this love with his colleagues. But I would still be careful of how many drinks I had in front of my American colleagues and boss at a work function (or any function). Here, an empty hand should be filled again, never mind who you're sitting next to.

What else to say? I did have fun. I didn't mind coming in on Monday morning, despite having spent the entire weekend with my co-workers. I looked forward to more open conversations with those whose company I already enjoyed and also with those I'd struggled to talk to before (or who had struggled to talk to me- female, American, younger, uh...). But surely there's a healthier way to bond?

I also had an almost overwhelming moment of homesickness while in a hot, crowded pub listening to some traditional Irish musicians on Saturday night. There was just something about the familiarity (folk music, the little bar with live music as in NYC, memory-laden American songs like 'The Gambler' being covered) and the foreignness (the absurd drinking, the people I'd only known for a year, the 'Powder Day rules' of each man for himself attitudes, the absence of my husband) that made me miss something that wasn't there. I think those intense moments fit with the oddity of the entire weekend.

So where to start? Perhaps with the word surreal. That's what the whole thing was: surreal.

A quick weather moan

It appears we are nearing that time of year when the "places I've lived" graphs cross. What I actually find more depressing, though, is the difference in sunset times, and we haven't even moved our clocks back for the end of British Summer Time. Alas, the darkness descends...


(At least I can know that soon it will be warmer here than anywhere else I've lived. Now if I could just get snow to fall at 30 degrees and not turn to slush...)