'The Blogosphere is exploding- like a self-replicating supervirus bursting with mundane observations, bad poetry, and generously misrepresentative photos. Never have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few.'

Just found this funny (thanks Wes). See it in context here...

Funny Photo Friday: Wine

Its a little blurry but you can still make out
'2006 Cabernet, Shiraz, Merlot
South Eastern Australia
Wine of Australia' .

This is what happens when everyone has a different opinion about something and you compromise by saying 'yes' to them all...

Memories, on the cheap

An article in the New York Times a few days ago describes the cost-saving tactics of many young New Yorkers. It says, "Every year around this time, tens of thousands of postcollegiate people in their 20s flood the city despite its soaring expenses. They are high on ambition, meager of budget and endlessly creative when it comes to making ends meet."

I'm still not entirely sure how Josh and I ended up in Manhattan (well, I do know. It simply involved a list of the best grad schools overlapped with later admission application deadlines.), but we didn't come because of some long-held, childhood dream of living in the big city. Our cost-saving measures were not so we could stick around, but a necessity for two grad students surviving until graduation. We knew that everything we were spending was actually on loan from Sallie Mae or Citibank, so better to spend less and have to pay back less later on.

This article was both funny and depressing. And familiar.

Read the rest...
Buying a razor and cutting your own hair? Yup, Josh. Getting free haircuts as a "hair model" at Bumble and Bumble? That would be me. Skipping meals? Does eating hundreds of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches count? Other listed tactics included giving up long-time, and expensive, dyed blonde hair, flirting for drinks, taking any and all work hand outs...

Honestly, many of the strategies still involved spending money, just spending it less. You still go out for drinks with friends, you just skip a meal so that fewer drinks pack a bigger punch. You still buy electronics, you just buy them on ebay. You still use expensive shampoo or mascara, you just buy everything else at the drug store.

I think we cut out practically all of our non-necessities, but we still did the same thing. We still bought H&H bagels; we just bought the bakery rejects from our local green market. We used to fill a flask with vodka and orange juice and take walks to nearby Rockefeller Center for weekend entertainment. We would walk rather than pay subway fare, skip buying new clothes, try out generic brands of food. We would treat ourselves to a nicer restaurant... and share a meal.

For me, the crowning moment was the Newark bus. I still remember scouring the internet for a cheaper way to airports. La Guardia was easy on public transportation. JFK was a REALLY long subway ride away, but no matter how hard we tried to find a mythical local bus at the end of the A line, we couldn't get around the $7 airtrain. Newark was our genius moment. We figured out we could take a local NJ Transit bus from Port Authority to the furthest out long-term parking lot for $1.70. From there, an airport shuttle took us to the airport. Nice. However, luggage was frowned upon, and timing was excruciatingly slow- a little stressful when trying to catch a flight. So after all that, would I recommend it? No way. Avoid the stress, and just pay the $14 for the direct bus.

Still, if you can get around rent, NYC has a lot going for it for the "economy" budget. Our local veg and meat markets were much cheaper than the grocery store. There were free concerts, Broadway show lotteries, donation-based museums, plenty of ways to entertain yourself on the cheap. It was fun, though, to read the article and remember the creative tactics we took. And don't worry, we are developing a whole new set over here!

Tehran, Iran.

Google lets you track traffic on websites and blogs and we just had our first visitor from Iran! Wow.

Whoever you were, thanks for coming.

Exile.

Today is Memorial Day. As the unofficial beginning of the American summer, it should involve waking up 'early' to go sit on a curb next to one particular driveway not far from Main Street, watching dozens of primary school teachers trying to keep four to seven-year-olds in a straight line walking down the parade route, local marching bands playing patriotic songs, a short ceremony at the cemetery and then, as a Calvinette (don't ask), putting little American flags next to veteran graves. Then there's the brief consideration of a church-run pancake breakfast before heading home to further contemplate the weather's promise before canceling boating plans for something much less fun but a bit warmer.

Last year, we were on a boat in Halong Bay, Vietnam, and the year before we hung out in Central Park. This year? Not sure yet. When I remembered again last night that I didn't have to go to work today because it is, coincidentally, a bank holiday in England, all I wanted was that parade/pancake/boating day. And if not that day, then maybe a day laying around Central Park or wandering through SoHo with friends? Something involving sunshine and people who've known me for longer than eight months? Sometimes it does feel as if we've imposed a type of exile on ourselves that goes back to our years in Manhattan, mostly the impossibility of partaking in familiar family-oriented holiday traditions, but also extending to growing attached to a place before leaving it for somewhere else. At least it makes life exciting, and it's not as if new friends aren't on the horizon, just as old ones haven't gone away (just further away).

I must say, I woke up to beautiful sunshine this morning. Not quite boating weather, but then it rarely is today in Michigan, either.

Funny Photo Friday: Baseball Bat

Figure #1: Note a baseball bat I bought for a youth event.


















Figure #2: Note warning that came with said baseball bat. Props to any kid who can choke on a baseball bat.

I'll take my mid-size Boots in Durham, thank you.

Boots is a fantastic store. Nothing quite like it exists in the USA. I think it is to CVS, Duane Reade, or RiteAid what the British Accessorize is to Claire's (if those two can even be compared)... it just steps things up a few notches. And while I like it, I think I've found my limits. We have a decent size Boots in Durham and another little outlet closer to our flat, but I found myself being directed to 'The Big Boots' one day after work in Newcastle last week.

Oh.

My.

Goodness.

I admit that Josh and I aren't huge contributers to the local economy with our consumption patterns. We are too busy saving for some random trip (what? retirement? children? college funds? what are those?) to go out and spend, much less let the desire to buy new things come out to play very often. Our budget trip through developing countries for five months last year didn't help that, and I don't think I've yet completely recovered. We also do our grocery shopping online, so I feel like I really don't 'get out' much.

But still. I'm American; I can handle this, right?
Wrong. I was completely overwhelmed. I remember the look on our 17-year-old Hungarian exchange student's face in 1994 when we first took her down the grocery aisles of an American big-box store. It was a mixture of awe, disgust, and confusion. Now imagine two full floors of pharmacy. Yes, to a lesser degree, I now understand you, Zsuzsa.

Do I REALLY need 34 different brands of shampoo each with 4-14 product lines to choose from (I counted)? Do I? Are there really that many distinct and beneficial chemical and herbal combinations to be had? If there are only two colors of bandaids (plasters) produced, what makes them think there are 476 unique hairtypes and how do I find the right one? I came in for three things: hair conditioner, soap, and foundation (makeup). I am not an overly speedy decision maker in general, and faced with that many aisles (yes, aisleS) of hair products, I almost broke down. Since I wasn't after a favorite, it took me a full hour and a half to parse through the products, finding the right combination of thrift, luxury, attractive packaging, and promising text. I finally ended up choosing based on what was on sale (Boots does have nice sales) and pointing my exhausted feet to the cashier.

No more. While I appreciate what my wealth can give me, I simply don't need that much choice. I won't be back.

The Dukes...

Today I heard a 'Whistlin' Dixie' car horn... funny to think about the Dukes of Hazard in Durham county...

One of the most well traveled packages of the modern era...

Welcome to the Tale of the Traveling Package...

1 November 2007: Flat rate package mailed from tiny post office in Springville, Iowa, 52336 USA containing one camera fresh from warranty work, one MP3 player, 2 CDs, and various other bits and bobs

6 November 2007: Package arrives in the UK

7 November 2007: Package is levied a charge of £90.70 (about $200 dollars) in import, customs, and clearance fees because the items are (falsely) thought to be new. Package held at Parcel Force, Newcastle, England

7 November 2007: GB pound to US dollar hits a 26-year high of $2.11610 per £1. We continue to live off dollar savings accounts until first UK paycheck comes through in December.

9 November 2007: First attempted delivery, slip left at our door

10 November 2007: Josh calls Parcel Force to discuss charges and options. We could pay, but our bank accounts are dangerously low (see entry, 7 November) and not all charges can be recovered. If returned, Package delivery should coincide with our Christmas trip back to the States.

11 November 2007: Package refused (by Josh) and marked return to sender with the understanding that it will leave directly.

5 December 2007: Package fulfills full waiting period for refusals, is returned to customs and levied a $25 charge for returning parcel to sender.

12 December 2007: Package held in depot, awaiting shipment back to the states via slowest boat possible.

19 December 2007: We fly to the USA. No idea about Package.

30 December 2007: We fly back to the UK. Package still MIA.

14 January 2008: Package shipped to USA... on above mentioned boat.

18 January 2008: Josh calls Parcel Force to find out where the hell Package went. Parcel Force says it was just shipped. Should take 28 days.

(From here, things get tricky... dates are pieced together from stickers on the package and emails from Chicago customs...)

27 February 2008: Package arrives from Coventry, England in Chicago (43 days later) and is rejected by US customs due to incorrect labeling on behalf of British customs.

29 February 2008: Package is scanned at O'Hare Airport as 'International Dispatch Ready'. Back on the slow boat it goes...

18 March 2008: Package arrives (again) at UK customs, where it is automatically refused, gets marked properly and is placed once more on said boat...

March 2008: Having heard nothing since January, most parties involved lose all hope of ever seeing Package again.

4 April 2008: The Postmaster, United States Post Office 52336 (Springville, Iowa), emails the Consumer Affairs Department in Chicago to track down Package after already extensive Internet research and tracking. Last known location: O'Hare Airport on February 29.

7 April 2008: US Customs, Chicago, calls Postmaster 52336. Looks like Package went to the UK.

9 April 2008: Josh calls Parcel Force. Package is in the UK. He offers to pay any and all charges.

11 April 2008: Josh calls Parcel Force again. Package is not there after all. Might be coming back the USA.

18 April 2008: Package arrives back at its original post office, Springville, IA. There is a $25 care of delivery charge. Postmaster calls Mom Wall.

19 April 2008: After 171 days, Mom Wall picks up Package. Postmaster says, "No way in hell are you paying for this package." Package goes home.

27 April 2008: Package delivered in person by Mom Wall to Josh in Zeeland, Michigan (with much rejoicing by all!) and brought to the UK four days later.


Moral of the story: Just pay the damn fees the first time. (Also, always be kind to your postmaster.)

Funny Photo Friday: Sinter Claes

Ahhh, nothing says Santa quite like a bucket full of naked children. This photo is from Amesterdam, which gives it a bit more sense given their odd story of Santa... David Sedaris puts it best in a story called 'Six to Eight Black Men' which is well worth a read if have 15 minutes and are in a place you can laugh out loud.

Tulip Time

Last week, roughly 500,000 tourists attended Holland, Michigan's 77th annual Tulip Festival, according to Holland's official website, most of them wandering about below white permed hairdos or riding in big unwieldy coaches that fail to use the Michigan left turn (which, honestly, most of us wish we could do anyway). I might feel differently if I actually lived in Holland as an adult, but as a child, Tulip Time was just about the best thing ever. It meant a week of half school days during the best weather of the year, parades to watch every day, even a few to participate in, and opportunities to pressure parents into cotton candy submission. It's fantastic, really.

I, however, haven't been to Tulip Time in about seven years. And I miss it. This year, though, I got a chance to celebrate my own Motherland version of the festival. It's amazing how strikingly similar yet utterly different the original culture is from that of the Dutch Calvinist immigrant descendants back home, but I did what I could. We got back from Holland the day of the other Holland's Volksparade. The Volksparade, as opposed to the mildly interesting Kinderparade and the fantastic Muziekparade, involves usually normal, sane people dressing up in Dutch costumes, scrubbing the parade route with brooms, and throwing water at members of the opposite sex if under the age of 18, all at the behest of the mayor (the scrubbing, not the throwing). I celebrated by flying past large fields of blooming tulips on a train, lounging at canalside cafes, hanging out with surnames like Feenstra and Wiersma, buying Wilhelmina peppermints, and consuming large quantities of Leiden Komijne Kaas (cumin cheese). Yum. If I can't have the real thing, I'll take my Tulip Time any year.

Marmite, you either love it or hate it...

I was taking a quick break and watching the telly (how British am I?!?!) and there was an advert on(there I go again!). It was Paddington and the announcer said, 'Here we have Paddington Bear, your old childhood friend, eating a cheese and marmite sandwich.' A pigeon comes and lands next to Paddington. 'Hello,' Paddington says, 'would you like some?' Here Paddington breaks off a piece of the sandwich and throws it to the pigeon. The pigeon immediately eats it and then begins gagging... wherein the image freezes and the announcer resumes, 'Marmite, you either love it or hate it' as 'Marmite, you either love it or hate it appears on the screen.

What a weird country where such a commercial works....

Oh, and Bird came too.

Planes, Trains, and, erm, Boats

Last Monday, the 2nd of May, was an English Bank Holiday. May Day (the 1st) was also a holiday in France, and the 30th of April was Queen's Day in Holland and the 4th was Remembrance Day, the 5th Victory Day. We thought we should take part in the festivities, so last weekend we took an airplane from Newcastle to Paris, a train from Paris to Amsterdam, and a boat from Amsterdam to Newcastle- why stick to just one type of transportation when you can switch things up a bit?


Read the rest...
In Paris, we stayed at friends' apartment while they were away- the 15 minute walk from the city centre was perfect for tourists. We spent most of the weekend walking. And walking. And walking... But at least it's a nice place to walk. Very near their flat was this viaduct with great artsy shops below...
... and a beautiful promenade above. Reminded us of plans for the high line in NYC.
We really enjoyed all the parks and gardens tucked away behind the beautiful buildings in Paris. When I'd visited the city before it was either unbearably hot or cold and rainy, so it was nice to see the city in the spring time. I hate to admit it, but the weather really can affect my opinion of a place...
We wandered around to the typical sites our first day, the Pompidou Center, Notre Dame, Les Invalides, the Eiffel Tower, the Arch de Triomphe... It made for some sore feet and sunburned shoulders, but it was a wonderful day. We were surprised at how disappointed we were by Notre Dame. I guess our hometown cathedral just made it seem surprisingly small!
Since it was a holiday weekend for most surrounding countries and the weather was exactly what one would wish for, the city was packed. That meant that our excursion to the top of the Eiffel Tower took us 2 hours altogether. We waited at the bottom. We waited on level two. We waited to get back down.
But, at least the waiting had nice views!
Since we went out for lunch, and we had a kitchen to ourselves, we (I) decided to buy the most French-y thing at the local grocery. That ended up being this Cassoulet de Castelnaudary, which consisted of white beans, Toulouse sausage, and preserved duck. Interesting. Not bad. But interesting. (And I am sure not quite like the real thing, being in a tin and all.)
Our second day consisted of more wandering and museum-ing. The Louvre is free on the first Sunday of a month. We knew it would be incredibly busy, but since it would be busy on Saturday too, we figured we might as well not pay for the crowds. Here, for example, is the Mona Lisa:
We wandered through a number of galeries, glass-covered arcades I wrote an essay about in grad school, before heading to the artsy (and a 'justified tourist trap' to quote the Lonely Planet entry on Hoi An, Vietnam) Montmartre.
After a lovely evening of cheese and wine with our generous hosts, we headed to Gare du Nord and Amsterdam. Oh, and before we move to Amsterdam, let's just say that French pastries are fantastic. Fantastic.

We had a great surprise in Amsterdam: when we showed up at my cousin Amber's place, my other cousin, Lindsey, was there! So we got to spend our time wandering again, only this time with people we know. We didn't feel up for facing museum crowds again, so we took a canal boat tour and spent a lot of time in canal-side cafes in fantastic sunshine.
From Amsterdam, we headed to the seacoast and our overnight 'ferry' back to Newcastle. We were expecting a good-sized boat, but the cruise ship sitting there at the dock was a bit of a surprise.
We arrived in Tynemouth the next morning, and I headed to work while Josh went back to Durham. I must say, it's fun to be able to go to Paris and Amsterdam for the weekend!

Funny Photo Friday: Tons of Towers

As an architect, I find the idea of a basket of buildings both nauseating and strangely appealing.....

(Also a hint at why we haven't posted much lately.)

Accents: 'Y'all are rubbish!'

I don't know if everyone will find this post interesting but I'm always interested in different dialects and... well some interesting things happen to accents when you ship across the pond.

Accents are funny things. They give away social and geographic location, culture (to some extent), and general generally reflect an understanding of self (New Yorkers who took pride in the flair their dialect gave their rants for example). I've always been fascinated by accents, specifically in how they move and change in some ways but don't change in others. This meant of course, that I'm having a field day over here, specifically because the city of Durham has a rather international flavor due to the University and while English is obviously the dominant language it is spoken in dozens of different ways. However, in all of this cacophony of sounds my favorite group though is the Americans and the ways in which our American English merges with different British dialects creating an odd linguistic mutt.
Read the rest...

Now, this obviously isn't a big difference, we share a large majority of the same vocabulary and patterns but its amusing to watch Americans come over and to see our dialects change, some slightly, some much more so. Two people I really enjoy listening to are our curate and another American youth worker in the city. The curate (an entry level pastor) is originally from Texas and then moved to somewhere outside of DC for many years (20 or so I think) and has now been here for nearly ten. So her accent is a cross of between Texan, with some mid-east coast tones, and then these random nuggets of 'Britishism' thrown in. And how she speaks varies in each context, sentence to sentence, and sometimes even within the same sentence. So its not at all uncommon for her to sound straight from the heart of Texas (with the full on twang and all) only to insert a word she says with a distinctly British tone.

Take the phrase "Now, y'all are going to celebrate holy communion with the body of Christ."
Which sounds more like, "Naw, y'all are gonna celebrate ho-oly communion with the body(sounding more like 'buddy' rhyming with fuddy) of Christ." When she first said something like that (I don't know if I ever heard her say that exact phrase) I chuckled to myself (does this make me a bad person?), because I find that shift from texan to BBC English funny. This habit gets me into trouble sometimes because I'm trying not to giggle as she is addressing serious matters. But I love the way she says 'autumn' because... well it feels so unnatural for her but she says it anyway.

The other person works with youth and so not only has she picked up nuggets of British english but she also picks up youth slang. What's even better, in my opinion, is that this girl is from Louisiana and carries around her linguistic origins. Her voice mail sounds straight out of Baton Rouge but when I talk to her there is that same juxtaposition between BBC English and the southern draw. When I first met her I felt like I was playing dialect ping-pong, because she would flip from the sugary sweet southern draw to (an indelibly british way of) saying 'rubbish.' So phrases like, 'She's sweet, bless her heart... too bad she's rubbish.' (Where the rubbish goes up a couple of steps on the 'bish' part, like she's just seen a mouse and jumped.) I love it, great fun.

Our own accents have changed some as well, though I think significantly less than some people, but changed none-the-less. I think this comes across most in intonation and the phrasing we use. Small things, but they put the emphasis (em-PHA-sis) is in a different place often here... and so you change to accommodate that. Its feels weird to know the way you speak is changing but its kind of exciting as well.

Two final thoughts:

1) I'm still amazed that I occasionally run across people I can barely (and sometimes can't) understand despite the common language. I know this happens in the US as well, some southern draws are hard to pick out (Boomhouzer from King of the Hill) but I didn't really think about it till I heard some Geordies talking recently.

2) A moment of personal confession, I'm afraid of talking to people on the phone because I lose track of a surprisingly large amount of what they say. Its embarrassing to not be able to understanding someone who speaks perfect English (and proper English, easily understandable in other contexts) but I have a hard time over the phone. When I was called and told I got the post I have now I was incredibly excited... except I wasn't entirely sure that's what he said until a few minutes later in the conversation. oops!

Funny Photo Friday

From our trip to Scotland with Brad and Kimberly. A little out of focus, but still clear enough!

Brief thoughts based on some recent traveling

I've been doing some traveling (not the fun kind) on my own recently, and since I have no one to laugh and complain with (Meg stayed home) I'm posting them here because... well, because I need to share them with someone.

- Its funny to me that one can spend two hours in an airport doing nothing but queuing and walking, only to queue (and walk) again.

- I've been thinking about Americans and the general stereotype of us being loud, and I don't think its accurate. I think we talk at a similar volume as many other people and cultures... we just do it ALL the time. We talk on buses, we talk in queues, we talk to strangers for no real reason, we talk to ourselves to figure out where we are going. It seems to me the sterotype has less to do with volume and more to do with our people's inability to sustain an inner monologue.

- I am judgemental, especially of Americans, and have a harder time overlooking/forgiving (what I deem as) inappropriate behaviour while traveling. Every time I see someone creating a fuss, not being sure what to do, not fitting in, etc... I say to myself, 'please don't be American... please don't be American,' for fear of having to offset another sterotype the Europeans will take up. I realised I spend most of my time being embarrassed or afraid of being embarrassed (not even justifiably so!) by other Americans when I'm traveling. (Does this make me a bad person?)

- I found it frustrating being an American in Heathrow, specifically because no one knows that I live in England, and I get treated as if I am not culturally knowledgeable about things (and not unjustifiably so). For example, at Heathrow, I asked 'Excuse me, where is the loo?' To which the employee answered, 'Well that's what it's called, isn't it? (Mildly awkward pause where I'm unsure what to do... but have the feeling of a dog that just preformed a new trick or a child that just properly asked for someone to pass the peas) 'Oh, its down the hall to the left,' she quickly added after the pause. When I returned from the loo, she made a properly awkward and backhanded comment by way of an apology, which seemed appropriate as her faux pas didn't warrant a full apology, but I did want some kind of acknowledgment that it was rude. Things are simply easier when my knowledge of the cultural landscape isn't called into question based on my accent and I don't get a small congratulatory comment for calling something by its proper name.