in the run-up to “remembrance sunday” the annual poppies have been everywhere you look, and no more so than on television. i recently asked j, only half in jest, “are you even *allowed* to be in front of the camera without a poppy on?” turns out, I was closer to the mark than i’d guessed.

for my stateside readers, a little explanation: here in the u.k., the holiday equivalent of the u.s. memorial day and/or veteran’s day is armistice day (on the 11th November) and the following “remembrance sunday” – a day to reflect upon the losses of war and thank those who have given service to the country. the annual campaign which accompanies this holiday is known as the “poppy campaign” – a fundraising drive to support veterans’ charities, where support is signified by wearing a red felt poppy on one’s lapel. the poppy, of course, refers to the famous “flanders fields” poem, as well as the symbollic colours of red for shed blood, and black for mourning.

in recent years, however, the red poppy has become something of a symbol of political correctness. much like the big “support the troops” bumper stickers which have become ubiquitous in the states (aside: on an interesting cultural note, brits do not, as a rule, decorate with bumper stickers of any kind – but that’s a topic for another post), it seems that almost everyone wears one. whether this has been on the rise since the start of the iraq war, i can’t say, but i have definitely noted a sharp increase in the few years i’ve been here to see it.

but this year in particular, along with the blooming lapels, there has been a blooming controversy. because when almost every person you see is wearing one, it’s those who *aren’t* who begin to stand out. most notably, the t.v. newsreporter jon snow was called to task for refusing to wear one on camera. in his defence against “poppy fascism” he’s said he doesn’t believe newsreaders should make political statements of any kind while on air.

Mr Snow said: “I am begged to wear an Aids Ribbon, a breast cancer ribbon, a Marie Curie flower… You name it, from the Red Cross to the RNIB, they send me stuff to wear to raise awareness, and I don’t. And in those terms, and those terms alone, I do not and will not wear a poppy.”

and i absolutely agree. the poppy furor has also widely encompassed: outrage at those from the black community who refuse to wear one because black contributions to the armed services have not been historically recognised; outrage at those who choose to wear a white poppy as a symbol of peace; and Camilla’s failure to wear a poppy on her visit to pakistan. the poppy pother is out of control.

at what point did being politically correct become mandatory? it reminds me very much of the recent stance taken by so many americans in supporting the iraq war – the idea that “if you’re not with us, you’re against us”. dissent by omission is not an option. and i wager that if the british only realised how closely this “poppy fascism” resembled the wave of blind “yellow ribbon” conformity that overtook the u.s. post-9/11, they would drop those lapel pins in a heartbeat.

personally, i will never wear a poppy. as a pacifist, i cannot in any way, shape, or form condone war or violence. whilst i am saddened that so many people have needlessly lost their lives, i cannot tacitly acknowledge the presumption that their deaths had meaning or served a purpose. to my mind, they didn’t. they don’t. and i won’t.

but it seems that i’ll have to beware the poppy police. and thank god i’m not on television.

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we had k&t over for dinner last night, and of course, being bonfire night, the fireworks started going off shortly after dark and continued for hours. but around eight o’clock i stepped out onto our new balcony to let some cool air into the flat, and was instantly transfixed. i could see fireworks from canary wharf all the way to wimbledon – a horizon full of electric blooms hanging, glittering and dissolving in the night air, with a luminous milky full moon floating above the haze. it was absolutely beautiful – bursts of colour as far as the eye could see.

if only every night fireworks.

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hallelujah! i didn’t even realise it before, but only just noticed today that we have (drumroll please…) proper mixer taps! you’d have to be north american to understand what a huge pet peeve this is for me, but suffice to say the fact I can create warm (not hot, not cold. warm) water in my bathroom without filling up the sink is a very. big. deal. indeed.

(no outlets, of course – but i wasn’t expecting miracles!)

also, i have a dryer. i know drying clothes tends to be quite a different experience over here (i.e. they’re basically cooked in their own steam) , but if it actually works and i can get even a few pairs of underwear dry without festooning every available surface of the apartment with wet laundry like some bizarre dali-esque loungescape and cranking up the boiler til the windows sweat… well then, I will be a very happy girl.

it has a lovely stand-up shower. it has central heating and double glazed windows.

i am loving this apartment. i may never leave.

(internet service, however, will not be connected for two loooooonnnnngggg weeks. so updates may be a bit sparse.)

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what’s the most ridiculous amount of money you’d imagine paying to get a single pair of keys cut?

if you said £12, you’d be right!

when the hell did keys start costing £6 each!?? i wandered down the street, dropped off the keys, came back 5 minutes later, then had my jaw hit the floor when he said “that’ll be £11.80″. i had £8 on me and my phone (because who’d figure a set of keys would cost more than £8??) i had to leave my phone as collateral, take the original keys, go all the way back to the house and get more cash before returning to get robbed pay and collect the bloody keys. what’re they, made of gold or something?

gah.

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happy halloween!

one holiday i really do miss living here is halloween. little kids going for their first trick-or-treat, houses and shops all decorated to the nines. jack-o-lanterns and themed candy, costume parties and scary movies.

some of my best memories are of halloween. as a kid i always dressed as a gypsy (easy enough with my mum’s 60’s hippie skirts, hair scarves and hoop earrings), and my sister was always a fairy princess (she always ordered rainbow sherbet ice cream as wel, but that’s another story). my dad was one of those parents who never outgrew trick-or-treating and i think he as truly sad when we all got too old for it. his specialty was creating the most horrifyingly realistic costumes and scaring the bejeezus out of the neighbourhood kids. amputations done with butcher’s soup bones, real knives through the head, iron spikes through the chest – the grislier the better. it was always too cold on halloween night to go out without a jacket, so we’d walk around with our costumes peeking out from under our puffy coats, lamenting the ruined effect.

and of course, there was the candy. for a sugar freak like me, halloween is the raison d’etreof holidays. chuckles jellies, m&ms, mike n’ ikes, candy corn, nik’l nips, reeses cups, ju ju bees, sugar babies, dots, junior mints, twizzlers, swee’tarts, lik’em ade, spree, caramels, atomic fireballs, almond joys. i loved them all. we’d get home and dump out our booty to categorise – then let the trading begin. and of course, being a true sweets fiend, i stole liberally from my brother and sister – particularly kate who always “saved” her candy well into the christmas season.

as an adult, halloween was all about the costume parties – who had the best/most inventive/most ironic/most ghoulish costume. i was never very creative, but my ex husband would spend weeks thinking up ideas for his outfit. and our circle of friends always threw all-night halloween raves with funky punches and d.j.s which ended in the wee hours on the roof before taking the subway home in the dawning light with all the other bedraggled and drunk costumed partiers.

and if, for some reason you didn’t have a party to go to, there was always the raft of b-grade horror films at the cinema. my friend johanna dragged me to more ridiculous “scary” movies than i care to remember. “the blair witch project :2″ was her fault, as was “the ring:2″ and other cinematic travesties which i have blocked from memory.

but no matter how you spent it, halloween was a big deal. overly commercial? sure. cheesy and tasteless? absolutely. but a holiday dedicated to the pure joy of being childish and goofy, the sugar highs of overindulging, and the fun of scaring yourself just for the adrenaline rush and euphoria that comes after.

the brits have halloween in theory – but they really haven’t got the concept down properly. it’s just not very british to engage in lighthearted foolishness just for its own sake. it’s not very british to enjoy fake-spookiness and funny-scariness. so there’s no decoratons, no greeting cards, barely any trick-or-treating or “fancy dress” costumes. looking out the front door, you’d never even realise it was a holiday.

and i miss it.

happy samhain! Happy all hallow’s eve! may “the great pumpkin” be good to you

(if you want to read a bit about halloween in britain, try here and here. “If it weren’t for all the American ex-pats flooding into his country, Hallowe’en would still be the meaningless event it was when I was kid.” and “But much as some Britons are angry at being co-opted in yet another realm by the consumerist culture of the United States, some Americans living in Britain are annoyed at Britons’ failure to grasp correct Halloween protocol” – interesting reading)

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somehow when i thought about coming back to london, i imagined that certain things would be fun – cooking nice fresh healthy meals (nothing like not being able to eat salad to make you appreciate vegetables), re-exploring the city, and flat hunting.

boy was i wrong on that last count.

i haven’t actually gone flat-hunting or picked my own place to live since i moved from nyc to boston about 8 years ago. back then, i remember walking into what would become our apartment and falling instantly in love. it had lots of room, lots of wood, lots of storage, lots of light. it had a porch and a yard and a dishwasher and a cellar. but what really snagged my heart was the pantry – i could picture myself putting groceries away in the pantry and looking out on my garden. and that’s how i knew it was “the one”.

so i was there for almost 4 years and when i finally left, i was heartbroken, but convinced that my move to london would bring brighter things.

moving to london, i ended up in my first place basically by default. since i didn’t know anyone in the city and had no place to stay, when this woman angela agree to rent me a room sight unseen 3 days before my flight, i jumped at it. luckily it all worked out rather well – angela was lovely, the room and flat were cute, and i ended up staying for a year.

the reason for my second move in london came when i fell in love with jonno and he asked me to move in 3 weeks after we met. he lived in a peculiar location (above a car dealership) but it was a great flat – huge, neat, clean, and dirt cheap. it had a giant kitchen, two bathrooms, two balconies, and best friends for next-door neighbours. we had a lot of good times in that flat – impromtpu summer barbeques, big thanksgiving dinners, communal christmasses. it held a place in my heart because it was the first place in the u.k. where i had family. we were there for a couple of years and when we had to relinquish it to leave for our trip, i was gutted.

but neither of these apartments were places that i chose. and while they were places that i grew to love, they weren’t “my” places.

so upon returning a few weeks ago, one of the few things i looked forward to was choosing a new home. someplace that reflected me, in an area i wanted to live in, with things i chose.

the problem with that of course, is that i am not living by myself. there is another opinion for consideration. so where i wanted a nice central location even if it meant a smaller apartment, jonno wanted a bigger space even if it meant living a bit further out. where i was willing to live without furniture until we could buy our own, jonno wanted to find someplace furnished. where i was happy enough to have a view of the city, jonno wanted a garden. disputes and discouragement soon got the better of us. and in the end, we decided to plump for the first place we saw. i think i probably liked it better than he did, but we were both too worn down to continue the search. we came to the realisation that we were never going to find someplace amazingly wonderful with our budget and time constraints. so we agreed to the only place we both liked. hardly love at first sight.

only to then run into a series of snags, the result of being out of the country for 6 months and me being unemployed. this is all way too much anxiety for me. all the calls back and forth trying to explain our current circumstances, track down references, find our old landlord… it’s all putting knots in my stomach, stressing me out. if all works out, we will have the flat on wednesday. if there are further obstacles… well, i don’t want to think about that. this is definitely no fun.

i just want someplace to call home. i’m hoping this flat will be it. and it will be mine because i chose it. maybe it won’t be a flat that i fell in love with. but i have a boy who loves me – and i will grow to love it because he is there. i can picture that now – see us curled up on the sofa drinking coffee and looking out over london. he is the one that snagged my heart.

and that’s home.

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If you’ve not received your absentee ballot and wish to vote in the 7 November election, please follow this link:

http://www.votefromabroad.org/?adid=EDAD9990000102501

This wizard will guide you through the voter registration and absentee ballot request process for your state. It will only ask those questions you are required to answer for your voting state and personal circumstances. It will then automatically fill in the official form, fax coversheet, and voter Declaration/Affirmation for the Federal Write-In Absentee Ballot (FWAB). The FWAB is a back-up ballot. If you have not received your ballot, answer the six screens of quetions and download, print, vote and mail the Federal Write-In Absentee Ballot.

vote, dammit!! exercise your rights!!

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pay attention folks: this is the most chilling thing i’ve heard a politician say (and considering our president, that’s saying something)

i usually try to forget that i voluntarily live in a country where everyone is considered guilty until proven innocent – because that’s really the rationale behind so much of the u.k.’s law enforcement. cctv cameras exists because the average citizen on the street *might* commit a crime. speed cameras are there because you *probably* will commit some traffic infraction. t.v. licensing enforcement officers come to your doorstep because you *probably* own a television.

and already they take and keep your dna sample even if you’re falsely arrested. if the police apprehend the wrong person, or you are falsely accused you are still a likely suspect for the rest of your life and no longer allowed even the privacy of your most basic cellular information. you may not know if you have the breast cancer gene, or if you’ll go bald at 40 because your mother has passed along that trait – but the police do.

but even this egregious infringement of the most basic right to privacy over one’s body pales in comparison to the evil proposition mr. blair has put forth. which is, in a nutshell: let’s treat everyone like a criminal. every innocent grandmother, every newborn baby, every good samaritan… let’s do away with even the most tacit notion of innocence, and treat them all like potential murderers.

that’s not the scariest bit.

the scariest bit is that if they were suggesting keeping a database of sphincter photos as a potential means of using “technological advances to reopen thousands of unresolved ‘cold cases’”, i have absolutely no doubt that most of britain would be lining up to spread their cheeks for the camera.

the scariest bit is that “The UK has the largest database in the world and is drawing attention from countries throughout Europe keen to learn from its experience”.

mr. blair you will not get so much as a single eyelash from me. i will move as far away as humanly possible before i give you a cheek swab.

and in case i left any doubt as to my opinion on you and your stinkin’ database… well you can kiss my *other* big fat white cheeks.

(edited to add j’s response: grabs his crotch and says “i got ya dna sample right here”. now i ask you, how charming is my husband?)

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a quick shout out to nicole in london, who, it turns out, is as nice and funny and smart in person as she is in her writing. it’s always strange meeting someone in real life who you only “know” via the internet but she’s definitely cool peeps – if you overlook her tragic brainwashing as a yankees fan

(I’ll have to beat that out of her next time we get together, don’t you worry…)

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four days and it still feels kinda like christmas – discovering clothes i’d forgotten i owned (including, miracle of miracles, underwear which is *not* one of the 8 black pairs i’ve been wearing for 6 months straight!), friends cooking us lovely dinners, emails saying “welcome home”, and blissfully reloading the ipod with all my faves.

i know this is all too good too last. like the tan, it will fade. is already fading.

what is starting to creep in already is that “edge” to daily life in a big city. the permanent undercurrent of tension through the shoulders. the tinge of cynicism that pervades thought. the weight of annoyance with inept transportation, shrill television, and overpriced goods. i’ve had minimal contact with the “outside world” thus far, but even this limited interaction has caused my forehead to wrinkle again, my mouth to set in a pressed line.

after living without this cloud for six months, it’s disheartening to be aware of this damper pressing down on my spirit.

it’s not that there are no annoyances or irritations when travelling. but this is a different kind of mindset – a subtle hardening of the arteries which seems to be necessary to urban living. it is so omnipresent that it’s only noticable by its absence. a toughening of the skin that protects, but also numbs feeling.

i wish i could leave this shell behind, but i know i’d never survive long without it. it’s just been so nice to feel truly free for all this time. and that’s probably what i will miss most.

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interesting article in this weekend’s financial times on the experience of the american immigrant to the u.k. – several people from my expat forum were interviewed for the piece. (the full article requires subscription, so i’ll quote it liberally here.)

In 2004, the latest year for which figures are available, the 4,120 Americans given indefinite leave to remain in the UK easily outnumbered the 3,115 Bangladeshis granted permanent residence, even though Bangladesh has long been seen as one of the biggest sources of immigration to Britain. Americans also outnumbered the 3,825 Somalis, the 3,240 Australians, the 2,930 Jamaicans, the 2,315 Chinese, the 1,725 Iranians and the 1,720 Iraqis.

According to an analysis of the latest available census data by the Institute for Public Policy Research, a London-based think-tank, there were about 155,000 US-born people living in Britain in 2001, outnumbering all other migrant groups except those from the Irish Republic, India, Pakistan, Germany and the Caribbean…

…Yet the surprise, surely, is that any Americans move to Britain at all. While American brides may have a long tradition of settling with British husbands – Nancy Astor, Wallis Simpson and Madonna, to name a few – why would other Americans want to leave the land of plenty for a grim, drab and relatively poor little island with leaden skies, high prices and appalling food?

…But Americans who choose to settle in the UK have very different reasons for staying. They like the schools, the long holidays and the multiculturalism. They like Britain’s proximity to other countries and the sense of being connected with the rest of the world. Some even like the weather (but not the food – “bland, tasteless and boiled or fried to death”). And, at least for those outside London, one of Britain’s biggest attractions turns out to be the National Health Service.

…Still, expensive as London may be, census figures show that London’s American-born population shot up by 37 per cent to nearly 45,000 in the 10 years to 2001…

…What of those who settle in Britain for reasons other than marriage? Some, you might say, are political refugees. Paula Higgins, a noted musicologist, gave up a tenured professorship at the University of Notre Dame to take a chair in music and become head of department at Nottingham University. An avowed feminist and far-left liberal, she says a big factor in her decision to move was “the almost intolerable political climate in the US, as well as the increasingly oppressive infiltration of rightwing conservatism into the university I was working at, which was at one time a citadel of left-wing concerns with social justice issues”.

Others, however, simply weigh up the American way of life against the British way and decide they prefer the British one.

“I think people have a misconception about what it’s like to live in America,” says Tracy Abrusci, a nurse and single mother from Chicago who now lives and works in Birmingham. “People think the streets are paved with gold and everybody lives in these big houses and drives these big cars and nobody has any worries, when the reality is a lot of people are struggling.”

She says people work far harder in the US – more hours per week and more weeks a year, plus they have a heavier workload. And life is much more precarious. “If you lose your job, there is nothing to fall back on. If you’re a relatively healthy, middle-aged man, you’re not going to get any benefit at all. They just give you a list of shelters.”

…Meta Jamison, who moved with her husband Brian from Orlando, Florida, to Southampton, Hampshire, where they both work at the university, says: “I think the way of life here is a bit more real; not quite as work-driven and consumerism-driven. In the US I felt like my whole life centred around working, working, working, knowing that if I worked at the same job for one year I may get a week off, whereas here there’s more of a sense that work is not everything.”

this is all very interesting for me. many of the expats i know moved here to be with their brit spouses, and i think it makes for a much different experience to have that built in safety net of family when the going gets tough (as it invariably does). as a single person who moved over just for the hell of it, i learned a whole lot about the meaning of self-reliance when things got really difficult. truthfully, i’m still not quite sure how i did it sometimes except through sheer stubbornness. but i do know that it made me a stronger person for it. still – sometimes i find it hard to identify with other expats because of that difference. if i’m honest, a tiny part of me is bitter that they had it easier than i did. and a little part of me is also proud of having made it on my own. it’s very true though, that when i first arrived everyone did seem flummoxed that i would have electively moved here of my own accord. they were genuinely surprised that i might think the grass to be greener on this side of the pond. and if my only real knowledge of america came from what i saw on the telly, i might wonder the same. but it was an odd sensation to feel that i had to defend my choices or substantiate my rationale for wanting to live somewhere outside the borders of the good ol’ u. s. of a.

but i’ve found that most of the sentiments of the article really ring true for me – some of the things that i find most gratifying about living here have to do with the political climate, the social benefits, and the work-life balance. i still find it incredibly refreshing that when i go to the doctor, i can walk in and out without ever once opening my wallet. i love being able to go from country to country the way i used to travel from state to state. i love the fact that politicians are continually held to a higher level of scrutiny and accountability. i like working to live, rather than living to work. for example, i could never make the kind of trip i’m getting ready to embark upon if i were still living in the u.s. The idea that i could just drop out of work and society to take six months off and go sightseeing is nearly unheard of in the states.

the u.k. is by no means a utopia – but it ain’t too shabby, either.

in any case, it’s nice to know that i’m no longer as alone as i once was. i only hope we don’t ruin the place.

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I know I’ve been a bad blogger lately. friday was the last day of work – a tremendous relief, even as they were already trying to bribe me back in six months time by offering me a promotion. my leaving do (which I had been dreading, since i avoid any occasion for extra attention like the plague) was actually lovely – a bunch of people turned out, and the wine was flowing freely. why do you have to leave a place before you realise how much you were valued?

then we had the big clear out over the weekend. even though most everything was already packed away, it was all about cleaning and dealing with odds and ends. for example, i know I will never remember that my blue purse got thrown in with the dvd player because it was the last box that hadn’t been sealed up yet. you’re so at loose ends that after a certain point you start just staring blankly at the last few boxes, having moved them from one room to the next 3 times, and wonder how on earth anyone ever gets *out* of a place. and then there’s the guilt, because no matter how organised an approach you take (sifting our stuff to be donated to friends, charity shops, recycled) in the throes of end-stage chaos, you just start chucking shit into rubbish bags because you don’t know what else to do with it, and frankly, you no longer give a flying fuck. and I know I am going straight to hell for throwing perfectly good food in the trash, and it serves me right that i only had to turn around and buy more anyway.

in any case, that was most of the weekend. since then, i’ve been more social than i have in ages! sunday i met up with a friend for a long lunch of moules frites and some great conversation. monday i met up with a colleague (who’s also leaving the council) and we had drinks and dinner to celebrate the end of our working relationship, but start of a friendship. all in all, it’s been about “maxing and relaxing”, with the errant errand thrown in here and there. soaking up the decadence of being gainfully unemployed, which feels wonderful.

there are things i am realising I will miss – some is silly stuff like my pillow, and some is more intangible, like the view from my office over the thames. there is some stuff, however, that i will not miss for even one second. like the tube. this morning, we went down to the chinese embassy bright and early to apply for our visas. we were up and out of the house by 7:30, hoping to get there for the front of the queue. there was some kind of kerfuffle in the ticketing area, where they weren’t letting people through the gates for a few minutes – not a good sign. then boarding the train, it was already fairly full – also not a good omen at that time of the morning. we stuttered our way all the way to stockwell station, smooshed up against the doors, me with my face buried in j’s armpit. at stockwell, the platform for the victoria line was aleady packed – pure aggravation. we waited 6 minutes for the next train, and getting on was an exercise in assertiveness training. my “inner new yorker” surfaced, and I forced my way on. but several stops later, there was a girl who boarded by basically moshing – throwing the whole weight of her body into me multiple times, even though she had actually created quite a bit of personal space for herself. i swear, i nearly punched her in the face. by that point i was so aggro, i was a hair’s breadth away from grabbing her ponytail and ripping it off her stupid little head. holy shit, i have never been that close to picking a fistfight in my life, and the saving grace was that we got off at the next stop. i’m not usually a shrinking violet when it comes to confrontation, but i really couldn’t trust myself to speak. poor j, on the other hand, got quite an earful when we finally made it out. bless him – sometimes it think he doesn’t quite know what he got himself into, marrying me!

the bright spot of the day was buying a nice pair of sunnies, which i’ve needed for ages. buying sunglasses is always so difficult for me – they’re always either giagundo like huge bug-eye glasses with that awful metallic sheen, or too small like some kind of swimming goggles. i can’t be trusted with anything too pricey, as i will inevitably lose or sit on them. (i know, i know – i am a full grown adult and one would hope i could care for something as simple as a moderately priced pair of sunglasses… but one would be wrong.) so although j has had an expensive pair of titanium oakleys for several years, i really can’t buy anything i can’t afford to lose.

but, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles – i found some i actually like!

on another note: there’s been a bunch of adverts for the brasilian “brahma” beer in the tube lately, and for some reason i find them vaguely disturbing…

but i’ve finally figured out why!

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three years ago today, I arrived at heathrow – luggage laden, wide-eyed, and hopelessly romantic about life in london. i dragged my suitcases through the streets of peckham, to a flat i’d never seen and a flatmate i’d never met. i had $4000 and a six month work visa, and it was the culmination of a life’s dream. it was an early spring that year and i spent my first full day in london soaking up the warm sun, drinking pints at a pub by the thames, and i remember thinking how incredibly lucky i was to be able to make it come true.

at the time, my only goal was to find a way to stick it out for a year and see what happened. and boy, did stuff happen. during the first week i was there, i did a pub crawl, stayed out all night, snogged my first brit, went on my first uk date, landed a job, went to museums, went to clubs… i thought that’s what my new life in the uk would be like. it was every bit as wonderfully exotic and vital as i’d hoped.

but really, after the weather turns and the shine wears off, life in london is like life in any big city. which means that often it is mundane and annoying. i was lonely and broke for a good long time. i had romantic disasters and culture shock and immigration woes. i got lost and confused and homesick. i thought long and hard about packing up and going home, convinced no one would even miss me if i did. that was the low point.

but: there were also flashes of the life i’d imagined myself leading. the weekend jaunts to grand european cities. the pastoral getaways and quaint charms of genteel britain. the crazy debauched parties and raunchy stories tucked away for old age. culture and historic ambiance abounding. the doe-eyed lover’s view of the picturesque and the rose-coloured. the quintessentially urban experiences that make you appreciate the pulse of a city. there were those hints of the brilliance underneath – and they kept me here.

and now, after three years, i truly feel i’ve reached a milestone of some sort in my relationship with london. that hard-won balance of the mundane and the amazing. a point where i am comfortable enough to leave, knowing my place in this city is assured, and will still be here when i get back. knowing i will be welcomed back into the fold, the heart of things, quickly enveloped back into life-current. I am at ease enough to take this for granted, and yet, still new enough to have my breath taken away occasionally. There are still days when I have that sharply acute awareness of how lucky i am to be here. those flashes still keep me here.

and here is a good place to be.

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so there was a big nationwide council workers strike today. and although i’m a council employee, i’m not a member of the union which called the strike, nor did i strike in solidarity. to be perfectly honest, i have mixed feelings over the whole thing.

on the one hand, i believe strongly in the right of workers to unionise. i think it’s a much needed tool of empowerment for those workers whose needs are otherwise marginalised or ignored. to someone making minimum wage, who would otherwise be at the mercy of unethical labour practices, the union is a symbol of strength and protection. “the little guy” always has a voice, no matter how low on the totem pole.

on the other hand, i feel as though over here, in a more socialised political landscape, the unions are so broad, so noisy, so constantly confrontational, as to be counterproductive. they often seem to me, to be spouting the political rhetoric of one party or another, and the idea of workers rights becomes subsumed when they are used to further a party’s agenda. they play a very different role here in the uk, because employees rights are already so well enshrined in law that there’s really very little need to protect “the little guy”. even in the private sector, the employee has so many rights and protections that oftentimes organisations are afraid to sack someone for poor performance, because the employee will just seek compensation via the tribunal system. so when the omnipresent unions start making demans *on top* of what seems to me to be a very generous system already heavily weighted in the worker’s favour… well it just seems like they’re taking the piss.

the issue at the heart of today’s strike was about protecting employee pensions. currently, council workers are entitled to retire at 60 with a full pension – a benefit which is being threatened in much the same way that social security is collapsing: a demographic skew of older workers living longer and fewer young workers paying into the system. but the fact of the matter is that nothing the government does is going to change that reality. it may not be fair, but that’s the way it goes. and i suppose i come from a generation where we don’t expect the government to take care of us in our old age. and we definitely don’t rely on it. that’s sheer folly. i’ve been hearing about social security now since the reagan years – it’s nothing new. and big pension schemes in the states have been imploding for years. pensions don’t work anymore. they’re a relic of an age when people carved out their careers over 20+ year with the same company, then retired at 62 and died within the next 12 years. we all know it doesn’t work that way any more. to expect the same structures to support an entirely different weight, without anyone taking a hit, is ludicrous.

if I thought the cause was just, i’d support it. or even if i thought the strike would accomplish its aims, i’d support it. but all strikes seem to do lately is engender distaste for the cause, anger for the workers and public, and distraction from the real problem at hand. people aren’t angry at central government; they’re angry at the workers who kept the schools and services closed. they don’t support the idea of solidarity for social change; they’re irritated at the inconvenience and power games.

so i didn’t strike today, and i’m not sure i ever will. i’m no norma rae. but then again, this ain’t no 1970s textile mill, either.

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council workers strike, pensions scheme

one of the differences i find most interesting about living in the UK is the difference in racial profile and classification.  For example, here, the accepted (census used) race classifications are:

• white (white british, white irish, white other)
• black or black british (black carribean, black african, black other)
• asian (indian, pakistani, bangladeshi, other)
• mixed (white/black carribean, white/black african, white/asian, other)
• chinese or other

To those of us from the US, this takes some getting used to.  Terms such as bi-racial or multi-ethnic are instead just called "mixed race" – which to the american ear seems a bit crude.  "Asian" means almost exclusively those ex-commonwealth countries which still play cricket. Everyone else from the continent of asia is lumped into "chinese or other", because really, there are few koreans, vietnamese, or other asian countries demographically represented here.  (and it sounds silly to say this, but it’s so ingrained… "african-american" is obviously not in usage over here.)  the distinction between black-carribean and black-african sounds pedantic (since most black-carribeans in the u.s. would say they were of african descent) until you realise that there are a lot more african immigrants in the u.k.  there’s no hispanic category – I presume they’re expected to identify as one of the white or black categories – and the term "latino" doesn’t even exist.  and it’s a particularly strange sensation to tick the box for "white – other" when one is used to just belonging to the category at the top of the list.

when I first started working for the council, one of the first tasks I had was to write up a "Race and Equalities IMpact assessment" for a project we were doing.  and it was like learning a while new language.  we become so used to throwing around the most politically correct terms in the u.s., it’s so ingrained, that everything else feels foreign.  "wrong" somehow.  racial sensitivity often takes a back seat in a country where 87.5% of the population identify as "white british", and it takes some adjustment to get used to.

which is really just my long-winded way of saying that living in a country with such a different approach to diversity and ethnicity points out just how much of a social construct all our ideas about race and classification really are.  a person’s skin colour or background doesn’t change when they move from one country to the next – but the way they are identified by others certainly does.  and by extension, the way we identify ourselves.

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it’s been a long hard slog this week, and we’ve just got a new vending machine on our floor at the office – much to the chagrin of many, and the delight of… well, just me. so to lift my flagging spirits late on a friday afternoon, i did something I never do: bought chocolate. (now those of you who know me in real life, and know of my sugar addiction, are gaping slackjawed in disbelief right about now, but it’s true. I do have *some* rules. and one of those rules is that i generally don’t buy chocolate.) standing in front of the bright shiny new machine, i was looking for something comforting and familiar. and then i saw the m&m’s winking at me. so i deposited my money, made my selection, tilted my chair back, dipped into the bag, and popped a few in my mouth.

ewwww.

i don’t know exactly how or why they were so… different. and bad. completely not what my mouth was expecting – upon closer inspection of the bag looked as if they had been imported from greece. they were overly crispy. they were gritty and grainy, and felt funny betweeen my teeth. there was too much shell. they were not chocolatey, and at first i thought they were the peanut butter m&ms. (if anything i would have expected them to be more british chocolatey, with it’s strong sensation of eating solidified cream, than american chocolatey, with it’s cloying sweetness. they were not chocolatey.) They were like no m&ms i’d ever had before. nor will i ever have them again.

i have no idea how it is that in nearly 3 years in england i have never eaten m&ms here. like I said, i don’t generally buy chocolate. but trust me, i’d remember it if I had.

i tell you – it takes a lot, to make me say ewwww when it comes to candy of any type. i take pride in my commitment to trying strange sweets of every possible variety – if it’s made of sugar, i’ll try it. i particularly enjoy discovering new and interesting international candies, and the highlight for me of any trip, is discovering what treats they sell abroad. my friend diana once took it upon herself, *on her honeymoon* to bring back for me the strangest confectionery creations she could find in all of greece and spain (countries where, it should be noted, nose-bleed menthol is considered a perfectly acceptable candy flavour and textures run the gamut from break-your-tooth-off *hard* to oozingly runny). she must have brought back nearly a dozen foreign delights and the only thing which i did not and could not willingly eat was a brittle variation on liquorice which tasted like crunchy soap.

even being featured on bad-candy, is not enough to dissuade me – i love circus peanuts, and if i could get my hands on some indy dedos i’d try them in a heartbeat.

but these m&ms…. ewww. next time i’m going for a snickers.

still… i ate ‘em. (what?? they’re sugar!!!)

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Was sent this story by a friend earlier today (thanks for the link, A) about using mobile phones to track someone’s movements

These sorts of tracking services, now available in the UK, get information from the network about which cell your phone is currently in, and, for a small fee, display the location on an online map.

As well as checking where a certain phone is right now, you can run scheduled lookups, or snail trails, to record the phone’s movements throughout the day, and produce a report for you to peruse at your leisure.

The only thing currently regulating this usage is a voluntary code of conduct. I’d be shocked to the core if the government is not already using this technology.

Yet people seem singularly unfazed by this. And why should they be? They’re already captured on CCTV nearly everywhere, tracked via Oyster cards, tracked for friggin’ TV licenses and car tax, for crying out loud. Remember, this is the same nation that feels it’s perfectly acceptable to keep your DNA on file, even if you were falsely arrested, even if you are completely acquitted – just in case.

It reminds me a bit of a discussion I was having the other day with J about the difference between freedom of speech in the US and freedom of speech here. In the US, laws enacted must prove they do NOT infringe on reasonable expectations of freedom of speech, or undermine the spirit of the first amendment. The expectation is that you can say and express yourself however you like, and the government has little right to limit that.

From wiki:
Text of the Virtual First Amendment (heavily abridged)

No State legislature or the Congress of the United States shall make any law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press all media of information; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances. This general prohibition shall be subject to the following elaborations, extensions, restrictions, limitations, interpretations and conditions: a. The absolute freedom of engaging in or refraining from speech and non-verbal communication, and receiving or refusing to receive information, without any coercion, shall be a rebuttable presumption in any administrative or judicial proceeding, concerning any attempts to abridge them. The onus of rebutting this presumption shall rest entirely on the party seeking such abridgment, by showing that the speech or non-verbal communication sought to be restrained, or the information to be withheld, do not, by virtue of some other conflicting and overriding considerations or necessities, fall within the categories of freedoms that this section is intended to protect;

(emphasis mine)

The burden of restriction rests squarely with those who seek to make any impositions on freedom of speech.

Here in europe, it’s explicitly stated that free speech is only free insofar as that which they have not made illegal.

From the European Convention on Human Rights:

Article 10 – Freedom of expression

1. Everyone has the right to freedom of expression. This right shall include freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas without interference by public authority and regardless of frontiers. This article shall not prevent States from requiring the licensing of broadcasting, television or cinema enterprises.
2. The exercise of these freedoms, since it carries with it duties and responsibilities, may be subject to such formalities, conditions, restrictions or penalties as are prescribed by law and are necessary in a democratic society, in the interests of national security, territorial integrity or public safety, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, for the protection of the reputation or rights of others, for preventing the disclosure of information received in confidence, or for maintaining the authority and impartiality of the judiciary.

(emphasis mine)

And it occurs to me that the different sensibility in approach to privacy is much the same. For example…

The Fourth amendment of the bill of rights states:

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

You see, even where it doesn’t explicitly state a right to “privacy”, per se, that right is implied in the nature of what is enshrined in the constitution. In other words, one must prove that laws passed do not transgress the rights implicit in the ten amendments of the bill of rights.

Once again, the wishy washy European convention on human rights states:

Article 8 – Right to respect for private and family life1

1. Everyone has the right to respect for his private and family life, his home and his correspondence.
2. There shall be no interference by a public authority with the exercise of this right except such as is in accordance with the law and is necessary in a democratic society in the interests of national security, public safety or the economic well-being of the country, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, or for the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.

This difference of approach is an important distinction. The crux of which is that Americans operate in their day-to-day lives with the presumption of a certain set of givens, which are all meant to underpin this principle: that unless they break a law, the state may not unreasonably interfere with their person or property or everyday life, and it is incumbent upon the state to prove that they have not done so.

Here, there is no constitution, there are no enshrined rights. There are no absolutes. There is nothing which is sacrosanct. I find this the hardest thing to adapt to. The notion that freedoms exist only in regard to what they have not yet chosen to make illegal. there is nothing the state can’t legislate. There is not behaviour, speech or action which they can’t outlaw.

This is why they can track people’s innocent car journeys, collect their most intimate genetic makeup, and tell you what you can and cannot say. As an american, it chafes.

I just hope to get the hell out of here before the implementation of ID cards…

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so even though i’ve been watching the olympics nearly non-stop, overall it’s been a pretty big disappointment. the bbc coverage has been just *terrible*. the brits just don’t seem to understand how to tap into the inherent *drama* of sport. I suppose that’s to be expected from a country which regularly televises billiards and darts, but honestly, the commentary makes it sound like they’re watching paint dry. long gaps and silences between very reserved observations, no human interest background stories on the athletes, and at times you can practically hear them trying to stifle the yawns.

i suppose part of that can be attributed to the fact that british olympians are few and far between, usually noted as an afterthought that the national competitor “placed a respectable 25th”. i can see how it would be hard to generate enthusiasm for an event in which your countryman is unlikely to distiguish themselves from the pack (which, is in and of itself, terribly british, but that’s another post altogether). still, i noticed just how dramatically different commentary styles were when they aired a clip from the local *italian* coverage of the speedskating heats. the italians could barely spit their words out fast enough or loud enough, so palpable was their excitement. they were all completely caught up in the action unfolding in front of their eyes, tumbling over each other with heated exclamation, shouting passionately and practically high-fiving on air. it didn’t matter that i didn’t understand a word they were saying, i was enthralled. i turned to j and said, “now *that’s* sports commentary… why can’t we listen to that??”

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the rare weekend where I actually *did* something more than sit around noodling on the computer. my work friend had her 30th birthday party on saturday – drinks and a big dinner at a nice pub in greenwich. but it was also one of the rare occasions where i was completely surrounded by brits i didn’t know. i was a bit nervous, since it was quite a large group, and the only person I knew was alison – but i’d completely forgotten that the novelty of being an american in an unknown group is a bit like being a walking conversation piece. it’s been so long since i was in an social situation where i was the foreigner, since most of my friends here are expats, that i’ve forgotten just how the topic of discussion always seems to revolve around the interrogation of the american: “how long have you been here? why’d you come over? where in the states are you from? what do you think of london?”

and the people i met were all perfectly lovely (and suprisingly pro-american) but it was a bit of a shock to the system. it made me realise how i’ve inadvertently insulated myself in a non-british bubble of my own making. not through lack of trying, since god knows, I really have put myself out there to try to meet new people. i took all sorts of classes, went out by myself, and generally tried to make friends any way i could. but somehow it’s never really borne any fruit. the brits, while very nice, seem to be somewhat wary of the newcomer.

whereas all my expat friends and i automatically have a commonality. we can talk easily about what we find love/hate about living here without worrying about accidentally insulting someone’s country or culture. more often than not, we all use the same lingo, and have similar experiences. conversation isn’t stilted because you have to interrupt a story to explain the background (such as people felt the need to do last night about the school system, television programmes, etc.) it’s just *easier*.

and it makes me feel a little sad – i know i’m not getting the most from this experience because i don’t know what it’s really like to live amongst brits. outside of work, i live amongst south-africans and other americans. not by choice, but by default. it’s easy to see now, why immigrants from other countries form little communities, cultural pockets. when you’re never fully accepted as just one of the group, no matter how long you’ve been here, it’s almost instinctive that you would gravitate towards others who immediately recognise you as one of their kind.

i don’t want to feel “cut-off” from the people around me. i like britain and brits in general, and have tried hard to make myself open to learning about them and accepting their culture. now if only they would do the same.

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okay, i edited them down to a manageable 71!

The work itself is just unbelievable. I wandered through in awe – i’ve been a fan of chihuly’s work for a long time, and own several hours of videos on his installations in venice.

I could’ve spent days there. Luckily J dragged me home in time for dinner

View the full album here

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chihuly at kew, dale chihuly, glass

Finally got to see the unbelievable chihuly exhibit at kew gardens. I took two hundred photos, drained a set of batteries, and filled up my memory card. So, still getting those sorted and edited, but in the meantime, here’s a small selection:

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chihuly at kew, chihuly