Post by wheelspinner on Apr 18, 2009 19:44:59 GMT -5
January, 2002.
I pinch myself daily and am now convinced that I am actually here. This is how it happened.
To ensure that I would be recognized at the airport, I caught a Nasty Chest Infection just prior to departure. (Alert readers will recall that I presented for my job interview with one). This had the added benefit of allowing me to perform the Valuable Public Service of making sure that no-one on the plane missed any of the in-flight movies, by hacking, wheezing and barking for 17 hours straight. The pressurized cabin and the non-stop turbulence combined to make the flight a memorable experience.
In line with the recently-discovered need for airline security, we had all of our bags searched before boarding in Melbourne. The security guard searching my son’s suitcases was very kind to ignore the numerous Invaluable Backup Copies of various film and musical works stored therein. He also ignored the scissors packed there, which I thought interesting.
At both Melbourne and Sydney, we were subjected to the indignity of having our shoes searched. This is entirely understandable. As any parent knows, a teenage boy’s sneakers are a prime source of Biological Terrorism. It chanced that my younger son’s shoes tested positive. Apparently he had the temerity to Walk In The Park, picking up traces of fertilizer that set off the machine. He was waved through, despite our offer to have him Locked Up On Suspicion Of Being A Terrorist until he agreed to clean his shoes occasionally.
On arrival in San Francisco we were greeted by our Relocation Consultant, an Amazon called Nikki. We had made several conjectures as to what Nikki would look like, having only dealt with her on the phone. We got her skin colour, hair colour, sex and nationality correct. When asked whether we predicted that she would be six foot tall, I gently pointed out to her that, as I had only spoken to her when she was sitting down, it was difficult to estimate her height.
Nikki had acquired a Typical American Vehicle called a Ford Enormous (or such-like) to transport us and our bags. This piece of Real Estate on wheels could only be mounted with the aid of a Sherpa. Despite this, we could only just fit us and our cases in. So much for traveling light!
Nikki spent the next three days showing us the joys of Contra Costa County and introducing us to our temporary apartment, my new workplace and other exciting things. I was particularly impressed by the armed guard at the Social Security Office, whose sole function appeared to be to greet new arrivals and tell them which queue to stand in. Dangerous work!
Contra Costa is 90% freeway and the rest is made up of Starbucks, Borders and Jamba Juice outlets. We were temporarily located in the hamlet of San Ramon, as distinct from San Mateo, San Diego, San Juan, San Raphael, San Francisco, San Bernardino, San Simeon etc. Our apartment was in a complex called Promontory View, which was pretty impressive given that we were about 50 miles from any promontory I could think of. This was just off Deer Hill Rd, which should not be confused with Deer Hill Avenue, Deer Hill Drive, Deer Hill Court or Deer Hill Place, all of which seemed to intersect thereabouts.
On the third day, Nikki was generous enough to offer me my first opportunity to drive in America (but not in her car – she’s Not That Dumb). My family was given the choice of riding with me or Nikki. My wife did her duty, but you may guess where my Ingrate Children chose to ride. My gratitude to Nikki was tempered somewhat by the fact that the drive would be on the freeway in peak hour, in pouring rain, with visibility of about minus three feet. Despite this I heroically managed to arrive at my destination in one piece, with no more than four attempts to drive on the left hand side of the road, all of which I cunningly disguised to look like they were intentional left turns. On arrival, Nikki appraised my performance by telling me I needed to find my accelerator.
I was aware that Americans drive on the Wrong Side Of The Road, but I was not aware that they also drive on the Wrong Side Of The Light Switch, the Wrong Side Of The Power Point, and the Wrong Side Of The Toilet Flush.
For the first 3 days I went around our apartment flipping the light switch down and cursing my Progeny for Leaving The Lights On. After a while I realized that it was me that was leaving them on. I was also bemused by the Americans’ penchant for putting the switch for a power point on a wall on the other side of the room. When I saw a switch next to a power point I would turn it on, only to have the garbage disposal in the kitchen fire up. But the most horrifying experience is that American toilets fill up when you flush them, not empty. Eeew! I finally understand the passion underlying the Great Toilet Seat Controversy, and am totally on the ladies’ side.
My youngest son took 15 ohnomoments to become a Cable TV Addict. Barely had we found the master bedroom than he had became a lifelong fan of Spongebob Squarepants, Daria, Beat The Geeks and Whose Line Is It Anyway. We invested many remedial hours and have now converted him into watching virtuous fare such as Battlebots (robots fighting, in weight divisions, that look scarier than Mike Tyson and Mr T combined) 24 (Kiefer Sutherland having done to him what moviegoers have wanted to do for years) and The Daily Show (a worthy evening news program “More important sounding words, more important sounding theme music, more titles that stretch and blur across the screen, and more US flags than ever before”). We are also watching Masterpiece Theatre, which always gives me a giggle, as I flash back to my Sesame Street-watching days. “Good Evening. I’m Alistair J Cookie, and this is Monsterpiece Theatre.”
My wife and I succumbed to pressure and bought an X Box for the kids Christmas Present. This was an Out And Out Bribe, and worth it to farewell the loathsome Spongebob. Despite my fears (and hopes) it is not some pornographic sex aid, but a boring ugly looking thing that plays computer games. Apparently it has Much More Disk Space, and can Redraw Vector Polygons Faster than the Playstation 2. So there. The games for this device cost a king’s ransom, so the kids at least have something to spend their pocket money on, which is one less thing to organise.
I have been banned from playing with the X Box, because my controller technique is Too Violent and will Wreck The Joystick. Instead I have been getting my technology jollies from my own indulgence – a thing called a Tivo. This has replaced our VCR, and is the only possible way of making sense of the approximately 7,000 cable channels we have available to us. It can hold 30 hours of digitally recorded programs, which you record by name, not time. It interfaces with the internet and your cable connection, and works out what is coming up on all channels. I regularly Enrage The Children by commandeering the TV to surf the Tivo catalog to see if anything I’m interested is on anywhere (it always is – somewhere). The box can be told to record all episodes, or only new ones, or all films with a certain actor in them, etc. I am in love. (Sorry dear).
In mid-January I reported to work. I was given an Office (no cubicles seemed to be available) with a view of the hills, and the freeway, and the BART station. And the hotel over the road. Oh well. I set about making myself useful, and am hopeful that one day soon that will actually occur. Although I have Several Irons In The Fire, none of them has caught fire yet (perhaps because they are iron). A colleague who was hired at the same time as me was recently sent back to Australia because there was No Work, which managed to get my attention in record time. I have since set about making myself Likeable and Indispensable, which is difficult as these are not life skills that I possess, being a natural Curmudgeon.
Since arrival, the California weather has been by-our-lady COLD. Most days when I go off to walk to the station there is ice on everything and even the squirrels are wearing gloves, or driving. I have been dressing in 3 or 4 layers, plus lined gloves. Even then, I only warm up when I have my fifth cup of coffee after arriving at work. As we edge closer to Spring, the weather is improving – it now just rains every day. Did someone say “Welcome To Sunny California”?
Walking to the station is helping me to lose a little weight, as is the fact that my jaw is Frozen Shut for half the day. Unfortunately I make a Stirring Comeback in the Second Half, assisted by the cut-price chocolate bars that my new employer kindly leaves lying in temptation’s way. I can resist anything except temptation.
As part of my research on your behalf, I and my family have been testing the local’s nutritional performance, rating them in the five major food groups: chocolate, beer, pizza, biscuits and coffee.
It is compulsory in the State of California for all chocolate bars to contain peanut butter. The Hershey Company, especially, sells a vast range of chocolate that essentially boils down to milk chocolate, with peanut butter, and sundry other bits tossed in as a branding exercise. It is possible to buy Lindt chocolate here, but the Coffee flavour has proved elusive to date, which is a national scandal. San Francisco has its own brand of chocolate, Ghirardelli, which is a creditable effort but ultimately fails because it does not have Lindt written on the packet.
American retailers are very slow to restock their chocolate shelves. As all Australians know, December 27th is the day that the first Easter Eggs start appearing in the shops. While the Americans tolerate a distraction called Valentine’s Day, I am concerned that, if the chocolate hearts do not make way for the chocolate eggs soon, a significant marketing opportunity may be lost.
Incidentally, a measure of how BIG Valentine’s Day is here may be found in the Chinese Restaurants. This year, Valentine’s Day falls the day after Chinese New Year. On February 13th we went to the local Chinese Restaurant to catch the New Year spirit. The restaurant had no Chinese New Year menu whatsoever – but there was a lovers’ special banquet for the next day.
It is well known that beer is not served in the USA. I have observed Fosters on the shelves in supermarkets, but no Australian I know will drink that swill and I do not intend to start. I have noted a beer in a green can labeled Fosters Bitter and am wondering if this is my beloved VB, perchance. Does anyone know? Help! I encountered my favourite Americanism in the same supermarket, when the spruiker enjoined us to rush over to the wine section and check out their range of Chardonnays and Shiantis.
Although beer is not served, it is possible to find draught Guinness. My local Mexican cantina/bar/pool room has it. It is well known that one cannot drink a pint of Guinness solo because the calories are not shared, leading to weight gain. I therefore need a drinking buddy, but somehow Guinness in a Mexican cantina seems as if it should be illegal somewhere.
American pizza is frighteningly expensive. A small pizza costs the equivalent of $AU 20 or more. After my initial horror, I worked out that this is due to red tape and compliance costs. You see, pizzas here are built vertically, with each pizza taking at least three stories. Medium sized pizzas or larger require a local building permit, which contributes to overall costs. The sight of a small pizza that a hungry teenage boy cannot finish is worth the price of entry, I feel.
American biscuits are shameful, despite their claim to fame as the originator of the Oreo. Is it Too Much To Ask to get a halfway-decent savoury biscuit that is adequately Bad For You? All one seems to find are kiddywink efforts like Goldfish, or disgusting dredge like Ryvita. Where are the Crispy Bacons, the Savoury Shapes and the Barbecue Shapes, I would Like To Know? They do have Chicken In A Biscuit, but they taste like chicken, which is Totally Wrong. And please, no-one mention Mint Slices or Tim Tams, lest you see a grown man cry.
Coffee is not sold in the USA, only Starbucks. Starbucks is brown liquid with caramel, ginger, cinnamon marzipan, nougat, ice and/or egg nog added to it. Any relationship to coffee is accidental. They do sell a Long Black, but they call it an Americana for the sake of Political Correctness (“Huh? You want Michael Jordan?”). I refuse to order it under that name and am hence suffering from massive caffeine withdrawal, which I am addressing by eating too much chocolate.
My wife and I got our driving licenses, so we are now officially Global Menaces. We took delivery of Our New Car on my wife’s birthday. (How’s that for a present! Well done Greg! ). It is a big black ugly Chevy Trailblazer SUV. This is a Toorak Tractor that will never see a dirt road. One of the main advantages is that you never have to wash it – the filthier it looks, the more cred you get with the neighbours. It is also easy to spot in a Car Park – it is the only car that doesn’t have the Stars And Stripes attached to it in some manner.
(On a serious note, you have to be here to realize the extent of feeling stirred up in the USA by Sep 11. Apart from the visual displays of patriotism on every windscreen, shop window and hillside, it is impossible to avoid reference to it, even six months later. Every news article, every sports show, every film review, every comedy show I have seen feels obliged to refer to it, even when it is totally irrelevant to the subject matter. This has been a deeply scarifying event here).
We took the opportunity to take in an NBA game to see which of the Phoenix Suns and the Golden State Warriors suck the most in the Western Conference. The Warriors got off to a flying start (which we missed while we queued for dinner) and then proceeded to spend the second half trying to find ways to lose. With two seconds to go their plans looked to be unstuck when they hit the front, but they came up with the clever defensive ploy of leaving the Suns’ only Olympian, Penny Hardaway, open next to the basket with a second to go. Penny scored and the Suns sucked less by one point. Warrior defender Bob Sura commented after the game “I lost him for a second”. BTW, the Warrior’s Jason Richardson won the NBA dunking contest the following week. If he had sunk just one of those monster dunks in the game, they would have won.
We watched the Super Bowl on television. This is an annual celebration by the advertising industry of their ability to make ads that are more interesting than even the best NFL teams. The ads were excellent, but the pre-game show was even better. The theme seemed to be “Isn’t the US constitution wonderful?”, although the relevance of that to a football game was unclear to the Uninitiated. We were treated to a re-enactment of the Founding Fathers drafting the Declaration of Independence. As the actor impersonating John Hancock doodled his quill, the company shouted “Huzzah!”
We were then treated to a parade of black NFL stars talking about how wonderful the original Constitution was. Someone seems to have forgotten to tell them that it did not extend to giving rights to black people. Perhaps they were reading their play books the day that was covered in American History.
The show got better as a series of Southern Presidents (Clinton, Carter, Bush Sr and Nancy Reagan) extolled the virtues of Abraham Lincoln and how wonderful it was that he declared war on the states that they represent. Richard Nixon was not present; perhaps he doesn’t like Abe.
The game started. Then it was half-time. This was the cue for an aging Liverpudlian and a bunch of Irish poseurs to sing to us about how great it is to be an American. Paul McCartney showed that his lyrical prowess (“Freedom. Talking ‘bout freedom. Yeah, freedom. Talking ‘bout freedom.”) extends to sporting analysis (“What about those Patriots? I mean, c’mon guys”). He also dueted with one of the commentators singing Hard Days’ Night, and getting the words wrong. The man’s genius knows no limits.
The game ended. The Patriots won, in keeping with the pre-game theme. Everyone was happy except the Rams, who felt it was unPatriotic to complain about their narrow loss. The ads were good, with cute hamsters and a deadly robot refrigerator, a good outcome for the ad industry. The final score was NFL 1, ad industry 2.
The Winter Olympics are very big here, especially if you are a Canadian. In the absence of any Americans to cheer for other than in non-sports like snowboarding, the local media enthusiastically embraced the cause of the Canadian figure skating team. For a while it appeared that a nuclear strike might be launched on Lausanne, but disaster was averted by the fact that everyone suddenly realized that they couldn’t give a toss. They then turned their attention to the Enron scandal, much to Dick Cheney’s discomfort. I have missed the most significant moments of the Winter Olympics: the brave Aussie lad who won a gold medal for being the least legless in the speed skating final (“Oh no” screamed the headlines here – although the winner didn’t crack a mention), and of course The Ice Dream. I guess I’ll have to wait for the DVD of Roy and HG’s take on ice dancing and biathlon. (Quote from the Daily Show – “The après ski here is fantastic. By midnight everyone in the village is a biathlete, if you know what I mean”).
The kids have finally started school. That fact that we were here was Insufficient Evidence to permit the local state schools to provide their mandatory secondary education. We had to furnish proof that we live in the school’s area by providing a Pacific Gas and Electric bill. This is a giggle, as parts of PG&E are in chapter 11, and the rest is being sued by the State of California. Oh and we also had to prove that we had cable TV.
We also had to prove the boys’ immunizations were up to date. This was a big problem with my younger son, as the Australian and USA schedules are out of sync and he had no Hep B shots. Rather than countenance him being stuck at home for three months, my wife resorted to the negotiating tactic known as Bursting Into Tears. In record time, it was discovered that immunization is against our religion and we only had to sign this waiver that the registrar had forgotten about and she could enroll him. He started the next day.
We have move into a new apartment and spent the last few weeks furnishing and equipping it. Have you ever entered one of those raffles where the prize is a huge shopping spree, and wondered what it would be like? The answer is, it sucks. Shopping for hours every night after work was one of the most exhausting and marriage-straining activities ever devised. We discovered that it is indeed possible to Have An Argument over the shape of the hand grip on the lemon zester.
In the process we discovered that EVERYTHING is expensive in America, except computers (yay). I have developed a defence mechanism where, instead of gasping, I quickly look away from the invoice and pretend it’s in Australian dollars.
The Americans have invented a new form of credit squeeze where they ignore your 25-years of good credit standing in your country of origin and pretend that you are some kind of new-born ET on arrival. I used to think it quite amusing that, having been a manager at a bank for the last 12 years, seeing such pillars of the community as mobile phone salesmen, car dealers, and pimply checkout tellers refusing my money because I am a credit risk. The Novelty Value has now worn off, and I am beginning to wonder why the country that invented nearly all of the technologies used to support global ecommerce is incapable of implementing a system where they can enquire on your overseas history.
We have now settled in, with a car and an apartment and the kids at school and all that. I still empathise greatly with Dick and the gang from 3rd Rock, as we continue to feel somewhat alien.
A nice lady, on hearing the other day that my wife is from Australia, complimented her on her English. We still have a fair way to go.
I pinch myself daily and am now convinced that I am actually here. This is how it happened.
To ensure that I would be recognized at the airport, I caught a Nasty Chest Infection just prior to departure. (Alert readers will recall that I presented for my job interview with one). This had the added benefit of allowing me to perform the Valuable Public Service of making sure that no-one on the plane missed any of the in-flight movies, by hacking, wheezing and barking for 17 hours straight. The pressurized cabin and the non-stop turbulence combined to make the flight a memorable experience.
In line with the recently-discovered need for airline security, we had all of our bags searched before boarding in Melbourne. The security guard searching my son’s suitcases was very kind to ignore the numerous Invaluable Backup Copies of various film and musical works stored therein. He also ignored the scissors packed there, which I thought interesting.
At both Melbourne and Sydney, we were subjected to the indignity of having our shoes searched. This is entirely understandable. As any parent knows, a teenage boy’s sneakers are a prime source of Biological Terrorism. It chanced that my younger son’s shoes tested positive. Apparently he had the temerity to Walk In The Park, picking up traces of fertilizer that set off the machine. He was waved through, despite our offer to have him Locked Up On Suspicion Of Being A Terrorist until he agreed to clean his shoes occasionally.
On arrival in San Francisco we were greeted by our Relocation Consultant, an Amazon called Nikki. We had made several conjectures as to what Nikki would look like, having only dealt with her on the phone. We got her skin colour, hair colour, sex and nationality correct. When asked whether we predicted that she would be six foot tall, I gently pointed out to her that, as I had only spoken to her when she was sitting down, it was difficult to estimate her height.
Nikki had acquired a Typical American Vehicle called a Ford Enormous (or such-like) to transport us and our bags. This piece of Real Estate on wheels could only be mounted with the aid of a Sherpa. Despite this, we could only just fit us and our cases in. So much for traveling light!
Nikki spent the next three days showing us the joys of Contra Costa County and introducing us to our temporary apartment, my new workplace and other exciting things. I was particularly impressed by the armed guard at the Social Security Office, whose sole function appeared to be to greet new arrivals and tell them which queue to stand in. Dangerous work!
Contra Costa is 90% freeway and the rest is made up of Starbucks, Borders and Jamba Juice outlets. We were temporarily located in the hamlet of San Ramon, as distinct from San Mateo, San Diego, San Juan, San Raphael, San Francisco, San Bernardino, San Simeon etc. Our apartment was in a complex called Promontory View, which was pretty impressive given that we were about 50 miles from any promontory I could think of. This was just off Deer Hill Rd, which should not be confused with Deer Hill Avenue, Deer Hill Drive, Deer Hill Court or Deer Hill Place, all of which seemed to intersect thereabouts.
On the third day, Nikki was generous enough to offer me my first opportunity to drive in America (but not in her car – she’s Not That Dumb). My family was given the choice of riding with me or Nikki. My wife did her duty, but you may guess where my Ingrate Children chose to ride. My gratitude to Nikki was tempered somewhat by the fact that the drive would be on the freeway in peak hour, in pouring rain, with visibility of about minus three feet. Despite this I heroically managed to arrive at my destination in one piece, with no more than four attempts to drive on the left hand side of the road, all of which I cunningly disguised to look like they were intentional left turns. On arrival, Nikki appraised my performance by telling me I needed to find my accelerator.
I was aware that Americans drive on the Wrong Side Of The Road, but I was not aware that they also drive on the Wrong Side Of The Light Switch, the Wrong Side Of The Power Point, and the Wrong Side Of The Toilet Flush.
For the first 3 days I went around our apartment flipping the light switch down and cursing my Progeny for Leaving The Lights On. After a while I realized that it was me that was leaving them on. I was also bemused by the Americans’ penchant for putting the switch for a power point on a wall on the other side of the room. When I saw a switch next to a power point I would turn it on, only to have the garbage disposal in the kitchen fire up. But the most horrifying experience is that American toilets fill up when you flush them, not empty. Eeew! I finally understand the passion underlying the Great Toilet Seat Controversy, and am totally on the ladies’ side.
My youngest son took 15 ohnomoments to become a Cable TV Addict. Barely had we found the master bedroom than he had became a lifelong fan of Spongebob Squarepants, Daria, Beat The Geeks and Whose Line Is It Anyway. We invested many remedial hours and have now converted him into watching virtuous fare such as Battlebots (robots fighting, in weight divisions, that look scarier than Mike Tyson and Mr T combined) 24 (Kiefer Sutherland having done to him what moviegoers have wanted to do for years) and The Daily Show (a worthy evening news program “More important sounding words, more important sounding theme music, more titles that stretch and blur across the screen, and more US flags than ever before”). We are also watching Masterpiece Theatre, which always gives me a giggle, as I flash back to my Sesame Street-watching days. “Good Evening. I’m Alistair J Cookie, and this is Monsterpiece Theatre.”
My wife and I succumbed to pressure and bought an X Box for the kids Christmas Present. This was an Out And Out Bribe, and worth it to farewell the loathsome Spongebob. Despite my fears (and hopes) it is not some pornographic sex aid, but a boring ugly looking thing that plays computer games. Apparently it has Much More Disk Space, and can Redraw Vector Polygons Faster than the Playstation 2. So there. The games for this device cost a king’s ransom, so the kids at least have something to spend their pocket money on, which is one less thing to organise.
I have been banned from playing with the X Box, because my controller technique is Too Violent and will Wreck The Joystick. Instead I have been getting my technology jollies from my own indulgence – a thing called a Tivo. This has replaced our VCR, and is the only possible way of making sense of the approximately 7,000 cable channels we have available to us. It can hold 30 hours of digitally recorded programs, which you record by name, not time. It interfaces with the internet and your cable connection, and works out what is coming up on all channels. I regularly Enrage The Children by commandeering the TV to surf the Tivo catalog to see if anything I’m interested is on anywhere (it always is – somewhere). The box can be told to record all episodes, or only new ones, or all films with a certain actor in them, etc. I am in love. (Sorry dear).
In mid-January I reported to work. I was given an Office (no cubicles seemed to be available) with a view of the hills, and the freeway, and the BART station. And the hotel over the road. Oh well. I set about making myself useful, and am hopeful that one day soon that will actually occur. Although I have Several Irons In The Fire, none of them has caught fire yet (perhaps because they are iron). A colleague who was hired at the same time as me was recently sent back to Australia because there was No Work, which managed to get my attention in record time. I have since set about making myself Likeable and Indispensable, which is difficult as these are not life skills that I possess, being a natural Curmudgeon.
Since arrival, the California weather has been by-our-lady COLD. Most days when I go off to walk to the station there is ice on everything and even the squirrels are wearing gloves, or driving. I have been dressing in 3 or 4 layers, plus lined gloves. Even then, I only warm up when I have my fifth cup of coffee after arriving at work. As we edge closer to Spring, the weather is improving – it now just rains every day. Did someone say “Welcome To Sunny California”?
Walking to the station is helping me to lose a little weight, as is the fact that my jaw is Frozen Shut for half the day. Unfortunately I make a Stirring Comeback in the Second Half, assisted by the cut-price chocolate bars that my new employer kindly leaves lying in temptation’s way. I can resist anything except temptation.
As part of my research on your behalf, I and my family have been testing the local’s nutritional performance, rating them in the five major food groups: chocolate, beer, pizza, biscuits and coffee.
It is compulsory in the State of California for all chocolate bars to contain peanut butter. The Hershey Company, especially, sells a vast range of chocolate that essentially boils down to milk chocolate, with peanut butter, and sundry other bits tossed in as a branding exercise. It is possible to buy Lindt chocolate here, but the Coffee flavour has proved elusive to date, which is a national scandal. San Francisco has its own brand of chocolate, Ghirardelli, which is a creditable effort but ultimately fails because it does not have Lindt written on the packet.
American retailers are very slow to restock their chocolate shelves. As all Australians know, December 27th is the day that the first Easter Eggs start appearing in the shops. While the Americans tolerate a distraction called Valentine’s Day, I am concerned that, if the chocolate hearts do not make way for the chocolate eggs soon, a significant marketing opportunity may be lost.
Incidentally, a measure of how BIG Valentine’s Day is here may be found in the Chinese Restaurants. This year, Valentine’s Day falls the day after Chinese New Year. On February 13th we went to the local Chinese Restaurant to catch the New Year spirit. The restaurant had no Chinese New Year menu whatsoever – but there was a lovers’ special banquet for the next day.
It is well known that beer is not served in the USA. I have observed Fosters on the shelves in supermarkets, but no Australian I know will drink that swill and I do not intend to start. I have noted a beer in a green can labeled Fosters Bitter and am wondering if this is my beloved VB, perchance. Does anyone know? Help! I encountered my favourite Americanism in the same supermarket, when the spruiker enjoined us to rush over to the wine section and check out their range of Chardonnays and Shiantis.
Although beer is not served, it is possible to find draught Guinness. My local Mexican cantina/bar/pool room has it. It is well known that one cannot drink a pint of Guinness solo because the calories are not shared, leading to weight gain. I therefore need a drinking buddy, but somehow Guinness in a Mexican cantina seems as if it should be illegal somewhere.
American pizza is frighteningly expensive. A small pizza costs the equivalent of $AU 20 or more. After my initial horror, I worked out that this is due to red tape and compliance costs. You see, pizzas here are built vertically, with each pizza taking at least three stories. Medium sized pizzas or larger require a local building permit, which contributes to overall costs. The sight of a small pizza that a hungry teenage boy cannot finish is worth the price of entry, I feel.
American biscuits are shameful, despite their claim to fame as the originator of the Oreo. Is it Too Much To Ask to get a halfway-decent savoury biscuit that is adequately Bad For You? All one seems to find are kiddywink efforts like Goldfish, or disgusting dredge like Ryvita. Where are the Crispy Bacons, the Savoury Shapes and the Barbecue Shapes, I would Like To Know? They do have Chicken In A Biscuit, but they taste like chicken, which is Totally Wrong. And please, no-one mention Mint Slices or Tim Tams, lest you see a grown man cry.
Coffee is not sold in the USA, only Starbucks. Starbucks is brown liquid with caramel, ginger, cinnamon marzipan, nougat, ice and/or egg nog added to it. Any relationship to coffee is accidental. They do sell a Long Black, but they call it an Americana for the sake of Political Correctness (“Huh? You want Michael Jordan?”). I refuse to order it under that name and am hence suffering from massive caffeine withdrawal, which I am addressing by eating too much chocolate.
My wife and I got our driving licenses, so we are now officially Global Menaces. We took delivery of Our New Car on my wife’s birthday. (How’s that for a present! Well done Greg! ). It is a big black ugly Chevy Trailblazer SUV. This is a Toorak Tractor that will never see a dirt road. One of the main advantages is that you never have to wash it – the filthier it looks, the more cred you get with the neighbours. It is also easy to spot in a Car Park – it is the only car that doesn’t have the Stars And Stripes attached to it in some manner.
(On a serious note, you have to be here to realize the extent of feeling stirred up in the USA by Sep 11. Apart from the visual displays of patriotism on every windscreen, shop window and hillside, it is impossible to avoid reference to it, even six months later. Every news article, every sports show, every film review, every comedy show I have seen feels obliged to refer to it, even when it is totally irrelevant to the subject matter. This has been a deeply scarifying event here).
We took the opportunity to take in an NBA game to see which of the Phoenix Suns and the Golden State Warriors suck the most in the Western Conference. The Warriors got off to a flying start (which we missed while we queued for dinner) and then proceeded to spend the second half trying to find ways to lose. With two seconds to go their plans looked to be unstuck when they hit the front, but they came up with the clever defensive ploy of leaving the Suns’ only Olympian, Penny Hardaway, open next to the basket with a second to go. Penny scored and the Suns sucked less by one point. Warrior defender Bob Sura commented after the game “I lost him for a second”. BTW, the Warrior’s Jason Richardson won the NBA dunking contest the following week. If he had sunk just one of those monster dunks in the game, they would have won.
We watched the Super Bowl on television. This is an annual celebration by the advertising industry of their ability to make ads that are more interesting than even the best NFL teams. The ads were excellent, but the pre-game show was even better. The theme seemed to be “Isn’t the US constitution wonderful?”, although the relevance of that to a football game was unclear to the Uninitiated. We were treated to a re-enactment of the Founding Fathers drafting the Declaration of Independence. As the actor impersonating John Hancock doodled his quill, the company shouted “Huzzah!”
We were then treated to a parade of black NFL stars talking about how wonderful the original Constitution was. Someone seems to have forgotten to tell them that it did not extend to giving rights to black people. Perhaps they were reading their play books the day that was covered in American History.
The show got better as a series of Southern Presidents (Clinton, Carter, Bush Sr and Nancy Reagan) extolled the virtues of Abraham Lincoln and how wonderful it was that he declared war on the states that they represent. Richard Nixon was not present; perhaps he doesn’t like Abe.
The game started. Then it was half-time. This was the cue for an aging Liverpudlian and a bunch of Irish poseurs to sing to us about how great it is to be an American. Paul McCartney showed that his lyrical prowess (“Freedom. Talking ‘bout freedom. Yeah, freedom. Talking ‘bout freedom.”) extends to sporting analysis (“What about those Patriots? I mean, c’mon guys”). He also dueted with one of the commentators singing Hard Days’ Night, and getting the words wrong. The man’s genius knows no limits.
The game ended. The Patriots won, in keeping with the pre-game theme. Everyone was happy except the Rams, who felt it was unPatriotic to complain about their narrow loss. The ads were good, with cute hamsters and a deadly robot refrigerator, a good outcome for the ad industry. The final score was NFL 1, ad industry 2.
The Winter Olympics are very big here, especially if you are a Canadian. In the absence of any Americans to cheer for other than in non-sports like snowboarding, the local media enthusiastically embraced the cause of the Canadian figure skating team. For a while it appeared that a nuclear strike might be launched on Lausanne, but disaster was averted by the fact that everyone suddenly realized that they couldn’t give a toss. They then turned their attention to the Enron scandal, much to Dick Cheney’s discomfort. I have missed the most significant moments of the Winter Olympics: the brave Aussie lad who won a gold medal for being the least legless in the speed skating final (“Oh no” screamed the headlines here – although the winner didn’t crack a mention), and of course The Ice Dream. I guess I’ll have to wait for the DVD of Roy and HG’s take on ice dancing and biathlon. (Quote from the Daily Show – “The après ski here is fantastic. By midnight everyone in the village is a biathlete, if you know what I mean”).
The kids have finally started school. That fact that we were here was Insufficient Evidence to permit the local state schools to provide their mandatory secondary education. We had to furnish proof that we live in the school’s area by providing a Pacific Gas and Electric bill. This is a giggle, as parts of PG&E are in chapter 11, and the rest is being sued by the State of California. Oh and we also had to prove that we had cable TV.
We also had to prove the boys’ immunizations were up to date. This was a big problem with my younger son, as the Australian and USA schedules are out of sync and he had no Hep B shots. Rather than countenance him being stuck at home for three months, my wife resorted to the negotiating tactic known as Bursting Into Tears. In record time, it was discovered that immunization is against our religion and we only had to sign this waiver that the registrar had forgotten about and she could enroll him. He started the next day.
We have move into a new apartment and spent the last few weeks furnishing and equipping it. Have you ever entered one of those raffles where the prize is a huge shopping spree, and wondered what it would be like? The answer is, it sucks. Shopping for hours every night after work was one of the most exhausting and marriage-straining activities ever devised. We discovered that it is indeed possible to Have An Argument over the shape of the hand grip on the lemon zester.
In the process we discovered that EVERYTHING is expensive in America, except computers (yay). I have developed a defence mechanism where, instead of gasping, I quickly look away from the invoice and pretend it’s in Australian dollars.
The Americans have invented a new form of credit squeeze where they ignore your 25-years of good credit standing in your country of origin and pretend that you are some kind of new-born ET on arrival. I used to think it quite amusing that, having been a manager at a bank for the last 12 years, seeing such pillars of the community as mobile phone salesmen, car dealers, and pimply checkout tellers refusing my money because I am a credit risk. The Novelty Value has now worn off, and I am beginning to wonder why the country that invented nearly all of the technologies used to support global ecommerce is incapable of implementing a system where they can enquire on your overseas history.
We have now settled in, with a car and an apartment and the kids at school and all that. I still empathise greatly with Dick and the gang from 3rd Rock, as we continue to feel somewhat alien.
A nice lady, on hearing the other day that my wife is from Australia, complimented her on her English. We still have a fair way to go.
Trust me, I won't feel unfree to ask just about anything.