… and Other Truths about A Poor and Sodden Nation There are many good reasons that ignorant Americans give to never leave America. Amuuuurrr-ick-cuh’s the best cunt-tree in the whole wide world. Why should I go anywhere’s else? Well, really that boils it down doesn’t it? The truth is, after living three years in one…
Category: Not America
There is life and it exists, outside America. Duh.
Having a Fit in America
by
Having landed safely and been released through Homeland Security, it all begs the first burning question: What is the first thing you buy in the Land of Capitalism after living in Europe for three years? That’s right. A car. Tainted by the foolish, small-car-ways of European car makers (they invented something called a “SmartCar” for…
The Bell Ringers of Westminster Abbey
by
Aimee came to visit me and, so, I did what I do when people come to visit… I made plans. Came across a listing in Time Out London magazine (the website is useful, but nothing beats the actual publication… it is original, poignant and catches the exact tone of London’s edge. Not just a calendar.)…
Those Pesky Rose-Coloured Lenses
by
My good friend, disgruntled commuter has been having a hard time these days being disgruntled of late. I know the feeling. I was out, with a friend at a gallery. We were talking loudish (comparatively, as Americans are wont to do) about the American-themed exhibit, when behold, a stranger. “So,” he said on his distinctly…
Christmas Trees in London
by
Christmas in London is here… though it isn’t quite what I am used to from home in Iowa. This weekend, my sister and her family (and likely my parents too) are out on the hunt for their Christmas tree. They do it the way you see in old movies: out to tree farms in their…
A London Underground Poster
by
Or… Life, Waiting to Happen On the Piccadilly platform at South Kensington, I wondered. Which work is more meaningless? a. The (nearly) blank poster box, pictured here. b. The person whose job it is to make a sign that says “Awaiting Posters”? This is not to say that meaningless work is useless work. Ironing is…
Zen and the Art of Temping
by
If you are wondering what a little slice of hell is, it’s this: being in the office, as a temp, and having the person you are replacing show up, unannounced. Then having her say: May I have a hanger please? as she stares at your coat on the rack with disdain. Then having her say:…
Eat Your Greens!
by
So you are tired of your tree? Sick of all the WATERING? All the pouring of water, the dampening of soil, and the decreasing of naturally dry dirt surface area bringing you down? Are you just too poncy and lazy to water your plants, and nothing else? Getting carpral tunnel from lifting a water jug…
Bonfire Night
by
We stood at least 15, maybe 20 feet away from the flames. Yet it flung heat at us without trying. Hot on our faces, on the leather of our coats, on the woven threads in our blue jeans. The rubber in our shoes braced itself, ready in case it were forced, by the heat, to…
Days of Wine and Dial-up
by
Seems like just yesterday I was hanging upside-down from the arm of the sofa, reaching into the mass of cords behind our computer, to unplug and plug the phone cord. Seems like only a day or two ago, I was tapping my foot, watching that little bar in the bottom right hand corner slowly fill…
Different
by
One Afghani mini-cab driver said in Time Out this week that what surprised him the most when he arrived in London was that “so many people here aren’t white. “I thought that all the men going to work would have the round hat and a stick. (Londoners) have learnt certain attitudes, that have a certain…
Fruitstock Juices Us
by
Colin and I were lured by the people streaming through Regent’s Park. I told Frances “it looked like the Trail of Tears, with strollers and picnics.” Colin and I were heading home, from a missed attempt at the Marylebone Farmer’s Market when we stumbled on this. The thing I really like about Innocent Juices product…
The Black Hole
by
Socks. Keys, sometimes. Requests at a restaurant for a lemon in your water or a side of extra sauce that just never arrive. We all know where these things go. They go into this dark place. Well, if you live here, in the United Kingdom, and you move from one flat to another, your request…
Crikey! Cricket!
by
Just when I thought it MIGHT be safe to go to work at the pub again. Nawp. Sure every other pub in town is sighing with relief at the death of England in the World Cup, but not in this neighborhood. Things are just getting HOT here, and when I say HOT, we aren’t joking.…
5-7 Units
by
I’d like to stop. I’m not addicted. I don’t have to have it. The problem is, I don’t, technically, have to give it up yet. No zygote. No pregnancy. No excuse. So why say ‘no’ to just one glass? Just one pint? Just one dram? Sigh. And one, plus one, plus one and, well it’s…
