The Olympic [Countdown]

Hi everyone! I am back from a week in south Ireland with The Irishman's family (post on the week away coming soon) – and I'm relaxed and rejuvenated. I wasn't in such a great shape on my way out the door for the holiday; some house stuff and work stuff piled up and I literally had to slam my computer shut and run out of the office to make the train to my plane. I had grand plans to post about the Olympic build up in London for you all, but time didn't allow for it and now the security crisis and transport fears and weather woes have largely all been surpassed by a sense of optimism, excitement, and goodwill in London. Okay there are a few new scandals like Mitt Romney putting his foot in it and empty seats in a lot of venues but overall the feel in the city is one of excitement about the Olympics. Even I, a pretty big sports curmudgeon, am thrilled that we got tickets – even if it's to Beach Volleyball (those are our tickets above). But rather than recap the news any more, I'll leave you with a few photos I've been collecting of London all dressed up for its big game. 

But actually, first: watch this video. Boris has been the main man over the last few weeks, and here he doesn't disappoint. Enjoy!

Pizza on a roof

Friday night, The Irishman and I drowned our house sorrows in pizza and wine at one of London's newest pop-ups, Forza Win. I think I've mentioned before that The Irishman's two favorite things in life are pizza and ice cream, so when he heard about Forza Win he jumped right in and got us two seats. It's a good thing as tickets are sold out now.

 The concept is pretty simple: pizza on a rooftop in Shoreditch, straight out of a homemade brick oven.

Unfortunately, due to the recent weather, we didn't get to eat on the roof; instead we had tables set up in an alternate inside space inside the building. But no matter – it was still pizza!

The weather held off long enough for us to have our cocktails on the roof though, so we got to admire the view of the East London skyline, mingle and meet the other guests, and ask questions about the pizza oven. I was gutted that it was so wet I couldn't sit in the bumper car. It was literally filled with water.

Tickets to the event obviously include the pizza, but also a welcome cocktail – an Aperol spritz. This drink happens to be my favorite cocktail of the moment, perfect for a hot summers day (or a cloudy cold summers day if you want to fake it). 

As the sun started to set and the temperatures started to cool down, we headed inside for the main event: pizza. As it's a pop up supper club, you sit at communal tables and share the pizzas. We sat with a few couples and a group, and had a few vegetarians which meant more meat pizza for us! One of the main meat ingredients was a chorizo-type sausage called andouille (I think) – hot and spicy and amazing.

As the meal went on, though, the conversation started to turn slightly odd. One of the women sitting across from me started to heavily criticize America and Americans to the couple sitting beside her. Now. I am not a thin-skinned person, nor am I particularly gung-ho on the USA. As an American who lives abroad, I frequently criticize my homeland myself, find typical American habits to be grating and often apologize to my foreign colleagues for the blithely offensive actions of our New York office. But listening to someone else, a stranger, sound off about Americans right infront of me – definitely within earshot – got my hackles up bigtime.

When she finally addressed me and The Irishman, she made a few pointed remarks about the USA and proclaimed me to be acceptable when I told her where in the States I was from. I disengaged from the conversation pretty quickly at that point, and it sort of soured the rest of the evening for me.

Which is a shame, because we were also treated to a set from a band called Shields from Newcastle. They were set to open for Bruce Springsteen at Hard Rock Calling in Hyde Park later in the weekend, and were really fantastic. As we were actually in the offices of a film production company, naturally the band's performance was being shot for a video.

I have to say that I've never really been that annoyed by someone America bashing, but something about the setting of this interaction saddened me. Maybe because pizza is such an American food, despite being cooked Neopolitan-style at Forza Win; I mean, we wouldn't be having pizza pop up restaurants if Americans hadn't normalized the idea of eating pizza. Maybe because I'm so quick to defend my decision to live abroad while being jealous of the 100°F heatwave hitting the East Coast yet hating the fact that I'm wearing the same outfit I wore in February only it's July. Maybe it's because the longer I live away, the more I realize that nationalistic segregations and stereotypes are barriers to truly understanding people. And maybe, finally, it's because hearing some lady punter verbalize opinions that are so close to my own actually reinforced for me the reality that the US has a lot of work to do to repair its image in the world; the work is far from over on that regard, and as much we Americans still want to believe we are somehow more evolved than other nationalities, it's simply just not true.

And actually, I have to say that one of her comments was very very apt: she was astounded that the US was exporting so many bright, articulate, and interesting people... and she wondered why the US wasn't doing enough to keep them. Which is a pretty fascinating comment – I mean, why isn't America doing more to keep its brainpower within its borders? I don't particularly want to move back, nor do many of my expat friends. So maybe the truth of it is that her comments hit far too close to home.

At any rate, if you can get there, check out Forza Win: the pizzas are great, the spritzes are authentic, the bands are fantastic, and the conversation is nothing less than stimulating.

The Diamond Jubilee weekend

 

I'm sitting on the sofa watching the Queen's Jubilee Concert, arguing with The Irishman over whether The Beatles originally sang Live and Let Die (I was sort of right, it was Wings) and thought it was the right time to update you all on the Diamond Jubilee festivities thus far. That's me above, with my face through a placard in Victoria Station and it pretty much sums up the weekend: flags, buntings, and Corgis galore.

It started Friday on my walk to work. The pub above is my local, where I had my 30th birthday party, getting ready for the onslaught of the coming festivities. It cheered me up and set the stage for the rest of the holiday weekend.

When I got to work, bunting and chalk drawings greeted me. Can you see the theme yet?

We spent Saturday out in East London at a music festival (a post about that later), but Sunday was devoted to the Jubilee flotilla. We decided to go down to the riverside near Tate Britain, and try to find a spot near a large screen. This is what we saw when we met up with friends at a pub near the Pimlico tube station.

And here is what we saw on our way to finding a viewing spot:

The screens were great, as you got to see all of the goings-on down river in Chelsea Harbour where the royal party was boarding their respective watercraft. When the Duchess of Cambridge came on screen for the first time, a massive cheer went up and the flags went wild. All around me I heard "She's gooooorgeous!" A lesser cheer went up for Charles and Camilla. But of course, the biggest cheer of all went up for the Queen.

And then the flotilla procession began. I had to stand on tip toes, but when I did I could glimpse Kate in her bright red dress and get a good view of the royal barge. It was pretty special. 

The rain started not long after the Queen sailed past, so we decamped to a pub near Victoria Station. This is Elizabeth Street.

We sat outside a street party table, with lovely flower arrangements that reflected the flowers of the British nations.

And some unfortunate spelling on lovely decorative bread. 

In Victoria Station, this cheeky sign was a brilliant symbol of the mood of everyone in the city - despite the weather.

Today we went to Oxford Street, and Regent Street was decked out with bunting and flags.

Carnaby Street of course had a more eccentric take on the Union Jack.

And then we had lunch in Chinatown, where the Union Jack hung next to the Chinese flag across the neighborhood.

Even the drag queens were celebrating, with confetti and balloons during an outdoor concert.

And of course, there was the Jubilee concert this evening in front of Buckingham Palace. It was surprisingly emotional, with Prince Charles calling the Queen "Mummy" and the Queen breaking into a smile as her subjects cheered and clapped for her. But the festivities aren't over; tomorrow there is a service at St Paul's Cathedral and procession down The Mall. I don't think we'll try to attend any of those celebrations as the weather will be crap again, and I want to take advantage of some of the Jubilee sales that are flooding the high streets.

I remarked to The Irishman that I felt sort of weird after yesterday, standing for hours in the rain to crane my neck for a glimpse of a monarch that technically isn't mine. I mean, I'm a native of a country that defined itself by rejecting the British royal family and rule; The Irishman's people were persecuted for centuries and tried to kill the Queen. Yet we both found the Jubilee celebrations to be wonderfully moving displays that we were more than happy to join. The Irishman thought that it was a testament to the Queen's ability to bring people together and lead in such a way that helped mend differences. I think that the Queen is a lovely grandmother sort who has mellowed so much since I moved to the UK. 

There was a lovely piece of footage during tonight's concert that summed up how I see the Queen: in it, she is examining soldiers standing to attention - including William. As she passes him, he cracks a smile and then straightens his face but not before she pauses a moment and smiles herself. That shared look of love through duty is what I've come to see of the Queen in my four years of living in the UK. A lot of articles have been written about the Queen over the last few weeks, many (if not most) of them positively praising her influence on the world and the UK, but I've found the personal portraits the most fascinating. Here is a woman who completely dedicated her life to duty to the Realm, and had to adapt to some of the most changing situations in history. Sometimes she changed too slowly, but at this point, 60 years in, she's found an equilibrium that most of us dream to possess. Whether she likes it or, not, Diana was good for her and the family and you can see her influence in how the Queen treats her grandsons and her subjects.

I'm glad I got to experience the Jubilee, and all of the pomp and circumstance, even if every time I hear God Save the Queen I think of My Country, 'Tis of Thee. It's a special time for a special woman, who sets an example that all politicians around the world should study and heed.

Mail - e and real

One of the cool things about living in London as an American is that when you go to bed, the US has their whole evening ahead of them - which means that when you wake up, there are oftentimes fun treats in your email inbox from your American friends. Yippee!

Or, there can slightly uncomfortable emails in your inbox like the one I got today from my dad saying my he read my real mail and my US bank account balance was overdrawn. I have a student loan that I pay on monthly direct debits from my US account, and periodically send myself some cash - when I remember. So I'm not sure which is worse - my dad reading my mail, or my dad finding out I'm slightly disorganized in life enough that I forget to send myself money on a regular basis. Sigh.

Blogger Kristina wrote an apt post about how being an expat involves 2x as much paperwork as just being a "normal" citizen, and sometimes I think I got a bad roll of the dice to have lived in the two most paperwork-intensive countries in the world. Although Jon might remind me that I'm lucky to not have to deal with French redtape, it is weird to realize that I actually maintain 6 bank accounts. SIX. For one girl. Sheesh.

And wherever you live, it's really easy to get caught up in day-to-day life and forget about paperwork - bills, renewals, forms, etc etc etc - that's why there are wonderful things like direct debits and automatic payments. But multiply all of that by 2... and combine the fact that my job is pretty much all admin... I'm suffering from admin overload!

And of course there is that pesky "permanent address" issue that I'm sure all expats face - where does all of that American mail GO? I'm lucky that my parents are kind enough to collect my mail and stack it up in a pile for me. Every so often they'll package it up and send it over, or if they are visiting they will bring it along. They didn't used to read it all, but after an incident when Citibank started changing all of their terms, and not telling anyone except by letter, they are doing what any good parent would do - read my mail. I suppose I'm okay with it; I suppose I have to be okay with it. They're gracious enough to take on some of my bloody admin, for which I am grateful. But it is weird - that's MY mail, and MY bank account, even if it only has $15 in it!

So I guess it is a good thing I have my dad opening my mail - now I just need to get over the embarrassment, and lack of privacy - of him finding out my innermost financial secrets. And I guess also grow up and get organized, stat, so I can stay on top of all of bank accounts and debits and various other annoying life necessities.

SUMMER IS HERE (NSFM)

People, it is edging to 80°F today and its amazing. I'm about to head out for the first mani-pedi of the year and I can't wait. British women seem to think it's okay to wander about the streets of London in flipflops and sandals sans painted toenails, and frankly it's been weirding me out. I'm by no means disgusted by feet - actually, I think they are really interesting as shapes and I used to draw my own feet a lot in art school - but in the summer, when you've got rad new sandals on, you need to paint your toenails. At least file them, and get rid of the nasty bits around them.

This is symptomatic of a great English/American divide in beauty treatments and maintenance. I'm probably going to get a lot of comments about this, probably of the not so pleasant kind, but it's been my observation that women in the UK tend to not be as fastidious about general beauty maintenance. Which is not really a bad thing - and it's much more suited to my style and wallet. But definitely there isn't as much regular waxing, nail painting, facialing, etc. Girls here do a lot more DIY (leg waxing in particular, which stymies me), and definitely finger nail polishing, and trendy girls will always be on top of the style and beauty treatments. But older women especially just sort of go au naturel.

I can't decide how I feel about this, whether I think good for them that they don't buy into the whole "must spend a lot to look good to feel good" routine - the beauty-industrial complex - or whether these ladies are just a bit more relaxed when it comes to standards of beauty. English women are seen sometimes as the frumpier amongst Europeans, lacking the style and poise and general elegance of their Continental sisters. But there is a bit of the salt-of-the-earth, Blitz-spirit, stubborn grace about British women that is beautiful in its own right. British women aren't manufactured or plastic like the way American women can sometimes look, and it's actually sort of nice to see errant eyebrows every so often.

While I admire the way British beauty is often fresh and natural, I am still American and frankly resistant to change. I might go a bit longer between waxings here than I did in NYC, but I still moisturize everything every day and I cannot abide by summer toes showing unpolished. So excuse me, but there is an Asian nail parlor waiting for me.

PS: NSFM = Not Safe For Men.

Whoa nelly!

As my roommate said yesterday, the country is going to pot! We don't have a government, Gordon Brown has resigned, and to top it off BA's cabin crews are going on strike again! FFS PEOPLE. You'd think this country was a backwards nation of eccentrics. Oh, wait a minute.

Anyway. I find all of the election shakedown to be extremely interesting. The fact that this nation hasn't had a clear winner of an election for over 35 years is causing a total uproar, and the best part of the whole mess is that politicians are now blaming the voters: "The reality is that the voters chose not to give any party a majority so it's our moral duty to form a government based on their mandate". Excuuuuuse me! Well well well!

As negotiations for both the government and the flag carrier progress, I'm struck again by the fact that frankly, day-to-day life carries on just the same as usual. Politicians love to pretend they're integral to the process of living, but frankly, they're only really good for moderately funny entertainment. If that's all they're worth, then I'd vote David Dimbleby for Prime Minister over any of them any day.

Two years!

I have been called flaky in my time and it is pretty true, but I think this takes the cake: I forgot my own 2 year anniversary in London. Sheesh! Maybe that's because it took place whileI was running across the Stonehenge Downs, cursing every incline. But the fact that it did slip my mind is a pretty big sign that I'm so comfortable here in London, and in the UK, and that I'm quite happy in my skin here. It's funny - ever since I graduated from college, I've spent exactly two years in a city - just enough time to decide it wasn't for me - and then upped sticks and moved on. From New York to Philly back to New York and then on to London, surely it should be time for me to consider another change? But far from it - I'm more at home here, and looking to get more cosy, than I have ever felt in any other city. Le sigh.

The last year since I celebrated year 1 has been pretty intense. I've learned a lot about myself, my place in the world, and how I look at my future. Notice I say learned: learned doesn't mean changed, and it's been such an amazing process of identifying things about myself that I didn't realize or understand until now, when removed from my natural habitat, that I'm only starting to figure out how to use these learnings to change for the better. It is funny, though, to think that the types of things I'm discovering are only becoming apparent because I'm living in another culture. I wonder how many years (and hours of therapy!) it would have taken for me to understand myself had I stayed in New York (or the US).

But despite all of this personal growth and understanding, there is still so much for me to do for myself to make sure that I'm taking advantage of my opportunity to live here. It is so easy for me to slip back into old patterns and habits, so I'm really trying hard not to beat myself up about them and confront them head-on instead. It's a really big step for me to acknowledge my weaknesses, and address them accordingly, but it's so necessary so that I can reach the next level in my life - so to speak. For a while I've been unhappy about so many things, and it's only up to me to change them - which means it's only up to me to gather the strength to do it.

Despite all of the me-me-me talk, The Irishman has been a big part of all this growth I've achieved over the last two years (including that of my waistline as he makes me homemade ice cream and roasts...). But I am so grateful to him every day for helping me assimilate to this crazy culture and country; I really don't know where I'd be today if I hadn't met him. It will also be our two year anniversary soon, and I have a special surprise in store for him. I can't say anything more because a) he reads this blog, and b) I'm really really rubbish at keeping surprises a secret (especially when I'm really excited about, and this one is super-awesome) so the more I say, the more of a chance he'll guess it. He probably has anyway, but let's all just help him keep the pretense up, shall we?

Candy Candy CANDY!!!!

A new shop called Cyber Candy just opened on Upper Street in Angel, and it is already doing a brisk trade. It sells import candy and junk food from the US and Japan, stocking such delicacies as Lucky Charms, PopTarts, and Mountain Dew at exorbitant prices - a 12 pack of Mountain Dew is £28 and a box of Lucky Charms is £6.50! PopTarts are a staggering £4.40! But beyond wildly expensive American candy, they also stock a wide selection of the amazing Japanese Kit-Kat variations and my personal favorite, Men's Pocky!

If you go, the shop is pretty much always mobbed with preteens (as all candy shops are), and be expected to freak out over how many old favorites they stock - DoubleBubble, Airheads, Lifesavers, Jolly Ranchers... I got particularly excited about Dark Chocolate Milky Ways. Warning: don't cause a scene like I did!

The shop is located on the west side of Upper Street just past the N1 Centre.

Post-Thanksgiving gut

So, I'm back in the UK after a week in the NY tristate area and may I say that I gained quite a few pounds (weight, not currency) and racked up a few credit card bills (too bad it IS currency!). I had a fabulous time in New York City seeing all mah peeps and loving the big city; within 24 hours of landing, I had seen a drug deal, a bunch of crackheads, two bankers cruising the streets sticking out of the sunroof of a limo, and a celebrity (John Krasinski) at my favorite coffee shop La Colombe. Perfect. I ate at some amazing restaurants - old favorites like Sala and Pastis, and new exciting finds like Hundred Acres, and definitely spent some time and money in CVS, JCrew and Anthropologie.

After three whirlwind days in the big city, I spent the rest of the week with my parents in NJ and continued to eat. This year we did a "big" Thanksgiving, with twice as more people than usual, and the raucous mayhem was actually really fun. Seeing my family only once a year is hard; we're pretty close and the time goes by way too fast. But like a dutiful child, I was definitely ready to get back on the plane on Saturday night and get back to my own life: I was sick of answering the same questions about what life is like in London and dodging answering the one about if I'd ever move back. The stock answer is "I don't know."

Overall, it was great to be back in the US even if it was only for a few days. It's so weird how you slip back into old habits without even thinking about them, like walking fast down the sidewalk and speaking quickly, and also how being abroad changes you inperceptibly. Probably the weirdest thing I experienced was the shock at hearing such American accents. Living abroad, you hear them so rarely that you sort of do a double take when you catch one, but then it blows your mind when you're in the US and around them all of the time. Don't even get me started on my aunt, uncle, and cousins' Texan accents!

So now I'm back in London, greeted by lashing rain and arctic temps, and feeling as happy that I'm here as I was to be in NYC. Thanksgiving is such a great holiday for reminding oneself of all of the excellent things going on in a person's life, and this year I was grateful for everything, and everyone, I have on both sides of the Atlantic. I think next year's New Year's resolutions are going to be about how to make sure I appreciate them more.

Americans vs Americans

Last night I was in Clapham, out on the town with some American friends who live south of the river. We were joined by some other American expats that they know, and at one point or another every single one of us said "Man, I hate Americans." We had a lively discussions about which tourists were worst (Germans seem to get a lot of votes), why Americans were so bloody loud, how embarrassing it was to be caught near them on the tube, and essentially "why are they so freaking annoying"?

It's a good question. There were five of us in the group, from all over the US - East Coast, West Coast, Midwest, Montana even. All in our late 20s/early 30s, liberal but just so, with family all over the US, we were all a bit overwhelmed by just how obnoxious Americans act when they leave the US. It makes one think, do we act like that at home, and no one notices because we're en masse, or do we just amplify it by having no social graces on our vacations in foreign lands?

The funny thing is, Americans are awesome. We don't take bs, we don't like waiting in lines, and if our Starbucks coffee is wrong we make the barista make it right. These are all virtuous qualities. But somehow, taken out of their natural environment, they grate on the ears and eyes of those accustomed to other cultures. Most tellingly, Western European cultures, while all different, don't grate on each other at all. Okay the English and the French love to hate one another, but sliding between Italy and France and France and Germany doesn't require that much in a mindset or behavior shift. Somehow the Atlantic Ocean divide gives Americans the freedom to say and do and behave how they like, and that's oh so apparent when they come east.

Thinking about it, I don't want Americans to change their ways. Our brash, opinionated, demanding selves make the US a pretty special place. But I would like to extend one little piece of advice to any American - especially groups of 13 year old girls liable to break out in song at any time - for goodness sake, TONE IT DOWN. English people will love you for it.

On vacations, and post-vacation-letdown-syndrome

Our trip was absolutely amazing. We saw and experienced so many things, together, that were awe-inspiring, funny, not-so-great, and just nice that we both returned to London thinking "Hey. I think you're even cuter than before." Most importantly, though, the Irishman and I both relaxed so much that we were ourselves in truly vibrant, rich, hypercolor: we left our London selves at Gatwick, grey ghosts, and regained our natural splendor on the shores of Croatia and in the bustling Italian food markets. It was a joy to behold and experience.

But holidays end. We were actually ready to go home; two weeks of dragging luggage on and off boats, trains, busses, and through city streets makes one pine a bit for a dresser and one's own bed. But after landing, the reality of routine in London was a bit too much to bear as I sat in the back of queuing taxi outside of London Bridge station. The end of a holiday makes me contemplative, much in the way that New Year's or a sobering news story might; I really felt like on my holiday I was a different person and that returning to London I had to go back to being someone else.

It was a bit of homesickness – the Irishman and I don't live together, so he left me at London Bridge to continue his journey home, and there was no one to great me at my flat on my return. No one to call and say "I'm home! It was great!" And the specter of going back to work in 18 hours reduced me to tears.

I don't know, yet, how to keep the vacation goodness with me post-return. I don't know, yet, how to change my day-to-day life to get it to resemble more of the joy I felt during holiday - and should I? I remember asking my dad once, when I was 5, why we couldn't have Christmas everyday (I feel like this was in reference to him saying we couldn't play the Sesame Street Christmas album anymore). His response was that if you had Christmas everyday, it wouldn't be special anymore - when it only comes once a year, you cherish it more and look forward to it and don't take it for granted. Good response, Phil. But you only live once, no? So shouldn't every day of one's life be full of joy and be carefree and wonderful? And if one's life isn't currently, shouldn't it be fixed - stat?

I say yes. It's been 2 weeks since I returned from vacation, and I'm trying to regain that sense of lightness and exuberance I had as I traipsed around foreign lands. Funny to be writing this in a place that isn't technically my home, but I think it means it actually is. I've lived here now for 1.5 years. It's time to make it my own. I'm not a tourist, I pay taxes, and I need to make a life here that's not based on seeing things I've never seen before. I need to keep my bright-eyed curiosity, and live in London like I lived my holiday: full of joy, wonder, and love.

David Cameron channelling Obama

Hope, change, etc.

One Year Anniversary

Last Sunday was my one-year anniversary in London. I celebrated it with a lovely home-cooked English breakfast made with ingredients from the Islington Farmer's Market, a shopping trip on Regent's Street (where I picked up a pair of fabulous platform sandals), cocktails in Canonbury and dinner at Sabor on Essex Road.

It's hard to believe it has been a whole year since I arrived in the UK. Simultaneously it feels like yesterday and a million years ago that I packed up all of my worldly possessions and got on a plane and moved here. Sometimes I look back and revisit that moment when I boarded a Virgin Airways flight, and looked out the window as we took off, shut my eyes tight and counted to 10, and I'm surprised that I actually did that. But I did, and I'm so proud of myself; my biggest achievement was not getting on that plane, but everything I accomplished since then.

Sitting here with my cup of tea (natch) and a BBC documentary about the South Pacific islands on TV in the background, I've been rereading Bloody Brill posts from this time last year. I've grown so much as a person since moving to London, in nearly every way. I feel more mature, more poised, more confident, more balanced, and more myself than I have for quite a while. Professionally, I feel like I've learned more in the past year than I have in my entire career. I was just Skyping with an old friend who lives in Brooklyn – I told him that even when I'm unhappy here, I'm happier than I was back in New York.

I've posted a lot about my love of New York City on this blog, and it has not diminished in the slightest. But that love has matured - it is less of an infatuation and more of a fondness and acceptance for the city as it truly is. Leaving New York for another international capital, one with a completely different culture and attitude, gave me an insight into how New York lives and breathes that I never could have understood had I stayed. And leaving also gave me permission to accept that maybe New York isn't the end-all, be-all of urban centers.

Beyond gaining a deeper understanding of New York City, I've also learned more about myself as an American. Living in the UK means having to deal with humor in a completely different way, and I've learned that Americans just can't deal with the searing cruelty of British sarcasm. We're just too earnest - we love what we love and care deeply about everything (mostly ourselves), and anyone who dissects our carefully constructed selves with a rapier sharp wit is not appreciated. I've had to grow a thick skin and gracefully let the jabs fall away. I've noticed that since stopping my protests and annoyance, I've gained a lot more fans. Probably the best compliment I received in the last year was from one of the more sarcastic Brits I've met, who told me I impressed him with my ability to fit into British office culture.

But being earnest isn't bad, and I was reminded of the British reaction to Obama's inauguration earlier this year. What was one of the US's finest moments was quickly derided by Brits, who made callous jokes and mocked our austere pomp and circumstance. It was one moment when I was truly angry at the UK, for allowing their smugness and cynicism to shadow a moment that belonged to so many more people than just Americans. It helped me refocus my perspective of British culture, see the balance between the UK and US, and see another facet of our nations' "special relationship".

I think the most confusing, yet rewarding part of moving to another country is assimilation into the multifaceted behaviors in social rituals. Something as simple as a greeting and complex as buying drinks at the pub are windows into how a population views itself and society; one takes them for granted in one's native culture, but sees them as an outsider in a new land. On the surface, my life in London isn't that much different from my life in New York: I have the same job, work for the same company, live in a neighborhood that has a high proportion of Americans, shop at a farmer's market. But English and American culture differ in subtle but radical ways, so even the shared elements of my US and expat lives are completely different.

Beyond assimilation, my life has changed simply because I have so many opportunities to travel and see the world. I've been to new places like Amsterdam and Spain, and old favorites like Paris. I'll be returning to Italy, where I studied for a summer during college, in September and also exploring Croatia. My proximity to parts of the world I'd never considered visiting has opened my eyes to new and varied experiences that I once thought were beyond my reach.

One of the most poignant aspects of this past year is realizing which of my friends kept in touch and who has drifted away in an out-of-sight, out-of-mind way. I've been pleasantly surprised by those who have made the effort, those who I talk to nearly every day as if I'm just up the road and not across the ocean, and especially those who I've reunited with either virtually or in person. And of course my grandmother makes me proud by regularly reading this blog, Skyping and emailing me. On the other hand, the friends I've made here are some of the best friendships. Even when I'm homesick, I feel comforted and genuinely welcomed into this crazy land by lovely, lovely people.

So I'm embarking on year two... still typing my z's instead of s's and dropping extra u's out of words left and right. It's not been an easy year, but one that I wouldn't exchange for any other experience. My one year anniversary truly was a milestone and an achievement, but I'm definitely looking forward to an even better year two.

PS: Thank you to all the Bloody Brilliant readers. It's really rewarding to know people enjoy the blog. I hope you all keep reading, and if you have any suggestions please do let me know. Cheers!

Mr + Mrs O arrive for the G20

It's all the newspapers can crow about this week - America's latest super couple have descended upon the British Isles. No, not Brangelina or Tom and Katie: President and First Lady Obama are here! They are staying in London! In the Ambassador's residence! They are having breakfast at 10 Downing Street! What will Obama say at the G20?! WHAT WILL MICHELLE WEAR?! Politicos and fashionistas alike are beside themselves, hoping to catch a glimpse of this 21st century, credit crunch power couple.

Meanwhile, the rest of London is on lockdown because of the potential anarchy of the G20 protesters. I live and work sort of near The City, but don't expect to see much of anything; bankers and lawyers who work in the Square Mile and Canary Wharf were told to dress down in jeans and avoid carrying laptops so as not to be noticed by the crowds.

Honestly. What year is this? This is such 2001 behavior. And yet, look around - the 90s are back in fashion (along with the choicest bits of the 80s), the Dow and FTSE are at their mid-90s levels, and societal angst and uncertainty is certainly more akin to what I felt in high school than what I've been living for the last decade.

Maybe that's why Britain - if not the rest of the world - is so obsessed with America's First Couple. They're not just a well-spoken man and his well-dressed wife; they are the world's only chance to get us out of this big, fat, old-fashioned mess.

Followup: check out The Guardian's review of the First Spouses at the G20. Hilarious and enlightening.

PPS: Mrs O met the Queen!!! Picture courtesy of Reuters.

Inauguration Day

Today was Inauguration Day, in case you didn't know or weren't reminded by every major global news outlet. I watched the ceremony via live videostream on my computer at work, starting from about 4pm UK time. I knew a lot of people who joined the throngs on the National Mall in Washington, and for one of the first times since moving here I really felt like I was missing out on something in the US.

For so many reasons, the national election of Barack Obama is a moment for Americans - no matter where they are in the world - to stand up and be proud. I feel like I can walk down the street now (in New York, in London, in Paris, in Mumbai) and not be ashamed or afraid. We as a nation proved it to ourselves and to the world that despite our past mistakes and missteps, we're still the incredible society we always claimed to be. To see the millions (literally, millions) of people gathering on the nation's front lawn together at 6am in the bitter cold was a tangible reminder of our inherent unity and idealism. To be watching the display 5 hours ahead, in the dark, with cynical and sarcastic Brits surrounding me was less of a celebration and more of a reminder of how much farther we have yet to go.

Clearly much of the derision I heard was cultural; for a country who prides itself on the separation of church and state (the US), it was confusing to the English to hear a pastor give an invocation and the oaths taken over a Bible-so-help-you-God. But for a country with more pageantry and pomp and circumstance woven into the fabric of its nation and empire (the UK), they couldn't believe the amount of grandeur the Inauguration Ceremony displayed. I personally thought it was quite a tastefully American ceremony - poor public speaking (besides Barack Obama), various iterations of the flag, and Aretha (they did, of course, approve of her hat).

What was most upsetting, however, was the disconnect of the moment somewhere across the cultural divide. I didn't catch much of Obama's speech because people around me were cracking jokes and asking where the sniper was located. They didn't give themselves the opportunity to absorb Obama's message of turning the ship around and braving the storm instead of running from it. In the end, that might be the moment of true cultural difference in the US and UK's child-parent relationship: we're always ready to believe in the possibility of tomorrow, whereas the UK is bound up in the legacy of yesterday - too jaded to look forward.

I've learned so much about myself and myself as an American living in the UK these past eight months. Today's inauguration of Barack Obama was one more lesson in framing the nuances of living in a global society. I can only hope that as America eases the chip off of its collective shoulders and emerges from the Bush era with a restored confidence, Barack Obama's message of possibility will start to permeate cultures that don't have their own agent of hope.

Boxing Day

Danielle here, writing from the left side of the pond. Boxing Day came and went in my family with nary a mention, but the New York Times printed an article about its roots in British culture as a day of giving. Read it and remember why we should all probably give a bit more this year (and every year!). Also, enjoy the witty comments about British vs American culture!

What was I thinking?

It is the Friday before Christmas, mid-day, and I'm just about done - stick a fork in me. My clients are all gone for the holidays and after a presentation this afternoon, I'll really have nothing to do. So why am I sticking around until Christmas Eve?! My Christmas shopping is done, I've gained my Christmas weight thanks to beer and treats, and my office is completely devoid of life. I think there are about 10 of us left until the bitter end. So what possessed me to schedule my flight back to the US for CHRISTMAS EVE?

Seriously, I wonder about my sanity.

Transatlantic Thanksgiving

Brits don't understand Thanksgiving. Of all the American holidays, they're not quite sure what to do with it - it's sort of like English Christmas, with a turkey and the trimmings, but it's also sort of an anti-English holiday (hi, the Pilgrims were celebrating surviving after ESCAPING from England).

So, since I'm not going home for Thanksgiving, and I've been cooking a potluck Thanksgiving dinner every year since my senior year of college, I decided to introduce some of Brits in my life to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I billed it not as a gourmet Thanksgiving (no turducken with shittake mushroom stuffing) but as a "taste of America" - all of the standard dishes that one might not actually like, but are at every Thanksgiving meal. Last night was the Transatlantic Thanksgiving for 15 people in my narrow apartment, and featured the following menu:
- turkey
- stuffing (2 kinds, homemade apple-walnut, made by Ashley, and StoveTop, imported on the day of by visitors Mel & Dave)
- French's French-fried onion green bean casserole
- sweet potato and marshmallow casserole
- mashed potatoes
- cauliflower
- cranberries
- gravy
- 3 kinds of pies made by Ashley (pumpkin, pecan, apple)
- pumpkin chocolate chip cookies

After seeing frozen turkeys at Sainsburys for £49.99, I decided to take a chance and inquire at the butcher I pass every day on my way to work. I asked for a 15lb bird, and the nice butcher promised to get me a fresh "7+ kg" turkey delivered on the day of my dinner party. So yesterday morning I biked down the road and picked up my 6.82kg bird at 10am, and paid only £32.86! The bird made the journey back home safely in my bike basket, and went straight into the roasting pan for trimming and cooking. There I discovered that my turkey was so fresh that it still had little feathers on the legs!

It was a real pleasure to make a turkey that I wasn't worried about being not-quite-defrosted, or frantically searching for the giblets frozen to the inside of the bird's cavity and cutting myself while trying to pry them out. The bird was so fresh, you really tell the difference between a fresh and frozen turkey. At about 14lbs, it was a big bird and there was some serious concern that it might not fit in our very English tiny oven. But it did fit, and came out wonderful.

The sides went well also; there were only slight difficulties with converting Fahrenheit to Celsius and cups to grams. Everything miraculously done on time, and ready for the wine-bearing guests. Fifteen of us crammed into the rearranged lounge and hilarity ensued as normally dignified English people shoved mouthfuls of food in their mouths with as much gusto as Americans; it seems like turkey and stuffing incites gorging no matter what continent one's on.

The desserts also created an uproar as pie eating contests (1 of each!) gave a lot of people sugar highs. When people couldn't eat a morsel more, the party decamped to a bar across the street to finish the night. All in all, the way a Thanksgiving should be (minus the American football) and big balloons; pictures, of course, are here.

Election results: GOBAMA!

Well, the news hit here at about 5am and I found out from the cab driver who took me to Heathrow for my 6:30AM flight to Amsterdam. The BBC set their photomontage of scenes of Americans voting and celebrating to a Bruce Springsteen song, and I was weeping at the gate, about to board the plane. But my colleagues understood, and all day people - Dutch, British, whoever - kept saying "Congratulations, America!" and smiling and winking at me. You can tell everyone around the world is just as CHUFFED as we Americans are.

I cannot tell you all how a) proud I am of the USA, and proud to BE American; b) painful it is to watch the celebrations going on in New York and around the US from this far away. Seeing crowds swarm Times Square, Pennsylvania Avenue, and even Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, makes me want to run out the door and join them. Instead, I've got hours of fireworks to listen to being set off for Guy Fawkes Day.

Keep celebrating, everyone; this is a moment where everyone around the world is cheering America on and celebrating with us. Enjoy this moment of joy before the hard work of fixing the US begins.

xoxoxoxoxo

PS: SASHA AND MALIA GET A NEW PUPPY! Hooray! A new First Pet!

Election Day!

I'm so excited, I can hardly stand it.

Check out the NY Times website's interactive feature where you can submit how you're feeling on this Election Day.

I chose proud, instead of excited, for my word: I'm super proud of my country today.