October 25, 2011

Today in British news.


On a visit to flood devastated Australia, her majesty Queen Elizabeth II wore THE SAME OUTFIT SHE WORE TO THE ROYAL WEDDING.  Everybody freak out.

At the royal wedding.

In Australia.

Perhaps it is her "meet clergy" outfit.

But my favorite headline in the newspaper on the tube this morning: “VUVUZELA PARTY THE LAST BLOW”, about a girl who was evicted from her apartment for throwing too many vuvuzela parties.

October 24, 2011

I'm becoming British.


I’m feeling pretty British right now.  I’m sitting here on our couch, watching an X-Factor rerun (they love X-Factor here—probably more on this at a later date), then, a commercial for the very same frozen pizza I am currently eating (they love their frozen food here), I just flipped past a show called Porridge (definitely more on porridge later), and settled on Chopped UK episode (which we’ve seen already).  BUT I JUST FOUND NCIS!!!!!!!! OH MY GOSH IT HAS BEEN SO LONG GIBBS I HAVE MISSED YOUR HANDSOME FACE.  And I haven’t even seen this episode before.  American instincts have joyously returned.

But a word about porridge.  I had read about British people eating porridge in Charles Dickens and Jane Austen novels, and I imagined it was some white sloop made of who-knows-what, maybe newspaper.  Not until I came here did I realize that porridge is, in fact, oatmeal.  Who knew.  (Is this common knowledge?  I don’t know.)  Ashley and I went way overboard on our porridge eating.  We ate it everyday for breakfast—hers plain or with honey, mine with peanut butter or brown sugar.  We would eat it for dinner sometimes or as a snack on the weekends.  We talked about how much we loved oatmeal, how we could live on it.  So delicious and nutritious.  Then, the unexpected happened (well, someone may have foreseen this…).  The other morning, I made myself a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.  I mixed in the peanut butter and raised a spoonful to my mouth…but I couldn’t do it.  I just stared at it and thought of lumpy papier mache paste.  Something inside me had just turned off and I could consume no more oatmeal.  Even the knowledge that I had just mixed in approximately 4 pounds (currency, not weight) worth of precious Skippy would not sway me.  I couldn’t eat it.  I later admitted this to Ashley, who said the same exact thing had happened to her a few days before.  All the oatmeal we had bought in bulk sits in our cabinet, untouched.  I guess we’ll have to make cookies. 

Surprisingly, I have more to say about oatmeal.  I had assumed that porridge = oatmeal.  However, last weekend I learned from Will’s cousin’s friend’s husband that porridge is oats with milk and gruel is oats with water.  Guess which one I’ve been eating.  GRUEL.  I’VE BEEN EATING GRUEL.  I’m feeling pretty British right now.

October 19, 2011

Traffic and weather together.


(On the eights.) 

One of the biggest challenges of moving here was the act of crossing the street.  The driving on the left side of the road thing really threw me.  (I can hear a few of my uncles scoffing—“uhh, it’s just the opposite of what it is here”).  FALSE.  It is not simply the opposite—it is against every traffic instinct of my being.  When I first got here, I was a big American tornado of confusion whenever I had to cross a street—look right, look left, look right, check behind me, look right again, attempt eye contact with the driver paused at the corner, be confused when that car still revs up even though I just made eye contact, let that car go, check all lanes of all roads of the intersection, pray, then sprint.  It was just really difficult to be sure of where cars were going to come from.  Going running was also pretty tough, because obviously I wouldn't want to stop and go through that routine at every single corner.  But, it would all improve.  The day I realized I had always been making eye contact with the person in the passenger seat was the day that marked a significant increase in my chances of surviving a street crossing (because it turns out that not only do they drive on the wrong side of the road, but they also sit on the wrong side of the car).  (I knew this in theory, but apparently not in practice.)  I’m proud to say, after more than two months, I can now confidently cross the street with minimal frenzy.  Roundabouts still get me (are they really necessary at the intersection of two streets?), but sometimes I can avoid them by jaywalking.

The temperature here now is consistently in the 50s during the day and into the 40s at night.  (Still don’t easily do the whole Celsius thing—apparently it’s 5 degrees right now.)  Living in Houston for the past four years has turned me into a big wimp.  I am pretty cold here.  And (as Ashley and I were recently discussing), this weather has trained us to expect Christmas fairly immediately, as Houston only gets this cold in late November at the earliest.  But, Christmas is still 65 days away.  I really do like this temperature though, and it has been nice to have a Real Fall.  Last weekend, Ashley and I went to Hyde Park, and the leaves on the ground smelled really good.

And now, the Osgood File, with Charles Osgood.

October 15, 2011

I have homework.


While it may seem that I am now a member of the Real World, this is not entirely the case.  (Phew.)  Because the architecture school set each of us up with a pretty sweet gig, we apparently owe them two status updates per semester.  I wish these were status updates in the Twitter style, but somehow I don’t think Casbo would be particularly amused by a less-than-140-characters deal. (@Casbo, Preceptorship awesome, thx bud, u the man.) (The world is glad I don’t have Twitter.)  Our first report is due on Friday at 5:00 (the architecture school loves a good 5:00 deadline) so I figured I’d take a stab at it today.  But I read through the directions and decided that rather than actually write the paper, I prefer to write about writing it.  It seems that my procrastination habits have followed me to London.  Our mission: “document your preceptorship experience and its relationship to relevant architectural issues…should be both descriptive and analytical…relate experience to context within a critical discourse of prevalent and pertinent architectural ideas, as well as….” yawn, yawn, academic architecture jargon, how I’ve missed you.  I think it may be time for bed.  But before I go, my favorite piece of directions:

It is very important that you write in the Subject heading exactly:

PRECEPTORSHIP REPORT NUMBER ONE (or TWO as the case may be)

Otherwise, they will be buried in my hundreds of daily email and lost, and you will receive no credit.

He’s really begging me to include the “(or TWO as the case may be)” in the subject line.  (He did say “exactly”.)  Perhaps these are trick directions.  And do the words need to be red?  If they're not, would my report be lost in the email deluge?  Important questions.

October 13, 2011

Learn British.


To prepare you all for when you come to visit me, I would like to share with you a few British phrases and words.  Hopefully this will mitigate some confusion you may experience.

“Cheers”: We’ll start with an easy one.  When you come here, you will hear “Cheers” approximately 394587 times a day (and this is not because you will be drinking that much).  Hand someone a pencil, you’ll get a nice “Cheers” in return.  Make a purchase at any store, you’ll get a “Cheers”.  Say goodbye to someone, you’ll get a “Cheers”.  Pass by the office security man (I love him) four times a day, get a “Cheers” every time.  My favorite is when British people hang up the phone.  The conversation almost always ends with a very pleasant, “Cheers!  Bye!”  Who knew the British were so cheerful.  I actually said, “Cheers” in reply to a cashier’s “Cheers” the other day, but I think that was more from a reflex I’ve gained by drinking with Ashley, who makes sure to toast every time.  

“Are you alright?” (concerned tone): This one took me a while to figure out.  I’m pretty aware that my face naturally falls into worried mode, but never before had so many people freely questioned me about it. I would, for instance, be in the office kitchen making some tea and a coworker would come in.  “You alright?” he would ask.  “Yes?  Is something wrong?” I would answer, slightly perturbed.  But it turns out that this is the British way of asking, “How are you?”—just a standard way to start a conversation.  (I figured this out when I overheard British people ask this to people who do not naturally appear worried.)  (They are a concerned people though.  When Hurricane Irene was hitting the East Coast, this girl came up to me in the office kitchen and asked if my family was alright.  This was very nice of her, but she scared the crap out of me.  I was like, “I thought so?  What happened??”)

“Taking the piss out of you”: When I first heard this one, my reaction was, “I beg your pardon?”  But, this means “getting made fun of”, as in “She really got the piss taken out of her when she said ‘pants’ instead of ‘trousers’.”  British Will uses this one pretty frequently, but he usually shortens it to “taking the piss.”

“Trousers”: Pants.  But don’t say pants, because that means underpants.

 “Let’s have a chat.”: I feel as if this has some kind of ominous tone when used at home.  So whenever boss-man would say this to me, my reaction would be “uh oh, what did I do….” Here, however, it’s the way to say, “let’s talk in a friendly, non-threatening manner.”

“Netball”:  I learned this one today at lunch with Brian from Liverpool and Michael from Portugal.  Michael plays in a basketball league here and was telling us about his game last night.  Brian asked me if I played basketball or netball back at home.  I asked him what the difference is between the two.  Apparently netball is very similar to basketball, except that there is no backboard on the hoop and you can’t move with the ball (no dribbling).  I had actually heard Brian use the word “netball” on a previous occasion, but I had assumed he was just being a big British nerd.

“Courgette”: The other day, when I was in the office kitchen (it may seem that I spend a lot of time in the office kitchen...maybe I do), Luit (one of my favorite people that I work with—he’s really helpful to the interns and is an all-around nice guy) was telling me about this chocolate cake he wants to make.  The recipe uses courgettes instead of butter, so it’s healthy!  He was very excited about this.  But I was confused. “…What is a courgette?” I asked slowly.  Luit then struggled to describe what a courgette, in fact, is.  “It’s green, it’s in the pumpkin family…what would you call it…”  I suggested that it is perhaps a gourd.  No, no, it’s not a gourd.  We both left the kitchen very unsure of what a courgette actually is.  In a few minutes, however, the mystery was solved.  Luit emailed me a link, explaining that Americans know courgettes as zucchinis.  So, courgette equals zucchini.  Also, aubergine equals eggplant, but I don’t have a story for that one.  Ashley and I just googled it.

October 11, 2011

A little less cream, a little more ice.


Ashley and I discovered something fairly hilarious at the grocery store this weekend.  Sainbury’s sells several of their own brands—“Sainsbury’s Organic”, “by Sainsbury’s”, “Sainbury’s Basics”, to name a few.  We were comparing the “by Sainsbury’s” peas with the “Sainsbury’s Basics” peas and trying to figure out why the Basics peas were a pound less.  I’m not too sure why we were confused because it’s all right there on the packaging.

"This delicious bowl of peas can be yours."

"We are not going to lie to you."


The disclaimer caption struck us as a little funny, but we still went with the Basics peas.  We then noticed that all the Sainsbury's Basic products carry a similar disclaimer.  They are very careful not to over-promise.

Welp, at least they didn't sneak any green ones in there. 

Not quite a bitter.

Less bacon...not sure I'd make this purchase.

I checked the toilet paper, hoping it would have the same caption...but I was disappointed.

I'm inclined to admire Sainsbury's for their honesty.  They are clearly comfortable admitting to selling you a mediocre product.


I think this is a joke...but I'm not sure.

October 6, 2011

Happy birthday to my Mummy.


Today is my mother’s birthday—happy birthday to the Best Mommy in the World!  All the “Happy birthday, Mom” cards here are actually “Happy birthday, Mum” cards, so I got her a card that says “Queen of all Mummies.”  Hopefully she gets the British-ness and doesn’t think I’m sending her a weirdo pre-Halloween card.  I think she’ll catch on.

That beautiful 80 degree weather is gone for good (they say), and today was very fall.  I decided to celebrate the season I have missed so much these past four years by wearing my argyle sweater vest to work.  Zach and Dillon, you were with me all day.