My one year American anniversary (Exclusive interview!)
This month Fledgling Immigrant Digest is proud to bring you an exclusive interview with that most reserved, yet adorable, yet irascible (yet curiously alluring) Edinburgh to Nashville immigrant, Difficult Second Novel, on his first anniversary of arriving in the United States.
Fledgling Immigrant Digest: How are you?
Difficult Second Novel: Bit tired. Also doing the allergic coughing thing a lot today. I’d like to change the air-conditioning filter to get one that can get rid of all the pollen and dust but I can’t find one at Lowe’s or online that’s the right size. It’s a nuisance. My eyes are so itchy, I reckon I’m a rub away from waking up with conjunctivitis.
I was just saying “hi”.
Oh. I thought maybe you were British.
I’m not.
Got it.
Interview continued on page 73.
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Between 2005 and 2007, International Women’s Day was part of my job description. My working year revolved around this day. Sometimes the projects were worthy, sometimes they were…less so.
It’s not something I get paid to care about anymore. And I doubt anyone I run into today will ask me what I’m doing for IWD2012. But yeah, I do still care, just a little wee bit.
To mark the occasion, and because this time I get to choose the worthy, here are 3 women who have been taking up space in my head recently for all the right reasons:
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Like this:
American TV Pt. 2 (There’s Something On)
I know. This is where the British wanker tells you how bad American TV is (I hate that guy!). Brits delight in reporting this as if 1) they’ve never seen British TV and 2) Americans didn’t already know.
Yes, Americans know that American TV is very bad but they watch it anyway, because TV is in itself a fabulous invention, and even bad American TV can be a treat. The British situation is very similar.
Now there’s something sweet about watching American TV as a Brit when you’re not living there forever.
When you’re there on vacation, or on a finite working visa, you can watch it and quickly dismiss it. Because you don’t understand the TV Guide (and the time zones? Oh how they kill me) and the channels names don’t make sense, because you’ve heard of NBC, ABC etc but where are they on the remote? How do you make them happen? Let me tell you, Channel 4 in the UK – you press 4. BBC1? You press 1. In the US you have to find the channel by surfing and then they let you know what number they are. Fox 17, what are you doing out there? You’re a proper channel, but you don’t get to sit with the other big boys.
And what’s on? Nothing but commercials, and the TV news is horrible, nothing but store openings and house fires and shootings, and did anything outside of the US and Iraq happen today? Apparently not. Unless a European leader gets beer spilled on her, we could care less.
But this is all okay, because you’re leaving soon, and you can add the American TV = crap to your quiver of anecdotes and the folks at home will adore you for it.
But if you plan on living here forever, you have to find a way to make American TV work… Read more…
American TV Pt. 1 (Getting it)
While we were living with family, we didn’t watch TV. “Not watching” means we reguarly caught the Daily Show and the Colbert Report, because hey, we’re not savages, but given that the TV in the living room stayed largely in the control of a ten-year-old girl, there really wasn’t much worth viewing.
People rarely admit to watching a lot of TV. In truth, the people who actively claim to “hardly ever” watch TV are lying (and if you talk to them long enough, they always give themselves away – judging from Conversations With American People, I’m the only English-speaking person here who has never seen an episode of NCIS, Criminal Minds, Breaking Bad or House). The people who genuinely don’t watch TV don’t talk about it, because they have something more interesting to say.
That said, I hardly ever watch TV.
So it stands to reason that when we moved to our own place, we wanted a TV of our own to go with it. In fact, 3 months before we moved to our own place, we wanted a TV of our own. Just so we’d be ready for when real life began again.
Like this:
Gated (One more American compromise)
When Rebecca and I were looking for a place to live last fall, when a move closer to Nashville and away from the sticks seemed like a smart choice (and it was), we were methodical in our planning.
We agonized like two former public sector workers regarding this next step, visiting twice as may properties as we had when buying our Scottish home. But the older I get, the more skeptical I become, the more suspicious of sunny days and flashy promises/premises. And fear of making an American mistake that costs me dear? A daily trauma.
After looking at a few houses in various neighborhoods, we realised to our surprise that we both wanted to look at rental complexes.
I had only one deal-breaker. No gates. I wasn’t going to lose myself in a place where you fool yourself you’re safe, where you defend yourself against the rest of the country.
Two weeks later, of course, we moved into a gated community.
Bringing it back (UK treasure)
Image by hmmlargeart via Flickr
So America is fine, America has all kinds of good stuff. I hate to mention the teeny-tiny areas where it is lacking. Such comments are usually met by (a) the not-travelled with genuine astonishment, and by (b) the travelled with a list of reasons I’m crazy for wanting to live here in the first place.
So don’t get mad, it’s okay. I could’ve lived without the following items, but seeing as I didn’t need to, I’ve chosen to live with them instead. Courtesy of purchases at Sainsburys, Boots and Heathrow, I filled the non-existent gap in my suitcase with the following:
4 packets of Angel Delight (butterscotch flavour)
This is like American pudding except for one thing: I want to eat it.
There is nothing of nutritional value in Angel Delight. The first ingredient is sugar and the rest are a canny blend of emulsifiers and anti-caking agents. But I do love it. My brother also loves it and we are both old, old men.
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Home for the Holidays (Scotland at Christmas)
Image by Sem Paradeiro via Flickr
We were gone 8 months. Not so long, some people (some civil servants) have vacations longer than that. And nothing in Britain has changed. Except everyone got 8 months older. And the roads got narrower, and less reliable, and the supermarket aisles got more crowded.
I’ve had some good moments during our visit back to the UK. The flights were easy, all 3 of them, as we bumped to Toronto, London Heathrow, side-stepped to Gatwick and then bumped one more time to Inverness. Anything was better than the Checkers taxi ride to Nashville airport, driven by a guy whose sanest comment was “The Government ain’t telling us everything” and quickly went downhill to “The moon is hollow, that’s the only possible scientific explanation.” He was big on science, this cabbie. He was also big on telling you the same thing twice. I’ve never enjoyed tipping someone less. Ah, you Americans with your conspiracy theories, there’s a good reason the rest of us think you’re nuts.
Ah, you Brits, you appear so much saner in comparison, because you keep the spooky thoughts to yourself.
