Dear Friends and Family -
I am writing you from the debatably friendlier climes of
Connecticut, though it seems we did well to ride out this past winter in
London. We moved back to the US in
March, meaning that I’m no longer a Cricklewood or Wembley Park Yankee… I’m
back to being just another Connecticut Yankee.
As I reflect on this recent relinquishment of relative remarkability, I
can only hope that you do not take offense to my satirical depictions of the
world as I experience and languish in it… which will now be focused on American
life. Perhaps the British contingent of
this distribution list will finally appreciate some of the content of these
crudely unsolicited commentaries.
The family and I are enjoying life back under the watchful
and usurious eye of Uncle Sam. It seems
that rarely a weekend goes by without the opportunity to reconnect with good
friends and family - be it at a BBQ, the celebration of all manner of religious
rites, or an invigorating visit to the labour camp that our aptly named vacation
home in Block Island has become. Chez
Bon Repose indeed! I have nestled right
back into my previous habits of seven years prior - gorging on New York sports
without exacerbating the myopia caused by the grainy delivery of illegal
international webcasts, listening to New York talk radio without suffering the
ineptitude of the 3AM D-league, and indulging in caffeinated creations that are
measured in gallons rather than shots. I
missed you Dunkin Donuts… only in
America can you blast right on through the adult male’s recommended daily
caloric limit with a simple morning coffee.
The British culture - in business and in life - is
exceedingly polite. I was recently
ridiculed for signing off my eMails with such pleasantries as “all the best”,
“kind regards” and “warmly”. I had
forgotten that such needless courtesy is interpreted as a sign of weakness and
sycophantery. In the UK, simply signing
off with “regards”, or perish the thought, only your name, incites a maelstrom
of anxiety and fear that you have been egregiously offended by some matter of
grave importance. Never one to push
against generally accepted local culture, I now review all communications to
ensure that they are sufficiently abrupt and humourless, leaving no room for
doubt that I am terribly important and horrifically busy.
Although I have not acquired the highly bastardized
Yorkshire accent that I brought home from an earlier secondment to the wilds of
Northern England, it is evident that a bit of the British culture has indeed
taken hold, and it is in the most common of daily interactions that this has
become most evident. I break out in a cold sweat when asked how I am doing, and then I endure pained and quizzical looks when I wrongly interpret such questions as an
invitation to engage in a mutually undesired conversation. But then comes the merciful flood of relief
when I remember that all that is expected is an effortless “Good - you?”, with
no need at all to break stride or even make eye contact. This is in stark contrast to British culture,
where you are obligated to ease the psyche of your asking counterpart by
assuring them that your life is indeed a series of rather dull, yet
unfortunate, catastrophes.
I’ve also become baffled by the incredibly inconsistent
institution of American tipping. There
is neither rhyme nor reason to this madness - I was nearly chased out of town
for tipping 13.9% on one of the worst dinners I’ve ever had the misfortune to
endure, but when I tried to give a twenty to the kindly policeman who let me
off with a warning for doing 80 in a 55, I ended up in the clink! To be fair, the latter part of that anecdote
was embellished (I received a stern and disappointed look), but the fact remains - generally accepted tipping protocol in
America has little correlation with the value provided. I’m a reasonably good tipper, and I start my
restaurant experience off at around 18%, allowing the service dictate the rise
and fall of my ultimate donation. In the
aforementioned case, repeated mistakes and exceedingly prolonged conversations
with people at adjacent tables kept driving that down to the already-insulting
15%. However, it was the unapologetic
explosion of moules marniere across my brand spanking new wal-mart cargo shorts
that compelled me to make the profound statement of displeasure that is a 13.9%
tip.
All in all, we’re loving life back in the USA! Riley (AKA Mr. Fun) has barely missed a beat
in using his unbearably cute wiles to secure the sustenance and entertainment
he requires - strategies Susi and I continue to encourage as it has secured the
voluntary childminding necessary to obtain the sustenance and entertainment we
require. We are forever grateful for the
grand-parently support - a romantic night out on the town no longer costs us a
small fortune in babysitting fees. These
days, any time Susi and I have the burning desire to grab a couple of happy
meals followed by a smidge of two-for-one bowling - we just go right on ahead
and get Jiggy with it. When you combine
all of that with sunshine of the like we haven’t experienced in almost a
decade, life has become a perpetual vacation.
We have truly enjoyed reconnecting with so many of our
friends and family here in the States, and hope that we will see many more of
you in the coming months!
All the best (kindly and warmly intended),
Rich, Susi & Riley
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