The Eagle Has Landed

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