do do do doot doot do do do, Woo Hoo!

In London most flats come with at least some furniture, and many come fully furnished. Along with furniture come decorations. Pictures, paintings, plants, marble busts etc. Well our flat has a rather unique self illuminating piece or art that hangs on the wall next to the fireplace. It’s one of those things that would have been really cool in college, but is slightly strange when you’re 26.

One night a few weeks ago we decided that we would use it as the celebration light. A decree went out to all in the land:
WHEREAS, there are often things to be celebrated; and
WHEREAS, a proper celebration ritual is required.
NOW, THEREFORE BE IT RESOLVED that the orange light thingy next to the fireplace be henceforth know as the light of celebration.
BE IT FURTHUR RESOLVED that it shall be illuminated whenever there is cause for celebration.

Why am I telling you this? Well guess what, today the celebration light is on! Why is that you ask? Because after three job offers, my beautiful and intelligent wife has finally accepted one! That’s right she is now officially employed!!!! Yea!!! (nine exclamation points incase you’re keeping score, ten if you count the title)

The thing really lights up the room. You can see an orange glow emanating from our flat from down the street. It reminds me of the leg lamp with skirt lampshade from A Christmas Story that Raphie’s dad wins in the contest. You know the “soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window.”

Yea!! Congratulations my dear, this light’s for you.

More pictures of the Celebration Light.

I went to my first cricket match with a few coworkers this week. It was part of the twenty20 cup. A twenty20 match has only 20 overs per team, meaning that a match can be finished in an evening (instead of 5 days like a typical “test” match). The twenty20 games are new, instituted within the last 3 years to help bring fans and excitement to cricket matches.

The teams were Middlesex and Surry. Both are from the London area, and both are very good (I’m told). One of the most interesting things that happened (in my opinion) was that the umpire was not in position to tell whether a ball bounced before or after it went outside the rope. If it bounced before it would be four runs if it bounced after it would be six. The umpire after a little while signaled six runs and looked at the fielders in the area. The fielders signaled four runs to the umpire (which was the correct call) and the umpire promptly changed his call. Nobody else seemed to take note, but I thought it was fascinating that an official would rely on the players to make a call. I suppose there is some sort of honor code or something.

I was also suprised to see a steamroller come out between innings to flatten the dirt between the wickets. Kind of like a zamboni, but the crowd wasn’t cheering like they do at hockey games.

Well in true British fashion the rain came after 11 overs in the second team’s inning, so the game was called. After waiting for about 30 minutes they announced that Surrey was the winner (even though Surrey had nearly twice as many overs). Apparently they have a magic formula to determine the winner in this situation, and nobody seems to know what that formula is. The official result:

Surrey: 180-7 ( 20.0 overs )
Middlesex: 78-4 ( 11.0 overs )
Surrey beat Middlesex by 22 runs

hmmm…

I’ve posted pictures. Enjoy!

. . . has my Mostly Naked Lady gone? I looked for her when I walked by the little green space today, but alas, no MNL. I can understand, though. It was pretty chilly today until about 1:30, after which there was one thunderstorm. I am familiar with this one thunderstorm.

This one thunderstorm happened to land with a crash cabang, a few flashes, and at least one Hudson River’s worth of rain, on the head, shoulders, and freshly dry-cleaned suit of yours truly. So the aforementioned freshly dry-cleaned suit is now approximately two inches too long and smelling of wet sheep. Nothing a little trip to the drycleaners won’t fix. And who knows? Maybe this time I’ll get an upgrade! What you may or may not know is that I love rain about the same amount as I love grocery shopping, so while I should probably be upset about the need to clean the suit again, I got so much pleasure of being stuck in a perfectly warm, I-mean-business-type summery rain storm, that I didn’t mind a bit. I love it. I love the way it smells, I especially love when it is accompanied by thunder and lightning, I love the way it pours off my eyebrows and down my cheeks. . . I just love rain. I mean, there are times when it’s annoying. Like when it’s cold and I’m dressed up and needing to look pretty and I’m stepping in dirty puddles with my fancy shoes and arriving wherever I need to be all disheveled. I understand why people generally don’t like rain. BUT, I generally do. So that’s that, and I suppose I have come to the right place! I hear it rains here.

I also hear that it’s important to know how to spell here and hear so that you don’t confuse people in sentences like this one here.

The mostly naked lady was back today! She had trousers on this time - black and white striped ones. Big black and white stripes. BUT she was wearing the SAME purple lacy bra. I mean, it’s pretty and all, and don’t get me wrong - I have been known to wear the same bra more than one day in a row. Like maybe about 6 or 7 days or maybe 2 if you think that’s gross. But anyway, I might choose differently if I knew people were going to be LOOKing at it. Geeze, lady. Plus, I feel like laying in the sun would make it all sweaty, in which case even I wouldn’t wear it again the next day. I don’t know. Some of me thinks “Good for you, lady - you just lay your mostly naked self out there, and also - nice bra!,” but then some of me thinks, “that’s just weird.”

Old School Freight Train did in fact appear on World Cafe today, and they were excellent, so sorry for those of you who missed out. I actually think their levels were messed up a little, but anyway.

One more item of note - I went grocery shopping again today, and I’ve covered how I feel about that. BUT, they have these sales here - 3 for 2 it’s called. You get 3 of the same item for the price of 2 of that item. So basically buy 2 get one free. Thing is, how often do you want THREE of something? I mean, two is one thing. Well two is two things, but you know. THREE is something else entirely. So Andy and I needed toothpaste and toothpaste was on 3 for 2. I went for it. I mean, it’s free toothpaste, and it’s not as if we won’t USE the toothpaste or as if we’ll find extraordinarily CHEAP toothpaste somewhere between now and when we need it again, so in theory I should be really excited that it was on sale, BUT no. I actually feel kinda jipped. I feel like I was conned into buying TWO thingies of toothpaste instead of the one that I need now. I mean really - I couldn’t buy ONE. That’s just sillyness. So if anyone needs three tubes of toothpaste (or three bottles of sheer blonde shampoo, while we’re at it), Sainsbury’s down the hill is the place for you. Sale’s on until the 9th of July I think. Go to it. Enjoy.

OK so I have a few things to discuss today.

1. As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, I had two interviews today. This would mean I would want to wear my suit. I like to put my suit on last in the morning, to prevent such things as tea, milk, toothpaste and the like from getting on said suit. So, almost time to leave. I go to get out my suit, and - du dununuh - not my suit. The drycleaner gave me a suit that would hold approximately 2.5 Tiffanys. OK. I then - completely out of character, of course - say a bad word. This wakes my sleeping hubs, who valiently treks off down to the drycleaners to remedy the situation while I nervously try to eat breakfast. He returns with wrong suit. Drycleaners opens at 7:30. Oh, it’s almost 7:30 - why don’t you meet me down there, but wear work pants - er, trousers - just in case. Well, just in case came at about 8:00 when the drycleaners had still not yet opened and I had an hour to get to a place an hour away. So I went to interview #1 suitless. It turned out OK - I apologized and they really didn’t seem to mind, and my valient hubs acquired the correct suit and a “tener” (trans: ten-pound note) for the road. I was able to change into the suit for interview #2, and it is now hanging safely in my closet, never to be dry-cleaned again.

2. Mostly Naked Lady. When I was leaving to go to interview #2 - so about 4ish - I walked by the little green space nearby, and - as usual - there were a few lovely ladies in various states of undress catching some rays. I think the English try to soak up as much sun as they can whenever they can - it’s a little crazy actually how much they seem to tan here. ANNnnnyway, this lady was laying next to a pile of what were presumably her clothes, in a lacy purple bra and white cotton panties. I’m sorry, but this is JUST weird. If you’re going to wear your undies in public, they should at least match or something. I don’t know. Just struck me as odd.

3. Tomorrow afternoon at 2:00 pm EST, this radio show called World Cafe will feature a band called Old School Freight Train. They’re sorta bluegrass-y but have been taken in by David Grisman, of “Jerry Garcia and. . . ” fame. Anyway one of the dudes in the band was a buddy of mine from college, and they’re actually very awesome. So here’s the website if you want to listen online like I will. http://www.worldcafe.org/ - then click on “listen online.” duh.

’tis all for now. Quite a day. . .

Bad Bug News: They are taking over
Good Bug News: Pest control is coming on Thursday
Random Bug News: They’re not in the BED, you people.

Yesterday was the first day we missed, so sorry for all of the readers - well, for the one anyway who shall go unmentioned but who’s name starts with B and ends with rooke - who look forward to it every day.

My excuse: I’ve been preparing for an interview

Let me tell ya about the bugs. Last Saturday, Andy and I were sitting around, reading, and I noticed a small bug on the ground nearby. Black, about the size of a grain of rice, and rawther slow-moving. Then I noticed that the little fella had company. Lots of company. The carpet in our living room is not crawling with them, per se, but it is definitely providing a home for them. Here’s how my day goes: Get up, vacuum (excuse me - hoover) the bugs up, do some work stuff, hoover the bugs up, have lunch, hoover the bugs, do some more work stuff, hoover the bugs, have dinner, hoover the bugs, read a bit, maybe take a bawth, hoover the bugs up, go to bed. Each time I hoover, there are between 6 and about 35 bugs. The crazy part is that they don’t COME from anywhere. They just appear. This led me to believe that perhaps said bugs were hatching in the carpet itself, but again, wouldn’t that mean that hundreds of them would suddenly appear?

WELL, I called the landlord-types, and they came over yesterday. First thing they did was go down and look in the basement, which kinda makes me wonder how many times this has happened in the past. Turns out, the bugs are crawling through the floor-boards and THEN through the carpet, which in my mind means that there are WAY MORE bugs where these ones came from, and they’re under my floor. Bad.

Thankfully, the British government is a bit more all-encompassing than the US government, and the Pest Control folks (who may be a bit slower to arrive but are FREE so who cares) will hopefully be making their way over here within the next few days to take care of the problem. Thank goodness. The bugs make me shiver a little. yuck-o.

So last night a lighting manufacturer hosted a croquet outing for lighting designers. Being that I am always up for a good time (and free food), I was in attendance.

The event took place at a very posh country club and was attended by about 30 others. I had not worn white trousers as one is supposed to do for an event at a posh club, but I was not alone in my lack of white trousers, there were a few others. Next year perhaps I will buy a pair of white pants specifically for this event. Upon arrival were greeted by cold Pimms (apparently the summer beverage of choice for posh country club going croquet players).

Soon after downing the pimms, we were given a brief introduction to the rules, um excuse me… the “Laws” of golf croquet (most games have rules, croquet has laws). Then we were given a few pointers on technique from the organizer after which the tournament got under way.

I paired up with a co-worker of mine and we had gotten a lucky draw, resulting in a bye to the second round. In the second round we beat our formidable opponents 4-1. This was my best game, my shots did what they needed to do.

Up until this point it was great fun. Then, like a gift from above, out came the plaque (I think I actually heard angels singing). There is a plaque with the past years winner’s names engraved on little shields. This changed everything. The competition became fierce…

My partner and I went on to eek out a 4-3 win in the semi’s (thanks to his great skill). Then came the finals, for all the marbles, and eternal fame (via the heavenly plaque). It was tense and getting dark, wickets… um excuse me “hoops” (apparently they are only wickets in the US) seemed smaller and the mallets seemed heavier. When it was 3-3 I had a clear shot to win the game. I missed, now this is no back yard croquet, the hoops are only 1/8″ wider than the diameter of the ball. Even a straight shot can be difficult, but I was disappointed none the less. Thanks again to my partners skills we were eventually able to eek out another 4-3 victory and the glory was all ours!

I am officially a croquet champion! And there is a plaque to prove it.

I will be giving master classes on my next trip to the states. Admission is $65 (includes mallet rental, white trousers and certificate of completion). Space is limited so register early.

Yesterday, I rode my trolley (Trans: Grocery cart) down the WHOLE dairy isle in the Sainsbury’s nearby. I pushed off by the butter, (listening and singing along, all the while, to “ABC” on my iPod - MJ sang a FINE tune in his day), rolled right on by the cheese, and made it all the way to the milk before a raWther independent wheel went on strike, prompting an exciting and unpredictable 180 followed by a typically awkward emergency hop dismount. It was fabulous. Last time I made it that far was in the parking lot of the stinky grocery store in Jersey. That was equally exciting, but perhaps not quite as much of a spectacle when I consider the environment. I have seen Andy ride on grocery carts - sorry, trolleys - but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen another adult riding one. Well, they should. It’s pretty fun.

So I guess that’s not so much about my day today, but all I did today was work work work, take a few pictures, smoosh a few bugs (sorry - i know they have a place on this earth, but i also know that place is NOT my living room), eat the leftovers, and sweet-talk my former co-workers into helping me with my work. Oh, and I told the woman who keeps calling and asking for Karen that Karen actually doesn’t live here. Again.

So, one thing they don’t say here is “pants.” Well, actually they say it frequently, but it refers either to underwear or a bad situation. One might say, “Why does Britney always have her pants sticking out of her trousers?” Trousers, of course, being the English word for pants. One might also say, “this is pants,” and that would mean, in American terms, “I would classify this situation as generally negative.”

I knew this tidbit - as I’m sure many Americans do - before I came to England, and I have been prudent in my use of the above terminology. I have, however, learned about a few words they REALLY don’t say, and thought it would be interesting to make note of them. Following is a list of words they don’t say here, and how I learned that they don’t say them.

Mooch - I unlearned this at an interview.
Interviewer: How are you a UK citizen?
Tiff: Well, my father is English, so I sort of mooched it off of him.
Interviewer: {puzzled expression}
Tiff: Oh, you probably don’t say that here.
Interviewer: (amusedly) No, but I see what you mean.

Chotchkies - I unlearned this at an interview.
Interviewer: So what sorts of things did you sell at _____.com?
Tiff: City-specific merchandise. Anything from New York cheesecakes, to San Francisco sourdough bread, to the usual suspects - t-shirts, caps, mugs, . . . all sorts of little chotchkies.
Interview: {puzzled expression}
Tiff: Hmm. . . That’s what we would call them in New York - it’s just a word for little, insignificant items.
Interview: Oh that’s quite good, yes!

Those are the only terms I can think of right now, but for the record, they also don’t understand Office Space references or baseball. You’ll never guess how I learned that.

Fine print: This is by no means typical of my complete conversations with these folks. Usually I talk about work. In a professional manner. Promise.

Happy Tuesdays is the name of a little store in Pennsylvania - sometimes I think about that on Tuesdays.

Wanted to backtrack a bit and write about our trip to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich. We got up on a Saturday, and Andy asked me if I wanted to go to Greenwich. I said, “Yeah, that sounds great!” and off we went. I will now admit, as I did to Andy that day, that it wasn’t until we were sitting on the hill in Greenwich eating our little picnic lunch that I realized WHY one would go to Greenwich. Turns out, Greenwich would be the home of the Royal Observatory OF Greenwich - the one of “Greenwich Mean Time” fame. Yup - THAT Greenwich. I realize most folks would have figured that out before I did, but I’m going to have to go with my fallback excuse: this is part of what makes me so charming.

The Royal Observatory is a museum now (though still an observatory, as well), and one of the most important things to do there is to have your picture taken on the Prime Meridian. Done. They also have a very well-displayed and clearly explained history of the development of sea navigation (latitude, longitude, and whatnot), and the significance of Greenwich to that development. In addition, they have an excellent exhibit on time-keeping, with accompanying clocks from various historical times and further explanation of the historical influence of Greenwich on time-keeping. There are also, as one might expect in an observatory, a few very impressive, large telescopes. Technically, the crosshairs of one of the telescopes actually define the Prime Meridian. Who knew?

Disclaimer: I will admit that some minute details (which may or may not be HUGELY important) about the Royal Observatory may have escaped my memory or perhaps just escaped my blog.

The other interesting thing about Greenwich that day was the London Green Lifestyle Show. We had a look around there, as well, discarded our rubbish appropriately, noticed the distinct LACK of compost heap and felt guilty enough to carry our banana peels around for a few hours before sneakily putting them in the regular old bin. Sorry Green folks, but you didn’t have a compost heap!

That’s it for today - Happy Tuesday!