It’s good to be back in New York, although the sweltering heat and humid atmosphere means that I have as much desire to be outside as an agoraphobic slug who has been told that the only way for him to get back inside his garden shed is to slither through an industrial-size outdoor salt store.
The heat does nothing for people’s temper as they make their way around the city. Simple missions such as walking up the stairs from the subway to the exit are turned into Indiana Jones-style fights to the finish, as sweat-soaked crazies kick and punch their way to the top. And that’s just the women.
Earlier today, I saw a cyclist who had clearly determined that the worst possible thing that he could do in this weather would be to stand still. Of course, given the number of pedestrians and traffic lights in the city, that’s pretty much an impossible task. Not unless you take your life into your own hands.
Or in this case, take a whistle into your mouth.
Paying no particular heed for traffic lights, and a healthy disregard for the public, this cyclist simply put a small silver whistle between his lips, blasted out as shrill a note as he could possibly manage, and trusted in his ability to put the pedal to the metal to do the rest. I watched him for about a block and a half as he peeped and parped his way across the city at high speed to avoid slowing down, unsuspecting pedestrians scattering in his path as he frightened the living bejeesus out of anyone within a twenty yard radius.
And you wonder why some people accuse New Yorkers of impatience?
Unless I’m doing him a disservice. Perhaps he had a medical emergency, or he’d realised that he’d left the oven on? Or maybe he had Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves in his panniers, and he was having to keep up a constant 50mph for fear of untold damage to his spokes and handlebars?
With New York, you just never know.
When I first moved down to London, She Who Was Born To Worry (or my mum, as I generally know her) took the wind out of my fresh faced and eager sails by calling me a shandy-drinking southerner. The implication being that the north of England was rough, the south was posh, and I’d have to start watering my beer down with lemonade because I’d lose all my gritty ruggedness. Clearly the fact that I was always about as rugged as a baby’s bottom had slipped her mind. Not to mention the fact that my home county Cheshire sells more champagne per head of population per year than any other part of the UK. It’s hardly South Central LA, put it like that.
Of course, a move to New York has done nothing to dampen my status as a shandy drinking southerner. That’s despite the fact that a barman in New York is no more likely to know what a shandy is than Nigel at the Union Vaults in Chester would be able to make a decent Long Island Iced Tea.
But now I’m starting to fear that I am fulfilling the prophecy. Maybe I’m becoming a big softie after all.
I’m currently in the UK on business, and having previously checked the weather in London and found it to be in the high 60sF/20C, I merrily packed no jacket. After all the heat and humidity of New York, it’d be nice to get to the relative normality of British weather. But after walking down Kensington High Street yesterday afternoon, I suddenly realised that despite the sun shining, I was rubbing my arms to keep myself warm. All around me people are in summer gear, and yet I find myself wondering whether it would be a fashion faux-pas to wear a balaclava in June.
If that wasn’t bad enough, when I get inside the office or a shop, I’ve started to feel like I’m overheating, and regularly hear myself internally bemoaning the lack of air-conditioning in this country.
I fear that I may have turned into one of those Brazilian footballers who start wearing tights and gloves after their big money move to the Premiership, when they realise that a trip to Blackburn on a wet Tuesday night in January is marginally less appealing than a night at the Maracana.
It’s either that or I’m going through the change. You’ll read about me in the Lancet in years to come, I tell you.
Now, where can I get a shandy?
In a classic ‘the dog ate my homework’ style, can I apologize for the lack of the last segment of the 200 Things You Simply Have To Know About New York list? I may or may not have written the vast majority of the final 50 points on a series of Post It notes, which were stuffed into my jeans pockets and subsequently thrown into the washing machine this weekend. I’d like to think that Charles Dickens, William Golding, Joseph Heller, Jane Austen and Leo Tolstoy had similar domestic appliance-related woes at various points during their writing careers. I know for a fact that the first draft of Jack Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ was almost entirely destroyed when his wife accidentally spilled hot water from the kettle as she attempted to make a cup of instant soup. These are the issues that face all writers at some point, I know.
So as you wait eagerly under your Google Reader feed for the final installment to drop merrily into view, I thought I should mention another writer – and one far better than I could ever dream of being. Tim Russert, NBC’s Washington bureau news chief and host of ‘Meet The Press’, passed away on Friday after suffering a heart attack at work. The outpouring of tributes and emotion – whether from journalistic luminaries, politicians or the man on the street – suggests that this was a man whose ability to ask the difficult question and provide insight made him loved by all. Clearly Russert’s death has impacted a huge number of people.
It’s at times like this that I really notice that I’ve only been in the US for ten months. For while I know of Russert’s work, he hasn’t formed part of my cultural and journalistic upbringing for the last thirty five years in the way that, say, Michael Buerke, Sue Lawley or Kate Adie have. If Sir Trevor McDonald dropped dead tomorrow, there would (in the UK) be a tidal wave of tributes and sorrow which I would be able to understand given that Trevor’s news reports (not to mention his surprise Tiswas appearances) were a constant presence in my life from the age of about six. There is a very clear emotional attachment to these people that you invite into your house every night, and one that only time and repeated exposure can bring. But that’s a long way from happening for me with American newscasters, meaning that I can’t quite relate to the grief in the way that I might otherwise hope to.
In fact, such is the limited amount of TV that I watch at the moment given a move of country and job as well as the acquisition of a ready-made family, the only television stars that I might mourn the loss of would be Padma Lakshmi and Tom Colichio. ‘Top Chef’ is hardly ‘Meet The Press’, but you’ve got to start somewhere.
Here’s the third installment of the epic list to celebrate 200 posts. Think you know New York yet? Think again.
101. If officials made it any easier to access the subway without paying, babies who have consistently had their candy taken from them for the last 200 years would be relieved of their ridicule.
102. Aviator sunglasses are compulsory uniform in New York. Especially on the subway.
103. You have to pay a toll to get out of Brooklyn on the Verrazano Bridge, but it’s free to come back. This can only be a ploy to stop cheap New Yorkers from leaving.
104. It is easier to thread a camel through the eye of a needle than to find a New York block that doesn’t have some kind of shop offering you ten different types of turkey.
105. Native New Yorkers love their city with a passion.
106. If you ever needed proof that the legs of 80% of Americans will drop off if they’re forced to walk more than 100 yards in a day, look no further than New York and its subway system that stops every ten blocks.
107. Drop a nickel from the Empire State Building and it’ll be worth two cents by the time it hits the ground, such is the economic crisis afflicting the US at the moment.
108. Too many Brits in New York use their nationality as an excuse for their arrogant behaviour. It’s no excuse, fellow countrymen…
109. There are more knock offcounterfeit bags purporting to be genuine Prada/Coach/Louis Vuitton than in all of Hong Kong, Thailand and Singapore combined. It’s easier to pick up a fake Chloe handbag in Chinatown than it is to get a portion of General Tso’s chicken with steamed rice.
110. Everybody’s desperate to be part of New York. Especially the people of West New York. They’re in New Jersey.
111. I’ve seen more broken feet in New York in the last two months than I’ve probably ever seen in my life. Either that, or vain New Yorkers have been told that the orthopedic boot you have to wear is actually a post-modernist fashion statement. But only if you wear it on one foot.
112. There is so much construction work in the city that official estimates suggest the whole of New York could be rebuilt within three years.
113. The cannoli. Why?
114. Walking past a bar and seeing ‘soccer’ on a big screen still surprises me every time.
115. It doesn’t matter whether it’s 3 in the afternoon or 2 in the morning, there is traffic everywhere in New York.
116. Especially when you’re in a hurry to get to the airport.
117. If you can conceive of a type of entertainment, then there is somewhere in New York that will be able to provide it for you. Even those fetishists who insist on hearing German Schlager music while having their toes gently stroked by feather-toting Azerbaijani immigrants.
118. The prevalence of the one cent coin is directly due to the sheer volume of 99 cent stores in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.
119. There has not been a consumer product yet invented that will not be directly delivered to your door by one or more New York stores.
120. For a city that banned smoking in bars well before the UK, there’s a hell of a lot of smokers in this city.
121. Please stop making me wait for the rest of my party to arrive before you’ll seat me in your restaurant. I promise you that they’re just having a cigarette outside.
122. More New Yorkers take advantage of the opportunity to drink until 4am than anywhere else in America. If New York didn’t exist, Advil would have to invent it.
123. As a neat counterpoint to number 82 on the list, when the sun is blazing at 97 degrees and there’s 80% humidity, New York is about as tempting a destination as war-torn Cambodia.
124. Times Square is the rich man’s Piccadilly Circus.
125. Halloween in New York is incredibly scary. Not because it’s when ghouls and goblins come out to play, but because of the likelihood of being trampled to death by marauding kids seeking out sweetscandy.
126. New Yorkers are taxed according to the average number of syllables they use every day. Their refusal to pronounce every syllable is the reason that a shudder of fear shakes you to your bones when you realise you’ve got a New Yorker on your charades team.
127. Mayor Bloomberg is no Boris Johnson. Thankfully.
128. Grand Central Station is both an utterly stunning piece of architecture, and a fine place to get some food. Apparently you can also catch trains there.
129. ‘Sorry’ is the most-uttered word by the British in New York. Ironically, the apology was outlawed for all native New Yorkers, by state judges in 1969.
130. I’ve yet to find a restaurant or bar in the city which offers Pepsi that doesn’t taste like it’s been made in a Soda Stream.
131. New York is one of the world’s biggest cities, but they still couldn’t win the 2012 Olympics bid.
132. La Guardia airport is the worst airport in the country, with only 58% of its flights arriving on time. And JFK and (New Jersey’s) Newark aren’t too far behind…
133. You don’t know the meaning of stress until you’ve spent a few hours in the company of a New Yorker. Especially if you happen to be sitting next to one on a flight arriving at La Guardia.
134. New Yorkers share their city with some of the most disgusting looking bugs in the world. And the cockroaches are silently plotting to take over the city in a bloodless coup.
135. Everybody always wants something in this city.
136. New York women have the biggest hair in the world. More hairspray and hair curlers are sold per square mile than any other metropolitan centreer in the world.
137. Air quality is Beijing-esque. On a good day.
138. If you fancy spending a half a day in a queueline, just go to your nearest post office.
139. My mother always told me to avoid puddles of standing water on a dry day, just in case it’s urine. If I was to take her advice in New York, I’d never get on the subway.
140. Having your buttons broken by every dry cleaner you take your shirts to is part of the city’s unique charm
141. It’s difficult to feel too ‘out of water’ in a city where you can easily buy Mr Kipling’s cherry bakewells, and Curly Wurly’s.
142. It’s still shocking to find that shops stay open later than 6pm.
143. Finding a needle in a haystack is nothing compared to attempting to find a cleaner who will turn up every week, not charge the earth, and has papers confirming their legal right to be in the country. Or at least faked papers confirming their legal right to be in the country.
144. Getting a drink on the house actually does happen. Not very often, admittedly, but it’s always nice when it does.
145. If you want to have a proper conversation about the state of Manchester United’s attacking options, just get in a yellow cab and tell them that you’re English.
146. If you want to see dogs treated like human beings by women in big sunglasses, New York is the place for you.
147. No excuse is too small for a celebration in New York.
148. By law, disaster movies have to show New York being obliterated.
149. Lindsay Lohan accidentally taking somebody’s coat home from a club is front page news in this city.
150. The city is apparently known as Gotham, but I’ve never seen a man dressed in a cape, a yellow belt and with his pantsunderwear on over his clothes.
If you want to engage in small talk with a Brit, there’s only one thing you’ll definitely need to chat about - the weather. Whether it’s complaining about the rain, or talking about snow coming late this year, the British would be at a loss for words if it wasn’t for the weather. I’ve filled more embarrassing silences with chat about forthcoming snow or sleet than Madison Square Garden vendors have filled bread rolls with Hebrew National hotdogs.
And let’s face it, Britain has so much weather going on that it’s not like people are short of conversation. The only thing that makes the British happier than some unseasonal early summer sun is talking about the unseasonal early summer sun (and how it’s likely to be the only sun they get all summer). The UK is probably the only country in the world that looks forward to forty days and forty nights of rain, just because it gives us something concrete to complain about.
With all that in mind, the British in New York are in their element right now, with stifling 99F degree heat (37C degrees in real money) bringing the city to its (sweaty and blotchy) knees. Walking out of air-conditioned buildings into the open-air is like walking through one of those heat curtains that greet you as you enter Boots the Chemist, except for the fact that the curtain covers the city (and it’s the delicate but unmistakable tones of body odour that lurk behind it, rather than the intoxicating sandalwood with herbacious topnotes aroma of Dior’s latest fragrance).
Yesterday afternoon I stepped out of the office to send a Father’s Day card to Brit Out Of Water Sr from the post office literally across the road. I probably took less than 100 paces, and was away from an air-conditioned environment for no more than three minutes. Nonetheless, I returned to my desk resembling an about-to-be-committed gibbering idiot who had decided to pay a visit to a local water park while wearing full office clothing.
I’d like to say that I was glowing rather than sweating. In reality I was probably lucky to get away without causing an electrical fire when I sat back down at my keyboard. If the next fifty on the 200 Things You Simply Have To Know About New York list is delayed, don’t blame me.
I’ll be out looking for a waterproofed computer.
51. Your stepsstoop is a much more civilised place from which to get rid of any old crap from your house than the back of a Ford Cortina.
52. Any city that can invent the beer milkshake is alright by me.
53. The view from the N train as you go across the Williamsburg Bridge is as good as any cityscape this country has to offer. I know it sounds strange, but that view of the Brooklyn Bridge just gets me every time.
54. Hipsters really do exist. Their level of actual hipness is only exceeded by their own opinion of themselves.
55. Everybody’s got an opinion in New York. And they’re not afraid to share it with you.
56. That’s an old lady behind you pushing you out of the way so that she can get off the train.
57. Nothing is sacred when it comes to advertising. Anything, anyone or anywhere can be used by big evil brands to get their message across. By the way, this blog entry is brought to you by Taco Bell: Thinking Outside The Bun.
58. The quality of the roads in this country is comparable to those in rural Tunisia. Except a little bumpier.
59. ‘Spicy’ is a swear word in New York restaurants.
60. Someone, somewhere in this city, is getting very very angry right now.
61. Mayor Bloomberg does not control this city. The makers of Boars Head deli meats do.
62. Well, either Boars Head or Chase Bank.
63. Given the number of manicure and pedicure salons in the city, I’m forced to the reluctant conclusion that the average New York hand has at least seven fingers.
64. There’s no shortage of parking in the city, but it’d still be cheaper to park outside Philadelphia and get a taxi back.
65. There must be a world surplus of cream cheese. It’s the only explanation for why delis put so much of the damn stuff on every single bagel.
66. People actually speak to their neighbours here. I didn’t know what the word neighbour meant until I got here.
67. That said, ‘nabe’ as a word is an assault on the soul of the English language.
68. Did I miss a meeting that declared frozen yoghurt one of the five essential foodstuffs?
69. The best day of my life took place in this city.
70. I’m not counting Manchester United’s two most recent European Cup victories in the above, obviously.
71. Hell hath no fury like a Brooklyn resident having a big apartment building built just down the road from their lovely brownstone.
72. If every deli in New York were placed alongside the next, they’d reach from here to Salt Lake City. Or somewhere else quite a long way away.
73. If you want to a scary night out, don’t bother with a trip to the latest slasher movie. Just attend a class play at your local elementary school and watch the parents.
74. Million dollar fines are issued to any New York radio station playing any more than 20 different records in one day.
75. New York apartments are like the everyday living version of attempting to fit 22 people in a Mini. Never in the field of human contact were so many squeezed into so little for so much cash.
76. Jars of sweetscandies seem to feature on everybody’s desks. Did I mention that New York has a collective sweet tooth?
77. Spontaneous combustion has been known to occur in documented cases where a member of the public has managed to find one of the three square yards in the city where a Starbucks cannot be seen in any direction.
78. Should Duane Reade go out of business tomorrow, the resultant collapse in the commercial property market in New York as approximately 67,000 locations instantly went on the market could make the subprime market look like a schoolkid losing their pocket moneyallowance.
79. There’s a truly astonishing sense of community in this city. Even if it’s generally rallied in order to prevent a bar from selling alcohol within an 83 block radius of a school.
80. There really is a hell of a lot less crime here than you’d think given the size of the city.
81. You can always guarantee that the only time you’ll actually see a crime taking place is while you’re showing around a nervous friend or family member who is convinced they’re going to die in New York.
82. On a hot day in June, with a pleasant breeze taking the edge off the sun, there can sometimes feel like there’s no greater place on earth.
83. The amount of time for needed for an outsider to make themselves understood to a native will always be in direct inverse proportion to the amount of time you have.
84. The sudden need for a taxi always rises about five minutes after the 4pm changeover has caused all bar three taxis to turn their lights onto ‘off duty’.
85. Recycling is particularly effective in this city. If London wants to play catch-up, all they need to do is place a 5p deposit on all cans and plastic bottles, and let homeless people do the rest.
86. Fresh Direct is heaven sent – imagine Ocado, but without all the Waitrose stores to make you feel guilty that you’ve had your groceries delivered rather than walking the eighteen yards down the road to get them. Admittedly Fresh Direct’s sixteen yards of foam wrap may be overkill for two bananas.
87. There are maybe only three public toilets in the whole of New York City. And I can’t find two of them.
88. New York is the undisputed cupcake capital of the world. New Yorkers didn’t even know that they liked cupcakes until these shops started appearing randomly on their streets.
89. Brooklyn is the new Manhattan. Queens is the new Brooklyn. The Bronx is the Bronx. And Staten Island is a funny little place that’s difficult to get to.
90. If you can make it here, you can apparently make it anywhere.
91. They’ll hold a parade for anything in this city. 60 years of Israel? Let’s have a parade. Releasing a Disney film? Time for a parade!! A new line of toothpaste now available at Rite Aid? Parade!!!
92. For all its urban sprawl, New York has some of the most impressive parkland of any city I’ve ever been to. Even if the Brooklyn Botanic Garden is a poor man’s Kew Gardens.
93. If I hear “Ladies and gentlemen, we are delayed because of train traffic ahead of us” one more time, I swear I will not be held responsible for my actions.
94. In Britain, your inducement to give blood is a biscuit. In New York, it’s Mets tickets.
95. World hunger could be solved if all the cinema snacks in New York were packaged up and airdropped in major poverty-stricken areas. Obviously dentists and industrial quantities of floss would also be required.
96. The phrase ‘thank you’ was abolished under the state 1883 Politeness Reduction Act
97. People, bacon doesn’t belong with waffles.
98. Strangers have no issue with starting up a conversation with you. Very disconcerting at first. Particularly for the British, who have to run a full background check on any newcomer before engaging in even a stolen glance with an outsider.
99. Salad is not drowned not dressed
100. By my reckoning, Christmas decorations should be appearing around the city in approximately 34 days.
So after almost 300 days out of water, I’ve reached my 200th post. To mark the occasion, I’ve come up with 200 things that you should know about New York. Some of them apply to the rest of America, but all of them sum up why the city is completely unique. And whatever you may think sometimes, I think you all know I love the place deep down.
Obviously 200 bullet points would be one damn long post, so I’ve split it into four sections. OK, you’re right, I haven’t quite managed to finish the list yet. I’ll get there, don’t worry. And feel free to add your own New York idiosyncrasy in the comments. I might even use it (and credit you!) in the final 200…
Here goes:
1. Whatever your nationality, there’s a little community of your fellow countrymen somewhere in this city. Guaranteed.
2. People actually do seem to say ‘whassup’.
3. The streets aren’t paved with gold, they’re paved with the spit of a million construction workers.
4. State taxes are higher than any other place I’ve ever lived. After all, Eliot Spitzer’s high class hookers won’t pay for themselves.
5. It’s a little known fact that every molecule of dirt on the planet originated at some point from the New York subway system.
6. That person shouting randomly in the street is definitely shouting at you.
7. In the 1960s TV show The Invaders, you could always spot the alien by their rigid little finger. In New York, you spot the outsider because they’re smiling.
8. There is one Chinese take out joint per head of population in the city.
9. The longest and most depressing queueline in the world is at Whole Foods in Union Square.
10. Strike that, I’ve just been to Trader Joe’s.
11. The $2 subway fare is probably the best value public transport system in the Western world.
12. Thousands of New Yorkers still complain bitterly about the cost, as if that $2 cost is the one thing that’s preventing them from hiring a yacht in the harbour at Monte Carlo next summer.
13. How many New Yorkers does it take to change a lightbulb? One, to hold it in place while the world revolves around him.
14. Nobody does anything by halves in this city. Whether they’re campaigning on behalf of Tibet, or taking up rollerblading, New Yorkers put their heart and soul into everything they do. Apart from anger management, obviously.
15. The sound of popping animal skin that occurs when you bite into a hot dog on a New York street may be one of the satisfying noises known to man.
16. There is no louder sound on earth than an emergency services vehicle going past you with its siren blaring. They make them that loud so that no-one confuses them with an ice cream van.
17. It is a statistically proven fact that it is impossible to catch sight of the Statue of Liberty without internally exclaiming “f**k me, that’s the Statue of Liberty!”
18. Some New Yorkers really do think that the British say ‘potarto’.
19. On the London Underground you sometimes see tiny little mice scuttling around the tracks. In New York, the subway has stonking great rats who look like they’d eat your grandmother if they were given half the chance.
20. Most people seem to leave offices by about 3pm during the summer, to get an early start on the weekend. Of course, if they just gave everybody proper holidays in the first place…
21. Impatience is the number one religion in New York. Most New Yorkers reading this are already annoyed that I’m not on point 183 by now.
22. Such is sheer array of good food available in New York that it is more than possible to put on in excess of ten pounds in weight after just eight months in the city. So I hear, at least…
23. Co-ops are an opportunity for people who were bullied at school to feel like they have some power at last.
24. Brits in New York are the ones wearing t-shirts and shorts in February.
25. When it rains in New York, it really pours down. Which is embarrassing if you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts. In February.
26. If you want a glimpse of what hell is surely like, walk down 5th Avenue on a Saturday afternoon.
27. For all the praise heaped upon New York cheesecake, (whisper it in hushed tones) it’s really not all that.
28. I *heart* NY is surely the greatest city logo of all time. More impressive than “Slough: It’s Not As Bad As You Think” at least.
29. Accidentally sneeze as you walk past a doctors in the city, and it’ll almost certainly cost you $20.
30. Customer service is something that New York schoolkids read about in fairytales.
31. A white walk sign is no indication that it’s safe to walk. It’s just to inform you that you will probably have a watertight legal case when the car that’s turning right hits you.
32. Coffee doesn’t actually taste better in New York. But everybody else is wired, so it’s best to grab yourself a cup and go with the flow.
33. There’s probably greater inertia in this city than most cities in the world. Anybody announcing that they’re leaving gets treated like there’s been a death in the family.
34. The everything bagel should be named alongside the Colossus of Rhodes as one of the seven wonders of the world.
35. Writing a blog entry about the woefulness of New York sport will inevitably lead to a last minute New York triumph in one of the biggest sports matches of the year.
36. The Knicks are still rubbish.
37. It is quicker to do forward rolls all the way to China than take a subway train any more than ten stops on a Sunday.
38. The Union Square Greenmarket is the only place in the world that I’ve ever seen edible ferns for sale. But then, I’ve led a sheltered life.
39. Despite the legendary nickname of the city, the apples here are no bigger than they are anywhere else in the US as far as I can tell.
40. If there’s currently a billboard in this town without Sex & The City on it, I’m yet to see it.
41. Given how many actors and actresses there must be in this city, it seems slightly unjust that the only one I’ve seen so far is Becky from Roseanne.
42. There must be a good reason why people wear New Era baseball caps with the gold sales sticker still on the peak. But for the life of me I can’t think what it is.
43. Breakfast in the city is eggs. If you don’t like eggs, you are legally required to make your way to the city borders if you want to eat before 11am.
44. International news coverage means reporting on events in Pennsylvania.
45. There is more privacy in Guantanamo Bay than in toilet cubicles anywhere in New York.
46. There are no stray cats or dogs anywhere in the city. This may or may not be linked to the number of Chinese takeout joints.
47. The Brooklyn-Queens Expressway should really be called ‘That Road That Links Brooklyn and Queens’.
48. There are 103 different reasons for schoolkids to have random days off, each more spurious than the last. Today is apparently Brooklyn Day. Next week it’s Fraggle Rock Friday.
49. Nobody in this city gives a toss what anybody else thinks. Which would explain why people are capable of having fully-fledged screaming arguments at the tops of their voices infront of hundreds of commuters on the streets.
50. Being uncovered as a closet pizza hater has been enough to end at least three political campaigns in the last twenty-five years.
Only 150 more to go, you’ll be relieved to know.
Thanks for reading for the last ten months or so - your interest and comments are appreciated more than you know. I hope you’re still here for post number 400.
Just don’t expect me to do 400 things you simply have to know about New York, OK?
Incredibly, after more than 500 days of campaigning, it looks like the race is over and Barack Obama is the chosen one for the Democratic party. Personally I think it’s a shame to see either one lose, given that the electorate has paid much more attention to this clash of the titans than they probably will to the presidential election itself. Interest-wise, it’s kind of like following the season-ending edge-of-the-seat cliffhanging finale of ‘Lost’ or ‘24’ (or – shudder – even ‘American Idol’) with a four year old episode of ‘When Chihuahuas Attack’.
The process of selecting a figurehead for the party is about three times as long a procedure as the presidential campaign. It’s also in direct contrast to the UK major party system, which sees a new leader chosen in less than two months through the combined vote of elected MPs and the party membership. Barack Obama’s campaign has so far cost more than $130 million, while a leadership campaign in the UK generally costs less than $500,000. I appreciate that this country’s bigger, and the system’s different, but nothing has to stay the same forever folks. As I believe somebody may have said, it’s time for change.
Interestingly, the Obama campaign spent $738 on bagels from Einstein Bros, while the Clinton campaign laid down a mighty $2493 with the same supplier. Clearly when the going gets tough, the tough get bagels.
So now we enter five months of back-and-forth between McCain and Obama as they battle for the right to clear up the mess created by the least popular politician on the world stage in living memory. As soon as the whole affair’s over, it’ll be time to start up the Obama 2012 re-election/’I promise I won’t f**k it up this time’ campaign.
Clearly, I am one of the disenfranchised many (no taxation without representation, my arseass) and so I have no say in what happens on November 4. It’s probably for the good of the nation that I don’t have a vote in any case, as there’s only one issue that I want to hear the candidates’ view on. And since neither of them currently seem willing to announce that they’re going to outlaw peanut butter, I guess I’m going to have to keep on waiting.
Tough on peanut butter, tough on the causes of peanut butter. Unite behind me, America.
Sweetness is something towards which your attitude changes the older you get. When I was a kid, I loved being regarded as sweet by my grandparents, especially if it resulted in getting a toffee or a twenty pence piece as a result. Most kids quickly learn to perfect their ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look, and I was no different in that regard. Although, fortunately, butter actually wouldn’t melt in my mouth. Ahem.
Of course, when you get to the point at which you’re spending half an hour in the bathroom in an attempt to look good enough to impress girls, sweetness is the last thing that you want to be associated with. “You’re very sweet” has always been one of the ultimate female-to-male putdowns, after all. There are two things that you can categorically say about the statement “you’re very sweet” when hearing it from an attractive member of the opposite sex:
1. It will always be followed by a ‘but’ (ie. “you’re very sweet…but I’ve just this second remembered that I am leaving the country for three years. Tomorrow.”)
2. The implicit meaning is “I find our school’s one legged alcoholic caretakerjanitor more attractive than you. And he’s been dead for five years.”
Now I’m a bit older and – erm – more mature, I’m better able to cope with the sweetness tag. The Special One calls me sweet whenever she wants somethingall the time, and I have to say I quite like it. Don’t get me wrong, I still assume that she finds her dead peg-legged alcoholic janitor more attractive than me, but maybe I’ve just come to terms with my position in life.
Sweetness is something you have to get used to very quickly when you move from the UK to America. Largely because you have to accept that all your favourite foodstuffs come with 50% more sugar in them.
I love bread. If bread could have worn a dress and walked up the aisle, I’d be married to a nice piece of focaccia right now. If you told me tomorrow that I could eat nothing but bread (and bread-related products) for the rest of my life, I’d probably be happy. It doesn’t even have to be great bread either. Sure, I love an artisan-produced baguette as much as the next man, but if thick sliced white bread is all you’ve got then it’ll do for me.
But here in America, bread should come with a dental warning, such is the amount of sugar (or high fructose corn syrup) that goes into it. I’ve had doughnuts that taste less sweet than the vast majority of pre-packaged bread that you can buy in supermarkets. I’ve resorted to rye bread to make sure I get my savoury hit, although even that doesn’t quite hit the mark when it comes to a cheese’n’onion crisp sandwich, it has to be said.
It’s baked beans that upset me most though. While you can buy British Heinz baked beans in certain shops, you’ll generally have to part company with a week’s wages to do so. Fortunately, most supermarkets carry baked beans made by Heinz for the domestic market. Called ‘Vegetarian Beans’ (presumably because tins of baked beans often contain sausagesfranks, rather than because Americans assume that everything is a meat product unless otherwise labelled), the beans are the closest thing you can get to their British equivalent. They’re not bad, it has to be said, but it takes a while to get used to what seems to be a whole bottle of maple syrup that’s been added to the ingredients. Sure, the beans are cholesterol-free, but do they really have to be flavoured with treacle toffee?
I wanted beans on toast for lunch - the ultimate student meal-cum-comfort food, as all Brits will readily confirm. But here at Brit Out Of Water Towers, The Youngest and The Eldest stare at me with a look somewhere between pity and quizzical disgust.
After all, in America, beans on toast is practically dessert.
Back in my rock’n'roll days (now such a distant memory that they appear to be in black and white with no sound), I spent far too much time at aftershow parties for bands I didn’t like, with my good friend Mr MacBottom (don’t ask). One exception though was a post-gig party for Mansun, the band from my hometown of Chester who could only be described as “prog-rock”. I say could only be described as prog-rock, but to be honest some people might have called them “the poor man’s Pink Floyd”, “pop genius all too often punctuated by rambling guitar solos” or “tiresome indie rock”. But not me. I loved them.
I think the band were, in reality, vainglorious arts students who liked the sound of their own music a little bit too much, but that didn’t stop me going to their aftershow upstairs at London’s Kilburn National. After all, where there was free booze, you’d find this still-impoverished recent student. To be fair, nothing much has changed.
Excessive quantities of cheap cooking lager later, and this Brit Then In Water had to make the first of several pitstops at the toilet. Or ‘the facilities’, as I believe I have to call it here. I’ve spent all my life thinking that a facility is an ability to do something, or maybe a hospital. Move three and a half thousand miles and you suddenly discover that it’s something you take a leak in.
As is standard procedure in an empty toilet, I made for the urinal furthest from the door, and began the laborious Heineken-removal process. Within ten seconds, another man entered and – again following the textbook to the absolute letter – he positioned himself at the urinal furthest away from me. Eventually we both looked over at each other at the exact same point, grunted an ‘alright?’ in mutual recognition of the fact that thirteen gallons of beer takes a long time to get rid of, and then carried on as normal.
The fact that the other bloke was Andrew Lincoln (Mark from ‘Love Actually’ to my American readership, but inextricably Egg from ‘This Life’ to most Brits) is neither here nor there. The fact is that in Britain there are very clear unwritten guidelines on personal space that are carefully adhered to by most members of the population. Nobody gets too close to anyone else, a principle which probably explains the stiff upper lip if it’s applied equally to emotions.
I’d always thought that it was all different in the US, with everybody in each other’s face given even half a chance. But recently on the subway, I’ve seen that the same social norms apply even here.
I get on the L train in Manhattan at the end of the line, meaning the train is often empty when I board. This allows me to sit wedged up at the end of one of the rows of sets that run the length of my section of the carriage. Largely without fail, the next person to enter my section will sit on the opposite side of the carriage, and at the opposite end of the row of seats, so that we are diagonally separated by the greatest possible distance. Passenger 3 will sit on the same side as me but at the other end. And Passenger 4 will sit immediately opposite me. All four of us are perfectly spaced. If this had happened just once, I’d put it down to coincidence. But it’s happened so often, I’m starting to believe that I’ve missed a compulsory class on subway seat positioning. The author of ‘Urinal Etiquette: A Textbook Explanation’ couldn’t have organiszed it any better himself.
Ironically, most New York subway trains smell of urine. Maybe people are taking the philosophy a little too literally?
