From day one of my first writing job in America, I got warned that the head of the department was wary of me because I was British. This wasn't a concern that I'd switch coffee for tea in the break room, or force my colleagues to wear tweed. He was worried that a fresh-off-the-boat Brit wouldn't be able to handle writing "American."
And I like to think I proved him wrong - but it wasn't easy. George Bernard Shaw once claimed that America and Britain were two nations "divided by a common language" and he's not wrong. British English and American English are remarkably dissimilar in a lot of ways.
As I explained here, I actually think American English is a lot more consistent and logical that archaic British English, but the differences go far deeper than just spelling. What exactly do I mean? Well, look at the example I've produced below. It perhaps illustrates the most significant difference between the way Americans and Brits communicate using the written word:
What differences do you notice between British English and American English?
There are three reasons why I'm a fan of movie star Chris Evans.
First, he's playing Captain America this summer – who is one of my favorite superheroes.
Second, since I got into lifting weights, his is the program I've been following. You can't blame me: the guy got positively ripped to play ol' Cap.
Third, he shares the name with my redheaded nemesis – the radio presenter everybody in England used to say I looked like. These days, whenever anybody compares me to Chris Evans, I can whip up a picture of the Hollywood hunk and say, with a wink, "Gee, thanks – although I don't see the resemblance myself!"
Anyway. Evans is on my radar, which is why I was interested to read the interview with him in the July edition of GQ magazine.
Chris Evans apparently drinks liter-sized steins of Sam Adams. This makes him awesome.
American Marvel, by Edith Zimmerman, was far from the typical puff piece. Instead, it followed our hapless author as she inadvertently went on a drunken date with the 30-year-old movie star (instead of interviewing him.)
I enjoyed the article. It was fluently written, entertaining and told us a lot more about the movie star than you'd learn in a conventional interview in the lobby of some luxury hotel.
Unfortunately, it seems my appreciation of the article isn't the consensus. On Twitter and beyond, a lot of people are criticizing Zimmerman for what she wrote:
"bask in the idiocy of Edith Zimmerman and her blog-core writing style" wrote @insuhyoon
"If this were 1999, Edith Zimmerman would have been fired for this behavior. Astonishing lack of professionalism" wrote @drmabuse
"Oh geez. Edith Zimmerman's article on Chris Evans for #GQ is an embarrassment" opinions @Samantahhh
Personally, I think they can all go and stick it.
Aside from being a wildly entertaining writer, Edith Zimmerman is also pretty darn cute.
It's pretty obvious that 99% of this criticism is fueled by jealousy and the rest by a startlingly unrealistic expectation of what modern journalism is supposed to be.
[How come its always the least successful writers who have the most dictatorial opinion about how articles 'should' be written? - Editorial Bear]
You get the impression that most of these critics feel they'd have written a far better piece on Evans if they'd been given the opportunity to interview him (neatly ignoring the fact that Edith Zimmerman no doubt worked her ass off to be "given" that opportunity in the first place.)
But they'd be dead wrong. Zimmerman's two objectives were to write a profile of Chris Evans that didn't just repeat the same old trite we can read anywhere, and to do so in an entertaining style. She achieved both of these with aplomb - and I'm confident none of her critics could have come close.
Where else would you have been able to read about drinking beer, bumming smokes and crashing out in the house of a Hollywood A-lister? How many other interviews include being introduced to the subject's mother, or crawling out of their living room window?
As the Captain America blockbuster hits mega screens across America, you'll find no shortage of interviews with Chris Evans – many written by jealous hacks like the ones criticizing the GQ article. However, I guarantee that none of those articles will ever be as revealing as Edith Zimmerman's alcohol-fueled adventures playing Captain America's squiffy sidekick.
You go, girl. I'll be looking forward to reading more from you soon.
In Stephen King's Dark Tower septology, gunslinger Roland is on a quest to find the mysterious "dark tower" at the center of his crumbling world. In many ways, I think the reason the 7-book series always resonated so much with me was because I was trying to find a "dark tower" of my own.
It's always been the one sitting proudly in the center of midtown Manhattan - the most iconic landmark of The Big Apple and the shining beacon I spent ten years of my life trying to reach.
Well, today that tower celebrates 80 years since it was completed. Since opening in 1931, it's stood resolutely - almost 1,500 feet tall, from sidewalk to antenna, and still the tallest building in the city (despite losing that title between the building of, and the collapse of, the twin towers.)
I love the Empire State building. Many of my most treasured New York memories happened at the top of it, or at the lovely cocktail bar at the bottom (although I think that's become a Heartland Brewery now.) No matter how jaded and cynical I become about living New York-adjacent, the sight of that looming building never fails to stop me in my tracks and give me butterflies in my stomach.
And even though I've technically "reached" my dark tower, it still symbolizes my ongoing journey towards independence, happiness and success - a journey so many other immigrants embarked on when they too looked up at that towering silver spire and were inspired by the limitless opportunities the American icon represented.
As you read yesterday, I got my knickers most firmly in a twist about the new James Bond book – which I believe Hodder & Stoughton are making a horrible mistake with; setting it in the modern day.
Fortunately, my period proclivities are being satisfied elsewhere – with the trailers of the latest Captain America and X-Men movies.
Now, I'm not really into comics, but I do love Captain America. He's as patriotically archetypal as Superman, but the guys at Marvel have done some cool stuff with him lately. Most notably, when they published their 'Civil War' storyline, 'Cap' went rogue and fought against the government's plan to register all superheroes. I liked that because it fed into the American mentality that dissent is patriotic.
Captain America never quite got the hang of camouflage
Anyway – the new movie looks awesome, and is set in World War II – which tickles my fancy no end. From Indiana Jones onward, there's simply no more satisfying cinematic butt to kick than that which belongs to a Nazi!
Almost as exciting is another comic book franchise – the X-Men. I've never really been into the adventures of this talented team of 'metahumans' - but I do like the fact that they're setting this movie in the 1960s, knee-deep in the cold war. While they're diverting quite significantly from the storyline of the original comics (which were first published in the 1960s, as an allegory of the civil rights movement) it looks like they've got the Kennedy-era atmosphere pitch-perfect.
Oh, 1960s... Why were your clothes so beautiful?
The 'First Class' of the X-Men, which nerds complain contains just one member of the first class of the X-Men
These are lessons the Estate of Ian Fleming should have paid attention to. Setting things in the 'modern age' doesn't necessarily make them better or more relatable. In fact, history is a much more fertile creative playground because you can use established characters, events and archetypes as metaphors for today's troubles and tribulations.
Anyway. Watch the trailers to Captain America and X-Men: First Class below. They rock.
I started writing this blog roughly when I visited the United States Embassy in London for the umpteenth time, to get fingerprinted for my Visa to live in the United States.
It was almost a year until that came to pass – and it seemed like an eternity.
By comparison, the three years I've spent living in America have whizzed by. It's seemed like the blink of an eye since I went from fresh-off-the-boat immigrant to finding myself eligible to take that final step and actually become an American.
Please excuse dated, cheesy photo - it's the only vaguely 'American' one I have... as of yet!
And that's what happened yesterday - I became a citizen of this great nation.
When the possibility of becoming a naturalized American came about, there was never any doubt in my mind that I'd take it.
I don't mean any disloyalty to the country of my birth (I love Britain, as long as I don't have to live there) but ever since I was a teenager I've been infected with the delirious, intangible possibilities of the American dream and surely there is no greater embrace of that dream than to become the very fabric of the 'melting pot' that the United States is woven from.
Considering what a momentous occasion my citizenship should have been, it's didn't exactly start auspiciously. Last night, New Jersey was hit with one of those curious freaks of meteorology that leave us more temperate Brits baffled – we had a night of driving rain, icy sleet and freezing temperatures. When I got up a 5am, I wasn't shoveling snow off the Lincoln – I was sliding great big sheets of ice from the bonnet.
Likewise, a 20-minute trip to Newark took an hour and a half – and when I finally got there, half the parking lots were skating rinks without attendants in attendance. At least that meant I could find parking just around the corner.
Naturalization is a far simpler process than you might think. You sit in a big waiting room – like a well-appointed DMV – and are called for your 'interview.' In it, an officer will examine your paperwork and test your English skills and knowledge of America. One of my tasks was to read aloud the sentence: "Which is the largest U.S. State?" I read that, then quickly responded: "Alaska!" Very good, my officer told me, but that wasn't actually on the test.
What was on the test was fairly straightforward:
What is the national anthem of America, who is the vice-president, etc.
I admit I fluffed one: I was asked: "Who does a senator represent?" and I answered "the state" when the correct answer was "the people of the state." I got my own back, though. When asked which war President Eisenhower had served in, the officer had to look up in her book to check that I had the correct answer (which, of course, I had.)
Then there was the waiting – about five hours in all. It wasn't that bad – I brought a book (a biography of Benjamin Franklin, no less, which I was sure would nominate me for fast-track processing) and before I knew it, we were being gathered into an auditorium for our oath ceremony.
Funnily enough, the first thing that stuck me was the fact that we were on the 15th floor of the only tower block in downtown Newark, so the view of snow-covered New Jersey was spectacular. Secondly, I noticed that cardboard cut-outs of Barack and Michelle Obama were overlooking the proceedings.
The ceremony started off with a 15-minute lecture about not laminating our certificate of naturalization, and keeping our cell-phones switched off.
Then we watched a five minute video of Barack Obama welcoming us as American citizens – and that was truly moving.
People bad mouth him all the time – myself included – but this was one moment in which I remembered why I will always consider Obama 'my' president. He was the first president I actively campaigned for, he was the first president who fulfilled any of the campaign pledges that were important to me and, finally, he was the president who welcomed me to America as a citizen (and, as he specifically noted, an equal.)
Obama and I are now considered equals. He still hasn't lent me the keys to The Beast yet, though
The pledge followed, which was awkward. There was a glorious melting pot of nationalities present and I was one of maybe three who spoke English fluently. Therefore, we went through each line of the oath painstakingly slowly:
"I hereby…"
"…declare…"
"…on oath…"
"…that I…."
"…absolutely…"
"…and…."
"…entirely…"
That wasn't as bad as the next bit – in which we were asked to sing along to a video of "God Bless the U.S.A.," performed in a classic karaoke style. Sadly nobody at the ceremony had been fed shots of tequila beforehand, so our performances were lackluster, to say the least. We all sat there murmuring like teenagers in church.
But for all my cynicism, it was an incredibly moving occasion to be a part of.
My only disappointment was that I somehow expected to feel different when I emerged from that room as an American citizen – but the fact that I didn't perhaps suggests I'd been American inside for far longer than the federal government had acknowledged.
But now it was official – for myself, and for the hundred or so other immigrants taking the oath with me. We were given a book at the ceremony – The Citizen's Almanac – which related how leaders from Washington to Reagan and beyond have stressed that each new immigrant and each new culture just adds to our own – and diminishes nothing from American society. It was amazing to think that I was now part of that society, along with all the others in the room.
One thing that was interesting was the demographic of my oath ceremony. Currently there's a huge backlash in America about the 'Mexican tidal wave' and the number of Hispanic immigrants coming to this country. If my ceremony was anything to go by, it turns out that we have nothing to worry about – there weren't that many Spanish people in the room.
In fact, if there was a discernible majority amongst us immigrants, it was a tie between Indians and Asians. It truly was a cultural and racial melting pot - and all the better for it.
So now here I am – an American at last. A journey I first set forth on almost a decade ago has reached it's conclusion… Or has it?
I first started dreaming of living in New York when my father gave me my first Saint novel, The Saint in New York. Since then, I've actually managed to cross the Atlantic, establish a family in this great nation and start a whole new life in America. But that was just the first chapter of this book… Now it's time for me to start thinking of what happens next.
And that, my friends, will be a whole new adventure! Hopefully, you'll follow me along for the ride.
It was cold - cold enough to hang up my 'summer' coat (the Indiana Jones leather bomber jacket) and switch to the 'winter' coat (an ankle length Spike coat) and the whiff of creaking leather was enough to send me reminiscing about arriving in America again for the first time in October of 2006.
Nostalgia's a good thing because it reminds you of all the things you love about a place, even when months and years have made you complacent about those advantages.
Today was a rare, but welcome occasion in which I remembered why I loved moving here so much.
For example, I started my day by clambering behind the wheel of a big, old car. Wooden dashboard, leather steering wheel and six-feet of long, sleek bonnet stretching out in front of me. Old cars are a passion for me - and it wasn't until America that I got to drive one again.
As I filled up with petrol, I realised that a tank of 'gas' cost the same number of dollars as it did pounds in Britain - about $35. So many things here in America are cheaper. It's honestly like every dollar buys you what a quid does in the UK. For that reason, we're in the black - whereas in the UK, we always scrimped, saved and hovered one paycheque from oblivion.
At work, I got an email from the editor of a magazine I write for. The fact that I've been able to launch a modest freelance writing career in America - and earn money for it - reveals that opportunities exist here that simply don't back in England.
I'm not sure exactly why. Perhaps it's because Americans appreciate people who do things, rather than people who are qualified to do things. Or maybe it's because I had an opportunity to redefine myself in America - whereas British society defines you - by your accent, your school, where you live and even the color of your hair.
At work, I argued (good naturedly) with somebody who was offended by the adverts being posted across New York for the new Tucker Max movie I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. It made me grateful for the fact that we live in a country in which freedom of expression is a constitutional right and the politically correct mafia can't ban things indiscriminately like they seem to in England.
During my lunchbreak, I discovered a great new blog by a Colorado librarian called Jamie LaRue - who made a particularly noteworthy comment that I enjoyed because it tied into my reading on the American War of Independence (yes, I'm still wading through The Glorious Cause: The American Revolution, 1763-1789)
"...our whole system of government was based on the idea that the purpose of the state was to preserve individual liberties, not to dictate them."
It reinforced my belief that Stephen King's 'The Stand' is coming true and all the awesome people gravitate towards Colorado (Sasha, Sarah and Coffee Bean, for example) and it reminded me that America was a nation founded on secular freedoms, not religious restrictions (as some people would have you believe.)
As I drove home, I noticed that the Halloween Store on US1 opened today - reminding me that we're one step closer to my favorite holiday of the year (and an excuse to dress up in silly costume.) We've already got Mini Militant's. Watch for pictures soon!
And finally, I came home to my lovely wife and my adorable son and I realised that everything in my life has blossomed in unexpected ways since coming to the United States.
Sure, I grow frustrated with life here sometimes. I'm adopting an almost libertarian distrust of the federal government, even while I argue that we need public involvement in the private health care industry.
[Hey, conservatives argue that the government can't run anything right, and then claim that public health care will so so efficient it'll put private insurers out of business. That's no lessretarded! - Editorial Bear]
But America is an opportunity. I realise that your destiny here is largely of your own creation and I never felt like that in Britain.
I look at my brother in law, who started a million-dollar business without ever going to college. I see the example of Warren Buffett and Michael Bloomberg, who built their fortunes gambling with pennies. I even look at Barack Obama, who was an undistinguished kid from a modest background who made history when he strode into the White House.
Sometimes I feel deflated, living in our tiny rented house and living our modest little lives. But then I remember that all my hopes and dreams are out here, in America. At least, they are if I can just summon the power to seize them. Maybe I never will, but for some reason, I still feel like I'm inching my way closer and closer to them each day that I spend here.
Based on some comments I received from the lovely Coffee Bean and Tom, I decided to reprint something I wrote after the tragic Virginia Tech shootings - on my defunct 'political' website, Editorial Bear.
Gun control is fundamentally flawed. Out of the millions of guns floating around America, a significant number (15% apparently) are unregistered and illegal. These are the guns floating around in the hands of criminals. This minority of guns causes the majority of crimes and banning the 85% of registered weapons will do nothing to curb the circulation of illegal firearms.
In fact, statistics show gun control can have a negative impact on crime figures.
New Jersey adopted what sponsors described as "the most stringent gun law" in the nation in 1966; two years later, the murder rate was up 46 percent and the reported robbery rate had nearly doubled.
In 1968, Hawaii imposed a series of increasingly harsh measures and its murder rate, then a low 2.4 per 100,000 per year, tripled to 7.2 by 1977.
In 1976, Washington, D.C., enacted one of the most restrictive gun control laws in the nation. Since then, the city's murder rate has risen 134 percent while the national murder rate has dropped 2 %.
Over 50% of American households own guns, despite government statistics showing the number is approximately 35%, because guns not listed on any government roll were not counted during the gathering of data. [9]
Evanston, Ill., a Chicago suburb of 75,000 residents, became the largest town to ban handgun ownership in September 1982 but experienced no decline in violent crime.
Among the 15 states with the highest homicide rates, 10 have restrictive or very restrictive gun laws.
20 percent of U.S. homicides occur in four cities with just 6 percent of the population - New York, Chicago, Detroit and Washington, D.C. - and each has a virtual prohibition on private handguns.[8]
UK banned private ownership of all handguns in 1997. Since 1998 the number of people injured by firearms in England and Wales has more than doubled, despite massive increase in number of police personnel.[9]
Violent crime accelerated in Jamaica after handguns were banned.
The problem is in America itself. Despite a century of advancement, the country is still very much like the Wild West. Guns are everywhere. Effective gun control, like we've got in the UK, would take decades to really work.
Statistics suggest that 9 children under the age of 19 die from gunshots every single day in the United States. If private gun ownership was banned, would that figure be reduced?
But more importantly, would the American right wing be willing to sacrifice the "security" of private gun ownership to prevent these deaths?
In a country in which most states still allow people to carry concealed weapons (at least the cowboys had 'em on show) I think the answer to that question is a resounding no.
It was this time last year that we arrived at Newark Airport (and I was given a rough time by some jerk in an Immigrations Officer uniform.)
One year... It's amazing.
Well, what has this year brought us?
The most obvious new arrival is actually still in it's packaging - Baby 'M.' Tina's not finished baking our American baby until the end of the month.
But since we've arrived, other things have happened that confirm to me that life here in America is much better (for us, at least) than it could have been in England.
I've got a job - paying much more than I earned in England. Tina and I each have the 'dream' car we'd lusted after back in Blighty (a stick-shift Firebird for me and a manual Rav 4 for her.) We're not rich, but we earn enough to pay our bills and still have some left over at the end of the month. We even live in a bigger (rented) house, closer to the centre of the action.
On the other hand, it's not all rosy. We're living in a country on the brink of a recession. I haven't seen my parents, or France, for well over a year now. Our poor little kitty, Ava, got run over just weeks after she and Tina were reunited.
But paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson - 'shit happens.' You can't enjoy the highs unless you have the lows to compare them too.
Our life in America is very modest. I haven't made my millions. Tina's face isn't plastered in the papers. We just live a quiet, suburban existence in a misunderstood little state called New Jersey.
But while the economy, imminent baby-arrival and American job security make life a little more uncertain than we'd like, I wouldn't exchange the opportunities we enjoy here for all the security in the world.
If you repeat a lie often enough, it almost becomes the truth.
One such lie is: "The United States was founded on Christian Principles!"
This 'misconception' is often touted as truth by conservative Christians. It appeals to the more evangelical of them. Popular history paints the pilgrims as pious and protestant and it's affirming for conservatives to believe there is a direct link between the beliefs they hold today and the beliefs of the people who built the American nation.
But however affirming and appealing the idea is, it remains a lie.
America is a secular nation, founded on secular principles. All it takes to dispel the fantasy of America's 'Judeo-Christian roots' is to open a history book.
America's Secular Roots
Conservative Christians often argue that the founding fathers themselves - as devout Christians - would have incorporated their faith when penning the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.
The problem is, the founding fathers weren't necessarily devout - or even Christian. This is just an assumption conservatives make because the founding fathers lived during the tail-end of the eighteenth century.
In fact, out of the 55 delegates at the Philadelphia Convention (who we now refer to as the 'Founding Fathers') many belonged to no particular Christian affiliation at all.
Thomas Jefferson, 3rd President of the United States, was a confirmed atheist. He penned the 'Jefferson Bible' which removed all superstition and supernatural references from the Bible. It presented the story of Jesus as if he was just a wise, yet mortal man - similar to how I've come to consider the story of the New Testament.
George Washington, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Paine wrote extensively against organised religion and many of the 'Christian values' conservatives claim America was founded on.
Franklin, Jefferson, Paine and Ethan Allen were deists - believing that if there was a heavenly creator, he did not come to mankind through religion, but by granting man the gift of rationality and reason.
In short - the founding fathers were not all pious Christians. In fact, the most American of Americans (like George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin) would be horrified at 21st century evangelical superstition.
The Proof - On Paper
If there are any lingering doubts about the secular background of many of the founding fathers, it's worth looking at the documents they penned. The Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution are clearly and indisputably secular in nature.
The "Laws of Nature and of Nature's God" entitle people - not a Christian God.
"The Creator" grants all men "with certain unalienable Rights." Not God. Not Jesus. In fact, not not necessarily a deity at all. Just that which has created man.
The First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution is interpreted by no less than Thomas Jefferson as "a wall of separation between church and state." This clearly establishes that the foundation of the United States of America took place entirely independently of any religious considerations.
Further irrefutable proof
If that mountain of evidence is not enough to satisfy the more rabid conservative Christian, the following will. The 1797 Treaty of Tripoli, signed into law by the founding fathers without any discussion, debate or opposition, states the following firmly in black and white:
"The government of the United States of America is not in any sense founded on the Christian Religion."
These words were written by - and signed into law by - the founding fathers of the United States. The 55 delegates who created the American nation - comprising atheists, deists, protestants and catholics amongst them - were unified on this important principle.
The United States has was never founded on Christian principles. Anybody who tells you differently is either ignorant - or a liar.
Unfortunately, he hadn't read the follow-up, Taking a Spin in the No-Fact Zone, which addressed the issue he and another commenter had raised regarding some of the facts [All of the facts, actually - Editorial Bear] I'd mentioned.
The issue they were discussing was the difference between European and American petrol.
I had quite reasonably assumed (based on the numbers on the pumps and a misleading Wikipedia entry) that the gasoline sold in America was of an inferior 'Octane Rating' than the petrol sold in the UK and mainland Europe.
Specifically that American gas is sold in Regular (87 Octane) Premium (89 Octane) and Super (91 Octane) varieties - all of which seem inferior to European petrol, which is sold at 94 Octane (Unleaded) or 98 Octane (Super Unleaded.)
The 'Octane' rating references the 'knock resistance' of an engine, or the likelyhood of 'Auto Ignition' which could cause 'knocking' or 'pinking.' That's the rattle in the engine that indicates the fuel is igniting early and causing your pistons to fire out of sequence (damaging your engine.)
Based on my previous information, it's very simple to assume that American petrol had a lower Octane rating (and was of inferior quality) to European fuel.
However, I have been informed that America and Europe have different ratings systems to determine the Octane Rating of their fuel. The Europeans (and most of the rest of the world) use the Research Octane Number (RON) to determine the Octane Rating.
The Americans and Canadians apparently use a measuring system called Motor Octane Number (MON) or the aviation lean octane rating - which is a similar, but more stringent test using pre-warmed fuel and variable ignition times to deliver an accurate Octane rating based on more demanding criteria.
Because the MON test is 'harder,' the Octane Ratings derived that way tend to be about 4 or 5 points lower than the equivalent European RON tests. Therefore, 89 Octane American fuel (sold as 'Premium') would actually be equivalent to regular 94 Octane Unleaded sold from European pumps.
So when it comes down to it, European and American fuel is actually pretty much the same stuff... Or is it?
There's one more important factor to consider. Across much of the United States (mandated by law in some States) the oil-based fuel sold in petrol stations is actually mixed with 10% corn-based ethanol.
This increasingly common trend is intended to help reduce America's reliance on foreign oil - and the percentage of ethanol mixed in with regular petrol will only increase as technology helps close the net energy unbalance of producing corn-based fuel.
One thing to remember about corn-ethanol based fuels is that they're about 35% less efficient than regular petroleum. Therefore, even the 10% mix in American petrol is enough to reduce your overall fuel consumption.
So while I might have been wrong about the RON and MON ratings, it's still worth remembering that what goes into your tank in America still won't get you as far as it will in Europe (and that's ignoring that fact that your American car only does 15mpg!)
Well, the biggest change is that I'm now LIVING IN AMERICA. Which was my dream for so many years, it's kind of unbelievable that it actually came true.
In fact, I'm on the brink of all sorts of life-changing events that I won't go into here - but certainly make me feel pretty shallow for worrying about television dribble like Big Brother this time last year.
So 2008. What will it bring? Stay tuned to find out.
One complaint people have about the American mentality is how introspective it is.
Because America is such an enormous country, with so many natural resources, it's understandable that the average American sometimes doesn't look far beyond their own borders. The American economy could survive based purely on a domestic market - not many countries can say that any more.
If the rest of the globe suddenly vanished, America could still continue to operate, given that it produces fuel and food in abundance (although we might have to cut back on the SUV's.)
The problem with this mentality, however, is it's inflexibility.
Take, for example, this morning. Tina and I drove out to have a look at a car we were interested in buying. A stick-shift Subaru, it drove well and seemed tidy and all we had to do to put our minds at rest was to follow the car's history to find out if it had ever been written off or involved in an accident.
Doing this is wonderfully easy. The VIN number that all American-sold cars have on their windscreen (printed on the dash, just under the glass) allows you to track every incident the car's ever been involved in - from passing it's first inspection to being involved in a fender-bender at a traffic junction.
In order to track the history, you can use an American website called CarFax.
For $29.99, you can run a background check on a car you're looking at (as many as you want for one month) and find out what the seller might not be telling you.
Well, in theory, anyway. Because I can't.
I signed up. I paid my money on my American VISA card... And CarFax threw a hissy fit because my email ended in .co.uk instead of the standard .com.
This is America, Buddy, the program was telling me. Nobody's emails end in anything other than .com. That's the American way.
So in the end, I had to use Tina's email address. Mine simply did not compute - even though it was good enough for the Bureau of Citizenship and Immigration, the Bank of America and the Department of Motor Vehicles.
Sometimes it's worth companies like CarFax realising that there is another world south of Texas and north of Vermont.
“Bond had one million francs of private capital - Old Francs, of course - about seven hundred pounds' worth. He always reckoned his private funds in Old Francs. It made him feel so rich." "On the other hand, he made out his official expenses in New Francs because that made them look smaller - but probably not to the Chief Accountant at Headquarters!”
Ian Fleming, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service
Once you’ve lived and worked in a different country, it deeply effects the way you perceive and react to things.
I’ve lived and worked in Britain, France and America and lived my life in four different currencies – Pounds, Francs, Euros and Dollars.
Francs were just fun. I loved earning 6,000 francs a month working as an assistant in Saint Valery en Caux – it made me feel so rich, even though that was barely six hundred pounds.
But now I live with roughly interchangeable currencies. Walking into a supermarket in Britain, France or America, you’re presented with items that cost 3.99 (whether that’s $3.99, £3.99 or €3.99)
The disparity between the values can be considerable. After all, a British pound is worth roughly two American dollars. But unless you’re an accountant or carry a calculator, the mindset you approach your shopping with remains pretty much the same. Whatever country I’m in, for example, I think in pounds.
I think I’ve mentioned an example of this when shopping for wine. Going into Rutgers Liquor (my local wine store) I examine the wine on offer and balk at paying $7.99 for a bottle of Little Penguin Shiraz – since in my mind $7.99 seems SO MUCH more than the £4.99 I’d have paid in England for the exact same vino.
In actual fact, the wine turns out to be about a quid cheaper. But it doesn’t SEEM cheaper because I still think in pounds.
I stupidly expect things to cost the same amount of dollars in America as pounds in England. And the ridiculous thing? Generally I’m right.
As in, a week’s shopping in England would cost £70 from Sainsburys. It costs roughly $70 in America for the same amount of stuff.
Filling your car with petrol in England cost £40. Here in America it’s roughly $30. Bargain!
Basic living expenses always appear to my stubborn little brain as costing the same amount in America as they do in England. The great thing is that my salary doesn’t. Things cost the same but my pay is doubled by the delicious exchange rate. As long as I think in pounds, but buy in dollars, I’m always going to be better off this side of the Atlantic.
This disparity is only interesting because it reflects a state of affairs ignored by the ‘exchange rate.’ To a bank, a pound is worth 2.02 dollars. To a spendin’ man like me, however, you’ll always get more for your two dollars then you will for your quid. The exchange rate seems out of whack in comparison to the actual cost of living.
Exactly how out of whack it was? I never thought I’d be able to know – except then I remembered a cunning invention from The Economist magazine. My father had showed me Burgernomics, or what The Economist call: The Big Mac Index.
MacDonald's is such an enormous corporation, they’ve spanned the globe. The amazing this is that they sell the same product – the Big Mac – in dozens of countries. The price discrepancy between these burgers reveals an entirely different exchange rate than that decided by the banks. It actually reflects how much the local currency will buy you, instead of how much the local currency is worth.
Taking my thoughts about the cost of American living under consideration, I examined the Big Mac index and discovered that my theory is supported. While an American dollar is worth roughly half what the pound is according to the banks, the difference in ‘Big Mac’ money is much more modest 20%. That means the doubled dollar wages I earn in America make me 80% richer than I was in the UK.
Time to break out the Miller High Life? (the ‘champagne’ of beers, $3.92 for six)
Maybe not. But it does make me appreciate not only the situation I’m currently in, but also the situation I came from. As long as I keep thinking in pounds, I’m going to be spending thriftily in America and that’s going to be more responsible for making me richer in the long run than any complicated Burger Economics.
I managed to find a job in big, bad corporate America with a company I like, full of hard working people I admire - doing something I love.
Astonishingly lucky.
Because for the average America worker, the working experience isn’t always quite so enjoyable.
An employee is seen as little more than a drone in America. Replaceable, expendable and utterly powerless in the face of market forces. The attitude is: Be Grateful You Have This Job.
It’s totally the opposite in Europe. Being a ‘worker’ has some validity and they enjoy considerable more security as a result. Be Lucky You Have Me, the worker tells the employer.
I think the major reason for this disparity is the conflicting mindsets of Americans and Europeans. (The British mindset is currently stuck in the middle - and leaning increasingly closer to the American viewpoint.)
Europeans are pragmatic. Your place on the totem pole is pretty much decided from birth. There is no shame in being a steel-worker, or a factory foreman, or an office worker for the rest of your life. You have a job. You receive an income. You earn a pay increase during your years of service that matches inflation. Generous holiday allowances and other benefits ensure that you work to live and not the other way around.
Americans, on the other hand, are aspirational.
You might start off as a steel-worker or a waitress, but the American Dream tells you that you can achieve anything if you set your mind to it. You might be considered ‘working class’ right now, but in a few year’s time you’ll be running your own business, or on TV, or clutching that winning lottery ticket. You don’t care so much about the long term benefits of your job because whatever your job is, it’s a temporary proposition.
You work hard and you’ll go places. Who You Are is determined by What You Do and as a result, the American worker lives to work.
This aspirational attitude might go some way towards explaining why Americans allow employers to treat them the way they do.
Less than two weeks paid vacation a year. Minimal benefits and – worst of all – the knowledge that you could be marched out of the door at a moment’s notice (instead of being given a month’s notice like we are in Europe.) The risks might be bigger, but in return the opportunities are better.
I admire that concept, but it doesn’t dismiss my shock when I first witnessed how ‘the working man’ gets treated by the American corporate monster.
The total lack of job security is the most scary prospect. America lives paycheque to paycheque and the timescale between them is a generally no longer than a fortnight.
A working stiff with a $3,000 mortgage, $1,400 car payments and $800 property tax a month to pay off (a pretty average situation) is going to be in real trouble really quickly if he gets the brush off on a Friday afternoon and suddenly isn’t earning that $80,000 salary he was counting on.
The American mindset pushes you to spend big and to build a wobbly tower of monthly credit payments to support your shiny new car, big red house and expensive toys. These ‘things’ say as much about Who You Are as anything you say or do. But the taller the tower, the more quickly it comes toppling down if there’s an upset in your finances – and that upset can whip around and boot you up the arse in a matter of hours.
It’s a totally alien prospect to me, coming from a European prospective.
In England, we lived in a tiny shoebox house, drove one fifteen year old car and struggled from paycheque to paycheque – but we always had the security of a month’s notice if either of us lost our job.
In America, living within our means has become so much easier and we can finally save money and live better – but the more we might extend ourselves, the deeper and more dangerous that drop might become.
Tina is half Jewish and I’m half Scottish – now that we’re aware of just how unpredictable an American worker's fortunes can be, we’ve both decided to maintain a lifestyle more in keeping with the stereotypes of our ethnicity.
"Just as you began to feel that you could make good use of time, there was no time left to you."Lisa Alther.
The teetering brink of autumn constantly reminds me that time is screeching past.
It was around this time last year that I first returned to America, to a wonderful week spent with Tina's family. That climaxed in an early Thanksgiving and this year, it looks like we'll experience the same thing. Tina's parents are coming up at the end of the month for a family get-together.
This time, of course, we won't be 'just visiting.' We're here to stay.
Moving to America was one of my three 'things to do before I'm thirty.' And I've managed it. Hooray! I also managed to achieve my second ambition - to earn a living by writing. But the third - to get a book published - stays tantalisingly beyond my grasp.
The arrival of Autumn is a harsh reminder that time is running out. I've got barely four months to get myself published before I turn thirty. That's just not going to happen.
It's a bit of a disappointment, but writing has been firmly on the back burner for almost a year now.
Following on from our visit to America in 2006, I settled into writing big time - and got stuck into Nanowrimo, a month-long writing competition in which you aim to complete 50,000 words in less than 30 days.
I managed to achieve that target - just - with my Adventure Eddy story Bootleg Boys. But my writing sort of teetered out once Nanowrimo was over. Work and the move to America diverted my attention.
Which means that Bootleg Boys is still unfinished, languishing on my hard drive. The problem was the ending. Nothing quite 'fit.' I have about four different versions now and not one of them is the 'definitive one.'
The realisation that I haven't written anything significant for almost a year is not a comfortable one...
(Well, actually, I have written dozens of successful radio adverts, a smutty story published worldwide, some national advertising and marketing copy, an Internet article linked to by the Wall Street Journal Online and my articles on 'being ginger' got my mug on a BBC documentary)
...so I have decided to spend October finishing what I started.
Bootleg Boys will get finished, by hook or by crook. And it'll be good. In fact, it will be miles better than Adventure Eddy. It might not be good enough to get published - but it will be a step closer towards that goal.
And in November, when Nanowrimo comes around again, I will start off a 50,000 word adventure about something completely different.
In order to trim down to my fighting weight (as seen here) I have given up drinking during the week and taken up press-ups. This has the added benefit of saving me beer money and the price of a gym membership. I'm still fat, though.
However, I have another problem now too. Without a beer to quaff after work, I am left with abundant energy. Therefore I have a freelance job, writing and editing for an English insurance company.
Insurance. This is about as exciting as this story gets.
However, it raises an interesting point. America, being the land of opportunity, has given me the opportunity to earn a little money (about the price of a six-pack of Samuel Adams Boston Lager) every night, in addition to my (grossly underpaid) day job.
Why didn't Britain have these neat little opportunities?
That's one of the things that I love about America. There are always the opportunities to earn a few extra dollars. In Britain, they tell you that hard work never killed anybody. Out here in New York, they're testing that theory.
Bright shiny smiles and "have a nice day" are the order of the day here in America. It's where Customer Service is king and each day I am amazed at the all important, yet seemingly insignificant, things companies are willing to do for their customers.
It's called Customer Service and Jane, my old boss at Power FM, once told me that it's the most important part of running a business. Obviously people stateside agree with her.
I saw this sign at Wegmans, an upmarket supermarket that puts Tescos and Sainsburys to shame. With delicious fresh produce, an amazing food court and service like this, no wonder they're rated No.1 in New Jersey.
But enough of the advertisement for Wegmans. Take a look at this sign and imagine somebody in England offering just that little bit extra for you!
We arrived on an overcast afternoon that soon turned to drizzle. It was all very British, except for the muggy heat.
Tina's brother and dad met us in her brother's enormous Ford F-250 - which swallowed up our enormous suitcases without any problem. Then we roared up the Jersey Turnpike to Hillsborough and a bit of a family reunion.
Last night, we all sat around an enormous table and ate the most delicious food. An enormous plate of Waldorf salad. Pepperoni and Italian calzones. Smoked ribs with the delicious meat literally falling off the bone. And lots of laughter and stories. It was a lovely welcome.
Tina's family is full of babies. Her sister gave birth to sleepy little Jared just two weeks ago. Her brother has a very intelligent baby called Ryan who is only a couple of months old and already has a moustache. When you're Italian American and Chilean cocktail, I guess that's to be expected!
Right now, the weather's very British. Most of the tri-state area is under a grey ceiling of cloud and drizzle. Tina and I are already putting the wheels in motion to kick off this brand new chapter in our lives and we're incredibly excited.
In just over three days time, Tina and I will bid goodbye to Blighty and board a Boeing.
And we're stressed. Which is understandable, really.
The major source of stress is simply logistics. It's not easy to pack up your life into matching luggage. To do that, all while plugging away at your job and scrubbing your house, takes time. Lots of time. Tina and I had four hours of sleep last night.
Then there's simply the awe-inspiring thought of starting a whole new life. A Whole New Life. It looks like it should be capitalised.
A Whole New Life involves new jobs and possessions and a home. Very fortunately we've managed to get the home thanks to Tina's brother. When it comes to getting a job, I'm on my own.
That doesn't unduly worry me. I mean, I'm an enthusiastic, experienced chap with a sharp line in suits and a firm handshake. In America - the land of opportunity - I'm sure somebody will want to hire me.
The stress comes from deciding what it is I want to do.
Because I have a wonderful opportunity to choose my own path in the States. But the problem with opportunities like those is that the decisions you make need to be the right ones.
I've basically pinned down my motivation into two directions. Job Satisfaction and Salary. I'm willing to do a job I really enjoy for a modest salary - or a job I don't really enjoy for a generous salary. This polarisation pretty neatly fits into my two career paths.
Writing is my life. My current job, writing adverts and coming up with conceptual marketing ideas, is one of the most satisfying ones I've ever had. To see my ideas and words come to life on the radio or a computer screen is incredibly satisfying. The only thing better than pitching a creative idea to a client and having them love it is when that creative idea is similarly picked up by a receptive audience. I've been lucky enough to feel that buzz.
The downside is the salary and career prospects - which would both be better in the States.
On the other scale is getting back into the boiler-room. Sales.
It was working for Summer Study that really introduced me to sales and a nice smile and a smart suit saw me continue in that business when I left France and came to England. I even managed to reach the dizzy heights of Sales Manager before I realised that Sales was only worth being in if you really loved what it was you were selling... Or you got paid an enormous sum of money.
In America, I could get back into the sales business. It's tough work. It's a grind and worst of all, it's not the creative industry that writing is. But it offers the path to security and if I manage to twin my brand with a suitable corporate one - selling something I truly believe in - I think I could be very successful at it.
I can always write in my spare time. Not that the American workforce gets much of that.
It's a toss up; and with "the best laid plans of mice and men" and all that, I'm probably only going to discover where my American path will take me when I finally make footfall in New Jersey.
America's Secular Roots
