Does your Granny always tell you that the old songs are the best?

Fellow transatlantic expat blogger Betsy Transatlantically recently posted a run down of the worst Christmas songs ever. Reading it set off a little (sleigh) bell in my mind. Remember this chart from XKCD?

Randall Munroe of XKCD's analysis of the USA's favorite Christmas tunes

This is totally alien to me. Or it was until I spent my first Christmas in the USA, and it struck me how old-timey American Christmases are. As a Brit I know all of these songs, but it's not what I grew up listening to on the radio during the festive season.

So I had to do a little experiment. I've recreated Randall's graph with recent data for both the UK and the USA:

My own analysis of the UK and USA's favorite Christmas music 2010-2012

A little word about the data: I used ASCAP's data for 2012, and PRS for Music's data for 2010 - 2012. I know this doesn't stand up to scientific scrutiny, but I swear this will probably be the only time I'm recreating a graph based on work by Randall Munroe.

The point is that I was right: Christmas in the USA is very old-timey. The UK isn't all that modern either, but I find this utterly fascinating.  It says a lot to me about American and British culture.

I do think I'm reading too much into this, but at the same time I have a hunch about these countries' respective cultures. Much of modern US culture leaped into being during the 1950s, and many of the things we associate as 'American' can be attributed to this time - the food, media, habits and lifestyle.

The UK is slightly different. My husband suggested that the USA clings more to heritage because it has less history to draw from, whereas the UK is a much older country with a huge historical repertoire to cite when it comes to tradition, so perhaps it's a little more confident to go with the flow.

But that, to me, doesn't explain why the UK is stuck in the 1970s and 80s with regards to Christmas tunes. I'd love to postulate that it could be related to the way the UK responded to the economic crises of the 1970s and 80s. I'm a big fan of the art and culture (especially movies) that resulted from this period in the UK.

But to come to that conclusion I'd have to look at the popular Christmas radio songs in the UK before the 1980s, and find the tipping point for when British Christmas musical tastes really changed. And I'm not going to do that right now.

Instead I'm going to watch old Top of the Pops Christmas re-runs and dance like Shakin' Stevens for a bit while my husband looks on without comprehension.

The questions now are: What's your favorite Christmas song and when was it released? What will our kids listen to? And if I raised my kids on 1980s Christmas tunes would they turn out to be cultural misfits?

Title of this blog post is a lyric from the greatest Christmas song ever, Slade's Merry Xmas Everybody.

PS - I have a guest post over at the wonderful Grits and Moxie today, where I talk about another cute UK Christmas tradition!

Glad Notes: Which Bunny Booster?

Welcome to Glad Notes, where I'll ponder cultural quirks from the New World (namely North America) and the Old World (Europe, mostly the UK). Those strange little facts that really bring no meaning to your day, but maybe you'll be glad you discovered something new.

As a Brit living with an American husband, I stumble across these things almost every day - usually in the midst of, or because of, some light-hearted marital dispute. The plus side of our cultural misunderstandings is learning useless new nuggets of information… Which I can share with you here.

Which Bunny Booster?

It's that time of year when TV commercials gain seasonal relevance. In the UK it's perfume adverts and supermarkets, and in the USA it's anything which could possibly have a vague link to Christmas - such as batteries for all those Christmas lights and annoying kids' toys.

Mark and I once watched a typical UK commercial for Duracell batteries, with pink bunny and all. Mark found it far more entertaining than anyone should find a battery advert.

Mark: Ha ha ha! Don't you get it? It's funny because they're making a play on the Energizer bunny.

Me: The what? That's the Duracell bunny. It's a thing.

Mark: No, it's the Energizer bunny, Duracell are copying them.

Me: Uh, it's always been the Duracell bunny. Energizer doesn't even have a bunny.

Mark: You're wrong.

Turns out we were both wrong. 

Energizer does have a bunny. 
But Duracell didn't copy it, Energizer did. 
And you might never see the Duracell bunny in the USA.

Duracell started the rabbit battery thing in 1973.

Energizer did a blatant tongue-firmly-in-cheek copy in 1989.

The edgy Energizer bunny gained far more traction in the USA than the cutesy Duracell one. It didn't initially work out well though. Duracell outsold Energizer as people associated "pink bunny" with "Duracell batteries". Oops.

That was until Duracell's trademark expired in the USA, and Energizer snapped up the bunny booster trademark. The Duracell bunny was chased out of North America and went into hiding in the Old World.

So this is why the phrase "Duracell bunny" is ingrained into my cultural subconscious to mean something that just keeps on going, but for Mark and other Americans it's the phrase "Energizer bunny". Mark insists the Energizer bunny is much better, but the traditional cuddly qualities of the Duracell counterpart are much more appealing to me. I detect a bit of cultural bias towards our own bunnies, as it were!

I think that demonstrates in part how pervasive cutesy commercial icons can become. We grow up with them, and they become part of our cultural identity.

Over the past few years the UK has been dominated by Russian meerkat insurance peddlers. They've become so popular that they sell plush toys, they sponsor one of the UK's highest rated prime time shows, and a Scottish aquarium proudly advertises a mob of meerkats amongst their stingray and starfish.

I thought I'd have a hard time explaining to my mother-in-law why Russian meerkats sell car insurance. But she instantly fell in love with them, proclaiming her desire for a meerkat plush.  The site doesn't operate in the USA though, which is a missed opportunity.

I realized there was no explanation needed. Then the same thing happened to me in Macy's at Thanksgiving. My mum and I saw a rather charming pyramid of plush ducks that yelled like an angry Philadelphian when squeezed. We had no clue what they were, so we bought two.

On the train back a woman asked if she could squeeze our Aflac ducks. We happily obliged and she thanked me graciously as the duck yelled AFLAAAC.

Later during the Thanksgiving parade we saw the same duck trundling above the streets of New York. A commercial followed, explaining the good work that Aflac does. Later again I saw this bizarre commercial, where the Aflac Duck raps in a battle against a pigeon.

It turns out the Aflac Duck is a seasonal thing. I didn't know. I didn't need to know. I already loved it.

We love our commercial cultural icons. It's a universal matter of forming a strange cultural identity. Just ask the Japanese, who seem to have an anthropomorphic character for everything.

AFLAAAAAAC.

The Thanksgiving/Christmas limbo

Dear Americans,

It's too soon.

I don't care that Thanksgiving is over. 

I don't care that the nights are long and the lawn is frozen come morning.

I don't care if your houses are bare of decor. I don't care if they feel dark and sullen after the autumnal glow and ombre harvest shades.

I don't care if Santa Claus arrived at the end of the parade. 

It is still November. You still have turkey remnants lingering in your fridge. You have an extra week before Advent. You do not need to decorate for Chri-

Oh, who am I kidding? Never mind.  As you were.

There is no Thanksgiving/Christmas limbo. 

America's answer to Boxing Day is to make it bigger, brasher, and more menacing. But by the end of Black Friday the pumpkins, leaves, and corn were gone from every house.

Wreathes appeared on doors, making houses look like perfect little lilliput models. Strung up lights came on as if from nowhere. Reindeers, santas and nativity scenes popped up in front yards.

And they are multiplying.

One guy in the neighborhood has multiple sheds full of giant Christmas lights and lawn decorations. Over the past week more and more has appeared in his garden display.

But it as yet unlit, unlike the rest of the locale. When this boondock display lights up it'll feel like we have our own hyperlocal Blackpool Illuminations, to use a quirky British reference.

The 24 hour Walmart is playing Christmas songs (presumably 24 hours a day?).

Finding strings of white lights in store is getting harder and harder by the day.

Pumpkin shaped candy is out and bags of confectionery adorned with trees and Santas are in.

America, I am swimming here in festivity.

Christmas in Love Park, Philadelphia, and the Comcast building

Incidentally, today was also the start of the PA deer hunting season. This morning I saw a guy walking on his property wielding a gun … pointed up and towards his own house. Hunters, please stay safe and walk with your guns aimed at the ground.

Cookie and Buster are offering 10% off for Glad Blog readers - just enter code GLADBUSTER when you go to pay!

Trip to the grocery shop

You know what it's like to be a in a new place. When you have to figure out how to go about those little every day tasks. Where to buy toothpaste. Where to get food. Everything's a little different.

My mother-in-law asked once if I wanted to visit proders junction. I said "sure!" with genuine enthusiasm and not a clue of what proders junction could be.

Turned out I misheard, and we arrived at Produce Junction for a weekly vegetable shop. But hey, it was an experience. I learned how cheap local produce could be.

Recently we took a trip to a flea market that also doubles as a produce market. It was a fascinating meeting point, a snapshot of Rural America and its inhabitants.

I didn't take any photos of the 'flea' market element as some of the stall holders were holding rather large shotguns, and I couldn't quite work out if they were for sale…or if they served another purpose. Another time, I promise.

Being one in ten thousand almost every day.

It's Saturday night and Mark is watching the Smithsonian Channel while I'm editing photos. It's a World War II documentary narrated by Martin Sheen.

You know about the rule of cable TV? There always has to be at least one WW2 documentary broadcasting at a time. It's like the screaming baby rule on long haul flights; if there's no screaming baby the airline has to find one and put it on the flight.

I'm not paying much attention to Sheen's dulcet narrating tones until Mark exclaims: "Grannies. You had grannies?"

Me: What?

Mark: Your army had grannies?

Me: Uh, that'd be the home guard.

Mark: The what?

Me: You know, Dad's Army.

Mark: What?

Now I'm singing the theme tune to Dad's army. Mark has no idea what's going on.

Me: You've never seen Dad's Army? How can you never have seen Dad's Army? That's important historical television! Okay, well, you know the bit at the beginning of Bedknobs and Broomsticks?

Mark: No.

Me: You've never seen Bedknobs and Broomsticks?

Now I'm singing 'Bobbing Along' and it's kind of freaking Mark out. Maybe it's the rhythmic bobbing I'm doing. I start gesticulating wildly.

Me: But it's about World War II, witches, medieval knights! It's got live action AND animation. And the home guard. It was our "well-organised militia" if you will.

Mark: What? Well-organised grannies? No wonder you needed our help.

Uh oh. It's serious now.

Me: Oh yeah? And just when did World War II start?

Mark: 1942.

Me: 1939!

Mark: It wasn't the World War until we saved your asses!

Me: It started in 1939, buster. You guys were late.

Mark: Did you ever see Patton?

Me: No.

Mark: You've never seen Patton!? Did you see Saving Private Ryan?

Me: Uh, no.

Mark: You've never seen Saving Private Ryan?!

And so it went on.

Our transatlantic marriage can quickly degenerate into a full-blown argument about our respective countries' efforts in World War II. It's almost unbelievable how heated and protective we can get about the wars, while throwing in disbelief at our differing pop culture exposure. Just ask any American when World War II started: You'd be surprised how many say 1942.

But after we poke fun at each other comes the best bit. On an average day, in our transatlantic marriage, one of us is one of the lucky ten thousand people in the US learning about something for the first time.

From xkcd, which I love, and you should too

Not a walk in the park

I've been asked a few times about what has the most surprising thing about moving to the USA.

Believe it or not, it's the culture shock.

I think there's an assumption that US and UK culture is very similar, especially between people of similar races/heritages. Mark has an anglo-saxon heritage; his ancestors were English/Scottish and Irish. But quite often we find that we are just not speaking the same language. It can be shocking and confusing for both of us, and little things crop up all the time when we least expect them.

One time during our stint as a transatlantic couple I had to sign off Skype because I had to go and make tea. Two hours later Mark was annoyed that I hadn't returned, thinking that making tea should only take five minutes. I was referring to "tea" the evening meal, not "tea" the hot drink, and it took at long while for me to convince him that the word is interchangeable!

So despite the number of times I have been to the US, and the cumulative amount of time I have spent here, it has been incredibly hard to adjust. One of the hardest things is not knowing how "settled in" I should be by now, and it's even harder to accept that there are no rules on this. Not having my SSC or driving permit has meant that I've been entirely dependent on my husband in many ways, and at first I allowed that to knock my confidence.

Immigration, and especially family immigration, is not just about bureaucracy and paperwork. Visajourney has been useful for me, once again, to realize that the whole cultural process takes a long time, and longer than you'd imagine.  I read one thread, where a stranger summed it up bluntly but accurately:

They give up everything to be here. Their jobs, family, the land they know and understand, their life style, I mean really it's darn near everything. Then they get here and what do they find? They don't know how to get around, they don't know where they are, they can't work, when they can they're starting off below where they were before. Their comfort foods are all gone. Their friends are too far away. Everyone is a stranger, even you as their spouse suddenly is different because now you're living together and they see all sides of you. They are totally dependent on one person, and yes, it's easy for them resent that.

So this has been the most surprising thing so far. I know it seems daft that I'm surprised that emigration/immigration isn't easy. But I'm getting there; I've a routine now which involves going to the gym three times a week, and spending time cooking with Mark, and constantly applying for work and volunteer opportunities.

The great, great news is that I now have my Green Card, my new Social card and my driving permit! If you've never seen a Green Card before, check it out, it's very cool. I've got teeny tiny pictures of all the US Presidents and all the state flags crammed onto a plastic green (yes!) card, along with all my personal info.

It hasn't all been apple pie and walks in the park since I got here… although that's certainly been a part of it.

Mark's apple pie. It was delicious.

Still here!

Every morning when I get up and head downstairs, I'm greeted by the most excited pooch in the world. 

You're still here!

Bulldogs can't wag their tales, so she shakes her butt and runs around in circles, as if to say "OMG, you're still here!" 

I try to remind her that I ain't going anywhere, but every night she forgets and every morning we have this overexcited reunion. As I said before, it took a while for Mark and I to realize that I'm not on holiday. For the first few days one of us would say "if we have time, can we do such-and-such?" before remembering that we have all the time in the world to do activities together. It was a funny and pleasant realization.

Mark's family's secret cookie recipe. I'm afraid I cannot divulge.

But I can divulge the summer sausage roll recipe.

Now, I'm glad to say, it just feels like normal. I don't wake up and run around in circles shouting "OMG, I'm still here!" anymore - even if the dog does.

anti-social security

On my first full day in the States, we picked up this from the DMV:

I read it over the weekend, and then we popped back down to the DMV (Mark drove, obviously) and I presented my documents to the brow-beaten employee. As I'd literally just arrived and had little in the way of proof of residence, I also presented my husband and two proofs of his residence. Honestly, it was on the list of acceptable documents: spouse and two proofs of address.

The poor DMV employee, sitting in a fluoro-lit windowless building on a heady summer's day, sighed. He knew my case was not going to be straightforward. It should have been. I passed the theory test with full marks - so much easier than the UK equivalent and none of that hazard perception nonsense either. The employee checked out my visa, passport, spouse, his driving license, and his two proofs of address: All A-OK. The problem, however, was my social security card.

Social security numbers, invented by FDR in 1935 as part of his New Deal, are akin to UK National Insurance numbers (Bonus Fact: UK National Insurance was invented in 1911). The point, originally, was to provide welfare/insurance/benefits/pension to citizens suffering from poverty as a result of the Great Depression (1929, but you knew that).

FDR also allowed for SSNs to be used as 'governmental identifiers' of individuals, although this didn't become widespread until later in the 20th century. You can read all about this here if you're that interested.

The DMV requires presentation of a valid SSC as proof of identity. I actually have a valid SSC, but the problem is that it's in my maiden name. Even presentation of my passport, marriage certificate, spouse, his driving license and two proofs of his address wasn't going to be enough to get my PA driving permit. And we thought we'd gotten good at bureaucracy!

We boldly drove (well Mark did) across the county to the Social Security Administration. Another windowless building, where George Takei advertizes managing your benefits on a giant TV screen on a loop. Hilarious the first time, unsettling after a while. An employee helped me fill out an application for an updated card, but warned me it'd take a month to arrive. It only took 10 days to get my original card back in 2006, so I thought this was an exaggeration. It's not.

So I'm stuck in rural America without wheels.

Jack Kerouac wrote "On the Road" and not "On the Sidewalk"

The USA is designed for cars. In the 1950s shops even built parking lots over sidewalks/footpaths as inter-state highways cemented (sorry) the car as the leading form of US transport. The drive-thru boomed, not only in fast food, but also in coffee, banking, and postal services. I had hoped to hit the USA running, jumping and driving so I could start to build my new life here the moment I arrived. To be honest, this paper delay took the wind out of my sails a bit.

I do understand why I'm waiting. Identification fraud is a real concern. Journalist Jose Antonio Vargas found out he was an illegal immigrant when he went to the DMV to get his permit; it all rested on his SSC. There's also a slightly hilarious case where one poor secretary had her SSN wrongfully used by 40,000 other people. Meanwhile, Mark's happy to drive me to the local YMCA where I can run and jump for free, but the driving is a no-no until I get my new card and I can once again prove I'm me.

Walk in the Park

 
Our first priority since my arriving here has just been to spend time together, to make up for time apart. Nothing exciting, just time to hang out and be.

The Dog

Meet Penndexter, she's a rude dawg!*

She's Mark's dog. But she loves me more!

*Incidentally, I showed this to Mark and he questioned why it was based in LA but Rude Dog is obviously a gangster from NY. As a young kid I clearly hadn't noticed this. Also, we discovered that as kids neither of us paid attention to whether a show or cartoon was from the UK or the USA. Except the Rug Rats, which I thought was an accurate depiction of childhood in the US.

If you're interested, apparently the amazing Dream Stone was actually British and Mark had never heard of it. He'd also never heard of Geordie Racer. I'd never heard of Reading Rainbow (and he, Rainbow). I'd also never heard of The Halloween Tree or the dubious Liberty's Kids, which I noticed actually came out in 2002. Mark says it's still "an awesome show."