A Pennsylvania Blogger Meet-Up

This post is way overdue. Months and months ago I responded to a blog post by one of my favorite bloggers, Katherine from Of Corgis and Cocktails, inviting PA bloggers to lunch.

That's me on the left! Then Kate, Stephanie, Becky, Katherine, and Marisa! Photo courtesy of Katherine.

And so in October I borrowed my husband's car and drove down to Terrain in Glen Mills to eat lunch with some lovely girls I'd never met before. The journey down was an adventure. The car was literally falling apart due to some bad repairs carried out by a garage (which we later got fixed at no charge because the garage made so many mistakes). Scooting down the highway was a bit scary as I needed to avoid potholes and braking too hard. Plus it was the furthest I'd driven by myself since moving to the US, and I had no clue where I was going, or where I was meeting my fellow blogettes!

But it was a very nice afternoon, meeting some lovely local ladies, and poking around a gorgeous store.

From the buttery bread served in flower pots and fresh water in mason jars, to the beautiful displays and delicious aromas (check out their soaps…mmm), Terrain was a great place to meet up.

And as it was nearing Halloween (hence all the pumpkins), we gave each other little treats, most of which my husband and I snarfed immediately when I got home. Let me tell you, these bloggers have skills. 

When my husband saw the photo at the top of all of us, he asked how I managed to find the five girls in Pennsylvania with the same style as me. I told him it made complete sense - we all follow the blogs that attract us the most, and blog the things that interest us the most, or that we hope others like us will find interesting. People on social media, and bloggers especially, get knocked for image crafting, but to me that's entirely the point. I'm going to talk more about this in a future post, so watch out for it.

Of course I'll do my due diligence and link to Katherine's outfit post and Marisa's outfit post so you can find out where they got their cute dresses (and see more photos of Terrain). And my dress? It's from UK store Trollied Dolly. I wore it here too. Their dresses are so fabulous that I have several, and my husband even proposed to me while I was wearing one!

In defense of public transport

Fellow expat blogger Selena is a Texan living in England. Recently she wrote a very heartfelt piece about her experiences on public transport. To put it simply, her post was not very complimentary, but it was very funny.

She has been transplanted from the place with the most drive-thru liquor stores in the US (yes, really), to London, which this year is celebrating the 150th birthday of the tube, the oldest subway system in the world. That's a definite culture clash.

In contrast I myself have been transplanted from a place where retirees get free bus rides (and certainly use them) to the land where planners removed sidewalks to fit in parking lots.

I told her I felt I had to defend public transport just a little. So here it is, a Brit's defense of public transport (though I know true Brits write 'defence' and not 'defense' I have to use the American spelling now).

Effort

Public Transport
Selena's first criticism of public transport (namely the London tube) is that it's almost impossible for newbies to navigate. But the London tube map is hailed as one of the great successes of design - a marriage of form and function - beautiful and understandable!

Yes, maybe at first you will end up going around the Circle line the wrong way; discover that some stations are actually quicker to walk between (what's the point of them?); or take three hours longer than expected due to weather, strikes, or engineering works. But overall it works, and the Olympics were testament to that - just ignore the fact that they drafted in thousands of volunteers to show spectators which stations to use.
 
These days it's not hard to plan your journey online, even with sporadic construction or random closures due to pigeons on the line. And when you get really good at the Tube you can have all sorts of fun: You can become expert at games such as Mornington Crescent and this cryptic game. The London Tube inspired subterranean public transport across the world, so it must be okay, right?

Driving
The effort to drive is huge. First you have be examined on how to control a large piece of machinery. You don't sit need to any tests before you hop on a bus. As long as you have correct change and acceptable body odor tolerance, you're fine!

Planning a route to drive is infuriating. Even with Google Maps and Sat Navs you can never accurately predict roadworks, heavy traffic or road closures.

If you take a wrong turn you often have to do a massive detour to get back on track. With public transport you just jump off and get on a different train/bus, but in a car it's actually treacherous: Do you take that U-Bend and cross four lanes of angry traffic, or do you drive an extra 20 miles back the way you came?

In the city you have to learn the patterns of intersection lights, get stuck for hours at multiple red lights, dodge jaywalkers and tourists, and you're expected to know the whole city's randomized system of one-way streets. I swear city planners switch up the one-way system every now and then just for fun.

And then you have to park your car somewhere. This can take hours in certain places, wasting precious gas money and shopping time driving past giant SUVs taking up two spots and shopping carts lazily abandoned everywhere. When you finally end up at the opposite end of the parking lot you feel you may as well have walked anyway.

Storage

When you're traveling by train, plane and underground you really don't want to be laden down with unnecessary shit, so you get really good at traveling light. It becomes a source of pride when you show up for a weekend break with just one half-empty weekend bag, or an overnight function with just a change of knickers and a lipstick in a tiny purse.

Public transport makes you efficient. You keep your Osyter/Octopus/Calypso/Opus/Charlie/Freedom/Smartlink card in your pocket, and everything else on your back.

You gain a sense of freedom by being able to pack so lightly. You know if anyone calls you last minute for a luxury trip to the Bahamas leaving in one hour, you'd be at the airport in time with just your toothbrush, bikini and sun cream, and you wouldn't even have to check in. My rule for travel now is - if I can't lift it, it's not coming with me.

And that's the other thing - all the lifting, carrying and walking is healthy! I saved a fortune on gym memberships when I used public transport. I'd happily walk 45 minutes to work each day. Now I have to drive to the gym and it just feels so wrong and contradictory.

FREAKING PEOPLE EVERYWHERE

Public Transport
Petty people politics is never so apparent as on public transport. It's tough out there, jostling up against all and sundry on the rush hour tube, rubbing your shoulders against other people - who knows where they've been - and touching the same poles and sitting in the same seats. It'd make a hypochondriac's skin crawl.

Plus you have to endure their rudeness. Shoving in front, listening to loud music, folding their newspaper into your field of vision, giving their luggage the last seat on the carriage so you have to stand. There's no such thing as personal space on public transport- how dare they sneeze/text/fart/argue in your vicinity?

If you're having trouble securing a prime seat on public transport there are very detailed and militaristic guides to help you. When I was a kid at youth theater we'd play a game known as 'keeping your seat on the bus'. Basically you make silly faces until nobody wants to sit next to you. Trust me, it works. 

But all of this is part and parcel of living in a world with other people who are just not a cool and considerate as yourself. Plus it gives you the prime opportunity to hone that truly British sport of complaining. If you ever find yourself starting a new job in London, you'll instantly make new friends the moment you walk in the door and say "Oh my gosh, the Central line was just awful this morning, did anyone else have a ghastly time trying to get in? I couldn't get a seat at all and we got stuck for fifteen minutes at Bank and…" Trust me, it works.

Driving

The thing is, driving isn't any better. People speed, honk, tailgate (known in the USA as driving up your ass, as far as I can tell),  blind you with their lights, don't indicate and they always cut in front of you, guaranteed.

Gesturing to rude and inconsiderate road users is usually not that helpful

Drivers are in a hurry, they're rude, and they always think they're a better driver than everyone else. This has been extensively researched and it's true - it's a Lake Wobegone effect manifesting at 80mph on a four lane rat race.

And the worst thing is - all the tutting in the world won't do a darn thing! On a crowded tube, Brits take great pleasure in tutting loudly to display their displeasure at another passenger's actions. It's our favorite form of dissent. In a car this does nothing, and you end up becoming one of those deranged, enraged drivers flipping people off and honking at anything, spreading the blood boiling road rage across the region.

You stomp into work, not with a hilarious and frustrating tale of how crowded your train was, but with a loud tirade full of obscenities about the selfish road moron in front of you with the stupid bumper sticker.

It makes me stressed just thinking about it.

I've told Americans how shocked I am by Pennsylvania drivers and they all say the same thing, "Oh, just wait until you get to New Jersey/New York/California/Maryland/Anywhere, they're terrible at driving!"

And I shudder at the thought. On public transport at least you can sit back, plug in your headphones, eat a questionable prawn sandwich, and zen out all the way to Zone Six…

What side are you on? Which public transport system makes you crazy? And which US state really has the worst driver?

PS, if you've never seen this parody of Going Underground, about the London tube, you're in for a very sweary treat (really NSFW).

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.

Manual Labour

I had a funny moment while I was sitting in my driving instructor's car early one morning. I was being instructed on pedestrian crossing protocol. I misnamed a "Pegasus" crossing as a "Unicorn" crossing, which was rather cute of me. But that wasn't the funny moment.

Another learner driver had pulled up behind me and parked on the side of the road. In the rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of someone and made a wry smile - it kind of felt like I'd seen an ex-boyfriend in fortuitous circumstances. But then, when I break it down, my old driving instructor was a bit like a stereotypical bad boyfriend.

First, his company website was totally flashy, but not very user-friendly. Good looking but no substance.

Second, he constantly turned up to appointments late with no excuse or explanation.

Third, he never explained important information to me. He'd basically tell me to "drive" - and then stop me and tell me each time I did something wrong rather than show me how to do something and talk me through it as I practiced.

Fourth, he got into the habit of undermining me and putting me down -the cherry on the cake was when he said I might as well just give up and get a bus pass.

Fifth, he promised he would call and never did. He decided I should just learn automatic because manual was getting me nowhere. He said he'd call about getting a lesson in an automatic. He didn't.

So what does any self -respecting girl do when she's in a destructive relationship? She moves on of course. I cut my losses (hours of stressful driving, hundreds of pounds, months of getting worse at driving) and found someone better. And my current instructor is contrary in every way. I picked him according to his basic, unimpressive website, reasoning that a non-flashy website would mean a better instructor, and I was right.

I remember saying I didn't want to be negative on this blog, but I thought it was worth mentioning mr bad driving man. For a girl who's got as much going for her as I do, I'm often not as forthright as I should be, sometimes to a fault. It's fairly well known: My fiancé's the hawk and I'm the dove.

I did a first aid certificate recently for work and they said I was great, but didn't come off too confidently, even though I should have done. They told me to be louder, which sums it up.

So I was almost distracted by wanting to stare down mr bad driving man in the rear view mirror, but I was interrupted. A drunken guy approached our car and started slurring vexatiously through my open driver's window. He held a pink plastic wine glass like it was a glass of brandy and hugged a bottle of cider in the other arm. Mr good driving instructor warned sternly that he'd call the police, and by the time the drunk had tottered off, the other learner car had moved on.

And so have I. Ha. Look at me now mr bad driving man.

Publog transport

I am fairly slow with technology, being only an alpha consumer by desire and not by actual consumption, ha.

But then my 2005 iBook G4 still works perfectly, why would I need anything more?

While most apple fans are blogging iPad e-pistles, I got myself an iPhone with my first new pay cheque and can now blog from the bus home, which on a sunny day like today, is rather fun. Or I could read Pride and Prejudice, skype my far-flung beau, or indeed practice my driving theory test...

But the less said about that right now, the better. And at any rate, I couldn't be bloggin'n'drivin now could I?

Commuter Blues 1

I enjoy my new job and I've already learned a lot in the month and a bit that I've been working there.

I just had the first few days off since I started this new decade. Since I leapt from one job to the next (finishing one on Sunday and starting the next on Monday) I've been ticking along. But it was really lovely to have a few days off, not least because I turned 25 during those few days, and so I caught up with friends in a rolling weekend of vague plans and beautiful tableau situations, of mirth and ice cream, tea and gossip.

But, as I now enter the tumble down from early twenties to late twenties and eventually into my thirties (eep!), I have made a whole-hearted decision to have a quarter-life crisis. I'm already listing what this might entail on my twitter. Does anyone have any other suggestions?

For my birthday a friend gave me a Cath Kidston bus pass cover which seems to embody the essence of my quarter-life crisis. Cath Kidston is a top label chintz emblazoned emblem for the middle-class home-style country-living dream. Having a bus pass though, at my age particularly, has been considered by some to be a sign of life failure. Of course, I say this with tongue placed firmly in cheek.

At the moment my work commute is 60-90 minutes each way. I have done this type of commute before and it's no problem really. It is significantly improved by a large part of it involving a bus rolling past the hills and fields of the countryside as opposed to chugging alongside the choked up rat-race streets of the city. I work like clockwork every morning and read on the bus and get some exercise by walking a good part of the way. But this travelling makes for a long day, and my weekends are spent relaxing and catching up with people in other parts of the country. This is my roundabout excuse for blogging little lately. At least I'm eloquent with it, yes?

And I am TRYING to learn to drive... but more on that later.

Payment in Kind

I'm not great at smalltalk. I'm okay with customers, and I enjoy chatting to them, but I'm certainly not the best one in the team for in-store chatter. I'm useless at taxi banter. I either have nothing to say, or I can't think of anything to say, or I'm too tired, or I'm too focused on getting from A to B. I'm just not very good at it, and that is a bit shameful to admit. However, I recently found myself in a taxi on the way home from work.

"So how are you this evening?" The taxi driver asked in a friendly manner.

"I am good," I said, anunciating and emphasising each word positively. "How are you?"

"I'm good thanks. Exams right now?"

"No, no, no. I work at the deli, actually." I smiled. Smart coat, well spoken, getting a taxi: He thought I was a student. I lament each time I have to admit that I'm no longer a student. I miss the days of student discounts and the connotation of youth. Nah, I'm a "real" person now. It's quite an honour really, some of the female students in this town are very beautiful. Exquisite. But I'm not one of them, sadly.

"Oh really, that's a nice place! In town, yeah?"

"Yes, it is, it's a great place to work too. Bit quiet though, what with the students being away. Has it been quiet for you?" Students here are quite known for their use of taxi services.

"Yeah it has. I mean Christmas and New Year are busy, but it's a quiet time of the year, January."

"It's funny," I added, "residents complain about the students, but without them, the local businesses suffer."

"I wouldn't have thought that many students went to your place though." Taximan pondered.

"There are lot of wealthy students round here," I replied knowingly; he would have first hand experience of this too.

"Aye, you're right there. So how long have you worked there?"

"Just since I finished Uni, really. Moved back home and I'm saving up money at the moment."

"Oh, very good. What did you graduate in?" He seemed genuinely interested.

I lowered my head. My answer is a potentially dangerous answer to give to a taximan. It could open a can of worms. But I know I can play it right. I laugh at my self and reply in a self-depricating manner, "Politics. Nothing interesting."

"Oh wow, that's great. Now I don't know much about things, so maybe you can give me your expert opinion on the whole MP expenses scandal."

I considered my words for a moment and replied "It was out of order, it was totally out of order, but their claims were allowed under the system so I think it was unfair that they had to pay back money retrospectively. And I know MPs make the system, but I think a culture of abuse grew over the years. I don't know if the MPs who abused the expenses were being malicious and deliberately stretching the system, or if they are the kind of folk who are so removed from ordinary people that they thought it was genuinely acceptable. And I can't decide which is worse."

"Well, if they are that removed from ordinary people, should they be in power, really?"

"Exactly. MPs are members of the House of Commons...'commoners' allegedly."

"Aye. So what do you think of David Cameron?"

This is a difficult question to answer, though probably easier to answer than being asked what I thought of Gordon Brown.

"I don't know," I sighed. "He reminds me of Tony Blair at the beginning. He certainly seems to have a similar PR campaign: He's fresh, he's slick, he's promising something different. But that makes it hard to see if the Tory party really are different now."

"I think I agree with you there about being slick like Tony. But it's his background isn't it?"

"Well, yes, how many 'commoners' go to Eton?" I then argued that it doesn't mean you have to be out of touch, if you've got what people call 'life experience'.

"Aye, I don't know much about the politics side of it, but I was in the military 29 years, so I know a bit about 'life experience.' Do you think he is out of touch?" It was more an insightful question than a leading question, but still, I couldn't answer. I genuinely don't know. I didn't learn that bit at uni!

"So what do you think of Tony Blair then?" Again, a question out of genuine interest. I got the feeling he was really trying to get some light on the subject, rather than trying to get an opinion, or to share his opinion. This was interesting to me.

And it's not that I'm an expert in all of this. But I do know how to frame an argument or two.

"He promised a lot at the beginning, and I think he probably did a lot of good, changed the direction of the country in a way it needed to go. We needed to change, desperately. However, he probably damaged his reputation with the whole Iraq war thing."

The taximan seemed to agree.

"It's not my area of expertise I'm afraid," I added. "I think it was wrong to use 9/11 and the war in Afghanistan as an umbrella for the war in Iraq. I think that was entirely misleading. I'm not an expert in that region though." I felt ashamed. I should know more. I am very clued up on certain areas, and extremely weak on others. That ain't great, I know, but at least I admit it.

"So what is your expertise then?" he asked.

I laughed at myself again, "uuuh, Europe, So I know a lot about the EU!" I nodded shamefully, "Another controversial area!"

He laughed. "I only know about what's in the papers, about bendy bananas and stuff. What do you think of the EU?"

"It's a great idea in theory. Look at it - it makes countries cooperate when they had previously been at war with each other, opens up markets and make trade easy. But in practice it's a mess.

"UKIP MEPs could be claiming much crazier expenses than our MPs did, from an institution they allegedly want to dismantle. But we don't even know, because the system is so clouded.

"Even the new President was elected behind closed doors. That certainly doesn't engage people.

"The media and MPs blame the EU for unpopular decisions, which doesn't help. There is a culture of misunderstanding about the EU and it's completely unproductive.

"And it's so, so complicated. I studied it for years and still don't understand the EU. What hope do ordinary citizens have of understanding it?"

And we arrived at my house. I tailed off..."well, that's just what I think."

"Thank you," the taximan exclaimed, "it's been a pleasure talking to you. It's opened my eyes. Always good to talk to someone who knows how to think. I'll give you a discount."

"No no no no, not at all," I replied. And there was me working out the tip as I rifled for my purse.

"No way. I insist. It's been a great ride. Have a good evening."

I hope it doesn't make me a bad person for accepting his discount, but he did insist. I'd like to think it was a mutually beneficial journey. I might "know how to think" but I can't drive, and he can. And he definitely seems to know how to get someone talking...eep.

Gears of lol

Last week we had a month's worth of rain in one day. In order to achieve this, rain must be both relentless and heavy. As you can probably imagine, that's no fun to be out in, so work was the quietest that I had experienced it to date. This suited me fine because I was safe and dry at work; I also had friends staying over and was glad not to be too tired to entertain them.

After shop had shut, we went for dinner and drinks and catch-up. We went to a reasonably priced Mexican restaurant, asked if we could have a table outside and provided much entertainment for the serving staff. We ordered after much gossip, deliberation, and menu scrutiny by my nouveau-vegan friend (it all happened after she broke up with a butcher). We ate, teased the waiter, tipped well, had after-dinner coffee and gin, bought some soy milk, and called a taxi back to my village.

It was all very lovely until the taxi passed a village at the top of a hill, reached the bottom of the hill and splooshed into a giant puddle, which turned out to be a burst river, which broke the engine and brought the taxi to an unceremonially pathetic kaput. We four girls and the taxi driver were stranded in a river.

I laughed nervously and felt incredibly bad for my friends who had travelled for hours on a bus to see me and what I had promised to be a beautiful corner of the world. Friend A reached out of the window to dip her hand in the river which reached up towards the car door handle and produced a reasonable current. She reminded us all that she couldn't swim. Friend B whipped out her iPhone to update facebook status and text friends about our situation (a reply from a mutual friend: "oh noes! i can has dry? hello to girls in a taxiboat!"). Friend C became increasingly concerned about the large damp patch that was forming at her feet while the taxi driver assured us that the car was waterproof.

We sat for an hour while a people-carrier taxi from the same company approached from the other side of the burst river and decided it was too deep and wide to be able to rescue us. Another car sat some way behind us on dry land flashing their lights (were they alerting other drivers or were they gloating to us that they weren't stuck? We never found out). Eventually a tractor from a local farm came along, and the farmer gallantly towed us back to his farm before going off to rescue more drivers of a foolhardy disposition. The people-carrier taxi took us home, for free.

Luckily the next day was dry, the view was beautiful, the burst river had entirely disappeared, and I went to work while the girls partook in some shopping before heading back to the city. I found out later that the taxi's engine was totally wrecked to a cost of £5000 and our driver was completely contrite about what had happened.

All this excitement with the taxiboat reminded me that I haven't held up my side of the "moving back home" deal. I need to learn to drive. I have been putting it off, but I really don't have an excuse now, especially as I have announced it to the public domain of internetland. I know it sounds pitiful but I am incredibly nervous about this, not just because of the taxiboat incident, but because I am scared of traffic. People assure me that it's not a big deal, "it's just like riding a bike".

That's all very well, but I can't ride a bike either.