My Name is Sue - How Do You Do!

While I like the idea of having an unusual name (and Graham is quite unusual in my adopted home here in the US), in practice, it can be very tedious. Mostly, because people here frequently misspell it, or mis-hear it. Very often, people think I've said "Brian," or they want to spell it "Gram," or "Grahm." It's so American to want to economize on the number of letters in a name. Perhaps it would benefit me to have an empowering name, such as "Stone," "Brett," "Brad," or perhaps the most empowering of them all, "Sue" (With a big nod to The Man In Black).

Bathroom Basics

Your comments on my recent post Chips and Other Confusing Words started me thinking that there was probably more to say on the subject of bathrooms.

Just the word itself is a subject of cross-cultural confusion and discomfort. To a Brit, a bathroom is the place where you have a bath. It took me a long time in the US to get comfortable with asking where the bathroom was when I needed to relieve myself. Conversely, my Wife was quite shocked when in England to hear people ask where the toilet was. In polite company, she might hear a British lady talking about going to powder one's nose, but she might also hear someone announce that she was going to spend a penny. The origin of the previous phrase, incidentally, comes from a time when to enter a stall in a public convenience one would need to insert a penny in a slot in the door.

British slang words for the toilet also include loo (a discussion of possible origins of that word can be found here), khazi (it's likely the origins of this word come from the Italian casa, meaning house), bog, lav (short for lavatory, another common term) and WC, short for Water Closet. British friends visiting America may hear slang words such as head (this is thought to be due to the location of the crew toilet in the bow or head of a ship) or john.

I cannot let this talk about bathrooms go without a little explanation about plumbing, for the benefit of any transatlantic travelers out there. When I first encountered an American toilet, I found it somewhat scary! I thought it was blocked and about to overflow. I have since learned that American toilets have a higher water level than the toilets I was brought up using. Conversely, American travelers to Britain should be aware that yes, British toilets are meant to have a low water level. The water has not drained away. This difference means that British men using flush toilets (as opposed to urinals) in America are forced to subject anyone within earshot to what I refer to as "The Niagara Falls Effect," whereas in Britain, some careful aiming results in a discreet, almost noise-free performance.

On the subject of urinals (sorry Ladies), in the restrooms (I am certainly not going there to rest!) of pubs and other public places in Britain, you will often find a communal along-the-wall urinal, rather than the individual units that are more common in the US.

Then, of course, there is the infamous British love of toilet-humor. More on that later, I think. I need to go wash my hands.

I am a little cautious about opening this one up for public comments and discussion, but please do let us know your thoughts on this subject.

Chips and Other Confusing Words

During the discussion that followed my recent interview on Cindy's Country Corner, Cindy asked me, "Graham, I have heard that most Brits love their fish and chips! And, you obviously do! So, here’s my question. Are the chips more like french fries, home fries, potato chips or none of the above?"

I thought most American people knew what British "chips" were, but it is not the first time I have been asked this question, so I thought I would clarify this. British chips are American french fries (I hope we have got past the embarrassing term "freedom fries" now), but unlike most fries, which are usually quite thin, British chips are generally fatter.

What Americans call potato chips, Brits call crisps.

For the benefit of my non-American friends, home fries are par-cooked potatoes, diced or otherwise cut into chunks, then shallow-fried.

There are so many of these little differences, I think an entire series is warranted. Let us go on for a while:

What we Brits call pants, Americans call underwear. In Britain, the word underwear is often used to describe any undergarments, such as underpants, bras, undershirts (US undershirts are UK vests, while a US vest is what a Brit would call a waistcoat). An American calls them pants, while a Brit calls them trousers. My four-year-old daughter always bursts into fits of giggling when I tell her about pants and trousers and so on.

While we are on the subject of anatomy and accessories, if you have not already checked it out, you might enjoy an earlier post here, Don't say 'fannypack' around me.

Finally (for now anyway), you might enjoy The Very Best of British - The American's Guide to Speaking British, a website which is full of these little differences and makes a very entertaining read.

Confused? Do you have some more differences or questions about language differences? Please post a comment and let me know.

What a Load Of...Colin?

It was reported last week that UK Supermarket chain Sainsbury's announced that they were going to rename the white fish pollack with a French name, "colin." Apparently, they believed that flagging sales were due to Brits being embarrassed to ask for pollack, because of its similarity to the British word "Bollocks," which is slang for testicles. I don't buy that explanation, especially when the renaming comes (in some stores) with special packaging designed by Wayne Hemingway, but clearly inspired by artist Jackson Pollock.

Yes, I said packaging. Sainsbury's sells pollack prepackaged. So it's not as if customers have to ask out loud for the fish in stores. I think this is all an attempt to use the media for a bit of free publicity.

Because of its mild flavor, pollack, caught in British waters, is a good substitute for cod, whose numbers have fallen dramatically in recent years. It is a more popular fish in France than in the UK. It is also cheaper than cod.

To add a further level of complexity to this tale, the French word "colin" actually means "hake," rather than pollack. The French for pollack is actually "lieu jaune," which could unfortunately be pronounced "loo john." In addition, "colin" is actually pronounced "coh-lan," so as columnist Marcel Berlins rightly points out in the Guardian, "the supermarket took a decision to deal with a nonsensical problem by using a difficult-to-pronounce foreign word that is wrongly translated from the English."

My interest in all this? My Father's name is Colin!

Real problem or just a marketing ploy? Please post a comment and let me know what you think.

A Community Within a Community - Carmen's Story

I met Carmen Villadar (@digitalfemme) on Twitter a while back, when we had an impromptu brainstorming session about business start-ups in the current economic climate. It was enough to convince me that we have very similar views about many things. Then she very kindly offered to proofread my blog posts and offer comments before I published them. It's great to have a second opinion before I "go to press."

When I started wondering about how other people coped, living in a country other than the one in which they were brought up, Carmen was an obvious person from which to solicit an opinion. She was born in The Philippines, but immigrated to Canada when she was three. After spending her childhood and young adulthood in Toronto, she moved to Texas to pursue a career in nursing. She lived in Texas for eleven years.

Participating in Second Life, a popular online "virtual world," Carmen met a man from Frankfurt, Germany. Cutting a long story short, they fell in love, and Carmen moved to Frankfurt in 2007. Once she was able to get her work permit, she became a freelance business English trainer. She now works in Business development for a company that is seeking to expand into Europe.

I wondered whether she had become involved with local organizations as a way of trying to become part of her local community. Actually, Carmen has taken a slightly different path. While she has been able to meet her personal goals, it seems to me that she is not sure whether she has really succeeded in becoming part of her community yet.

Each time she has moved, it has been because of a personal connection she has made. When she moved to Texas, it was because a family member living there recommended it. Her move to Frankfurt came about because of "Second Life."

Carmen has made many of her connections online, via Social Networking sites like Facebook and Twitter. Her current job came about after a conversation on Twitter with an employee for the company and a Facebook chat with the CEO. Perhaps more importantly, these sites enable her to remain connected to friends from Toronto and Texas and to chat in English with friends around the world.

One of the biggest barriers to becoming completely comfortable in Frankfurt, where she currently lives, is not being fluent in German. What she has done to get around this is to build her own community, really a "community within a community." She has started a couple of networking groups in Frankfurt, Frankfurt Girl Geek Dinners, and Open Coffee Club Frankfurt. She feels safe within this microcommunity. Instead of breaking out into her locality, she invites people from outside to join her.

It occurs to me that Carmen could do what she is currently doing in Frankfurt in just about any part of the world. Could she be part of a new breed of "World-citizen," living in a world without borders?

I would love to hear your comments about Carmen's story. Perhaps I can persuade Carmen to stick around and answer any questions you have.

Adjusting To a New Community - Hannah's Story

A Guest Post by Hannah Katsman from A Mother in Israel.

I met Graham via Twitter and our mutual friend @leoraw from Here in Highland Park. On Twitter, Graham asked others to share the role that organizations play in cross-cultural adjustment. I offered to write about my experience immigrating to Israel from the U.S. with my husband and oldest child eighteen years ago.

Moving across the street takes a period of adjustment. Moving across cultures takes a lifetime. I went from being someone whom others consulted, to asking for help with the simplest tasks. When do the stores open? Where do I get a driver's license? How do I open a bag of milk?

Operating in a new language added another layer of difficulty. I spoke and read Hebrew. Yet I found I couldn't argue with the bank manager, or make small talk with the woman in the elevator. I could tell that the news was reporting on a sports game, but didn't catch which team won. Unless someone took pity on me, I had to ask for help or remain frustrated.

Besides my husband, who worked long hours, his aunt and uncle were the only people I knew in town. In the US I had many friends and could make new ones with confidence.Now I was an outsider, and forming new friendships took effort.Still, I made it a priority.

Humans want to feel needed, not needy. And the best way to feel needed is to become part of a community or group where you can contribute your time and skills to others. I was lucky to have a ready-made community that welcomed me.

A few days after I arrived a woman named Annie brought me to a talk at the local English-speaking chapter of a women's organization. The next time I was called about a program, I offered to make phone calls. It didn't take long for someone to invite me to join the chapter's committee where we organized meetings and fund-raisers, and had a great time. Annie and the women I met there are still my closest friends in Israel. They are my community and substitute family.

I reached another level of inclusion ten years later, after training to work as a volunteer breastfeeding counselor. Helping mothers allowed me to connect to women on a basic level and to overcome linguistic and cultural barriers. I remember when I ran into a native Israeli mother who had recently discussed her difficulties with me. She smiled warmly and held out her hand to take mine. At that moment I did not feel like an outsider.

I wish I could report that the warmth she shared remained with me until today. But after eighteen years the "Israeli" mentality can still drive me crazy. There are days I miss my family and old friends and wonder whether I will ever "belong." Then I remember that everyone feels misunderstood, displaced, or lonely at times. And I recall that through my role in local organizations I have made a difference (I hope) in the lives of others in my new, imperfect country. And that has made the difference for me.

Thank you, Graham, for giving me the chance to share my story.

You can read more about cultural adjustment, mothering, Israel and the Jewish community at my blog, A Mother in Israel. Or follow me on Twitter: @mominisrael

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For those who want to read more from Hannah, here are a few posts from her blog that I particularly recommend:

Cultural Differences

Interview: A Christian Mother in Israel

Your Daughter is Smart, But . . .

Between Two and Four

When Neglect is "Normal"

As always, I'd love to hear from you. I'll make sure that Hannah sees any comments you leave here for her. Also, I'd like to hear from others who are living in a country other than the one they were brought up in. I'm thinking of starting a little guest post and/or interview feature.

Don't say 'fannypack' around me

fannypack
In England, where I'm originally from, "fanny" refers to a completely different part of the anatomy (Female genitalia) than what it does in the US. In the UK, we call a fannypack a "bumbag" (bum referring to the posterior). I just can't bring myself to say "fannypack."

But here's a funny thing: both words refer to the rear-end. But don't most people wear them at the front?

Only in America

It's like arriving late for a party, I know, but I am so naive that I've only relatively recently discovered that with a little common-sense and a bit of searching I can find (not always legitimate copies, of course) British TV shows available on the web. I was very happy to find a copy of the return of Friday Night With Jonathan Ross that aired on the BBC last week. For those who don't know, The BBC suspended Ross for three months following a stunt when he was a guest on a BBC radio show. Jonathan returned with a great line-up - and an apology for the prank. Tom Cruise, British comedian Lee Evans and one of my favorite Brits, Stephen Fry were his guests.

Stephen is always an interesting guest. He and Jonathan talked about Twitter (Fry and Ross are both Twitterholics), and how Fry had been trying to lose weight by walking long distances (his recommendation: walk while listening to audiobooks). They joked about what it would be like if Stephen had played Tom Cruise's part in Jerry Maguire: "Would you be kind enough to exhibit the money?" Perhaps the most interesting things I thought he had to say this time, however, were about America and Americans.

Fry recently made a series, Stephen Fry in America, where he visited each of the fifty states. He explained to Ross how he loved America, visiting often, and even having an apartment (flat) in New York City for a while. He said that, generally speaking, he had found Americans to be "honorable, polite, kindly, well-intentioned, thoughtful" and that any ideas of the British that Americans were a "morass of pig-ignorant fools" said much about a British superiority complex (ultimately an inferiority complex). He contrasted the American attitude, "Let's try it!" with the British attitude, "Oh, no...no...no."

I had a moment of recognition when he talked about the phrase "Only in America." He explained how in the US, the phrase was often used to describe something extraordinary happening. It's an optimistic phrase. He said that if there was a phrase "Only in Britain", it would bring to mind things like queues, rain, incompetency - "no, no you can't!" Of course, he omitted another use of the phrase "Only in America", oft used by Brits when they see some of the outrageous stories about America and Americans in the news. Things like frivolous lawsuits, someone leaving their entire estate to a cat, and so on. I find it fascinating how, depending on where it is used, one phrase can mean completely different things.

Can you think of any similar phrases that have different meanings like this? Please do post a comment and let me know.

Previous post about Stephen Fry

I Love Your Accent

In a comment she made about an earlier entry, my Wife said:

"When people hear Graham's accent generally one of two things happen: 1) They ask if he's from Australia; 2) They ask where he's from and he deadpans... "New Jersey. Can't you tell by the accent?"

Those are definitely common reactions that people have when they hear my accent. There are others too.

My accent is both a blessing and a curse, as they say. Mostly a blessing. Occasionally a curse. In true British fashion, I'll start with the negative. I recall chasing a "sales associate" around Target trying to get him to understand what I meant when I said I wanted "batteries." Again and again I carefully said the word. Again and again he said he had no idea what I wanted. I wondered whether there was a different word that Americans used - I was sure there was not. I pronounced it carefully and slowly. Still no luck. In the end, my Wife took pity on me, and said the word "batteries" - I swear she said it exactly the same as I had done, but magically, we were shown where the batteries were kept. This kind of thing happens from time to time, and it can be frustrating.

But mostly, my accent is a good thing. It gets me noticed, and in a good way. It opens doors, and sometimes gives me an unfair advantage. For some reason, unlike many other accents, an English accent sounds very attractive to American ears. They seem to think it indicates sophistication. For the record, my accent, from my home town of Luton , is quite similar to a London accent, and to English ears is more likely to be associated with lack of education - certainly not sophisticated.

But over here, many people go to great lengths to tell me how much they love my accent, and I've heard similar things from other expat Brits I've encountered here. I've had people in stores - and before my Wife chimes in and points this out, probably pretty equally divided between women and men - cooing over my accent, telling me they could listen to me talk all day.

When I first moved over here, I often would pick up on an English accent if I heard someone in the vicinity. One of the first expats I met over here was a gentleman who has made a career out of recording talking books for the blind. Apparently, they really love their stories read with an English accent. I remember him recommending that I try doing this myself some time.

But these days, my Wife is more likely to hear a British accent than I am. I've become quite deaf to the differences between American and British accents. As for my own accent, people over here say that my accent has not changed. My Wife thinks (and I agree) that whenever I talk to family back home, which I do most Sundays, my accent gets even more pronounced. Occasionally, the folks back home think that I'm sounding more American.

As an added bonus, I thought I'd share this lovely resource with you: How to Speak in a British Accent

The Full English Breakfast

I'm writing this entry early in the morning in a motel room in Pennsylvania, a little over halfway home from our Christmas trip to the Michigan in-laws. I'm munching on an apple, because I cannot abide having an empty stomach, but I'm craving the big breakfast I'll no doubt have once the rest of the family have woken up, showered and we look for somewhere to eat. There's coffee, bagels and muffins available in the lobby, but that's not going to cut it for me.

My vegetarian friends may now leave the room before I launch into the really offensive stuff.

What I'm really craving is meat. What I'm really craving is that beast known as the Full English Breakfast.

There are some excellent breakfast choices available in this part of the country. I'm rather partial to biscuits smothered in sausage gravy (a note for our British Friends - a biscuit is rather similar to a scone, perhaps a little fluffier, and sausage gravy is a thick, creamy sauce full of crumbled sausage). But the Americans, much as they seem to enjoy their meat, don't really get the British love of having more than one meat on your plate at the same time. See, the "F.E.B." usually contains bacon and sausage; in fact, for those hardcore fans amongst us, it should also include black pudding. For those who still are blissfully unaware of what black pudding is, it's a blood sausage. Very rich, very fatty, very unhealthy, and of course very tasty. But even when you find a selection of "fry-ups" listed on a menu, you can get eggs done in a multitude of ways, maybe biscuits, hash browns, etc., with bacon or sausage. Usually, if you want both sausage and bacon, you have to order one as part of your meal, and the other as a side.

So, what I really want (and will probably only get in the US if I make it myself) is one fried egg, over-easy (so the yoke is runny but the white is not slimy), bacon, sausage, black pudding, baked beans, fried tomato, fried bread and fried mushroom. Yep, heart-attack on a plate.

There are a few compromises that have to be made if you're craving the F.E.B. but living in the U.S. The bacon usually available here is sliced really thin and very fatty. It's really only good for crumbling into something for flavor. I generally go for sweet Italian sausages, but while good, they're not the same as a good British banger. Baked beans over here are generally over-sweet, and contain a lump of fatty pork; In the US, Heinz do "Vegetarian Baked Beans", which is about as close as you'll get to the beans that Heinz make for the Brits.

I'll probably write more about tea in another entry, but as a great British tea-drinker, at home I'd usually make myself a cuppa to drink with the fry-up. Tetley makes "British Blend" teabags which are pretty good. I would drink coffee if I was having breakfast at a restaurant, because most places can't make tea properly.

And, if consuming this in England, with egg-yoke running down our chins we'd probably be berating the Americans for being obese.

I'm perfectly aware that this artery-hardening breakfast is not exactly the healthy option. And I certainly would not eat it every morning. Probably not even once a week. But as a rare treat, it's precisely that - a rare treat!

So, in the interests of full-disclosure, I should also point out this article from the Times of London.

Cops, Cars and a Cuppa - my first visit to the US (part 2)

(Continued from previous post)

I'd always known that American cops were armed, but when you're not used to an gun-toting police force, it really seems so "in your face." It's almost like something from a comic-book; the "Utility Belt", complete with packed heat - and testosterone to match. But I noticed the officer standing by the drop-off area outside the terminal building at Newark airport, much more than he noticed me. In fact, I was so invisible to him that he turned and spat right on my shoe. "Welcome to America!"

I dragged myself and my backpack (we like to call them Rucksacks in England) along the sidewalk (Brits call this the pavement) a few feet and anxiously awaited my ride (lift) while I munched on some of the candy (sweets) I'd bought at the store (shop). Would she recognize me? It turned out that this disheveled Brit with the rucksack stood out enough from the besuited dudes with their fancy luggage, that she was soon able to find me.

People sometimes wonder why it took me six years (actually, until my daughter was born) before I agreed to get behind the wheel of a car in the US. Here's why: My friend pulled away from the kerb (and yes, she had allowed me to get in first!) and headed for the highway (motorway). Unfortunately, where the airport exited onto the highway, all I could see were cars coming at us from every direction. I thought for sure that someone was going to crash into us. It was lunacy. I did the only sane thing I could have done. I covered my eyes with my hands and screamed like a girl.

By the time we'd arrived in Edison, New Jersey from Newark airport, I'd finally removed my hands from my eyes. I tumbled out of the car with my stuff and entered my friend's cute little house. We went straight for the kitchen, where she asked me whether I'd like a cup of tea. YES, I thought. She knows me well enough to know that all I want after this stressful transatlantic trip is a cup of tea. Nothing more, until I recover. I like this woman.

Would you like Green Tea, Decaf. Green Tea, Rose-hip, Peppermint, Chamomile, Cranberry Apple Zinger, Orange Spice, Red tea, White tea,Lapsang Souchong......

It was then I first learned about the insane amount of choice that Americans have. Over pretty much everything.

Please....do you just have some tea?

The amazing thing was she got it. Very quickly. I was beginning to think she might be a keeper.