My kids are Growing

It's weird. They are turning into cool, sophisticated little people.

I have nothing else to say today except, look at how cool they look.

Also, the last pic is one with me and the kids in our continuing series called: "Max's Back." (For some reason many of our best photo's are take from the backside of Max's perspective. Dunno why, it just seems to happen. It may be that he sees the excellent things before the rest of us...)

--tomb

Apologies for Technical Ineptitude…

So apparently I am a Twidiot. A gigantic Twidiot, in fact.

Basically, I found out that Twitter was enabling UK Vodaphone (finally) for SMS and Text updates (like the rest of the proper world.) So in my excitement, I went into the “admin” functions of my Twitter account. Upon delving these depths, I found a little function that lets me see EVERYONE who has been sending me direct messages.

Didn’t even know I could do this.
Didn’t even know that people were talking to me/mentioning me directly.
Didn’t even know that I could’ve nay—should’ve been responding in some manner.
Didn’t even know how to respond (until this morning, actually.)

How Rude of me!

HEY—folks @Twitter.com? How about an Effing-Tutorial for us Dumb-asses in the world? Dammit.

In any case, I am using my blog to apologize for my Twidiocy. (Yes, MY BLOG…Many of you know how I like to keep the “temple of my mind” as sacred ground, so I MUST be serious about this.) I will also attempt to respond to all my friends and RadioTiki Listeners (btw: not mutually exclusive descriptors--since all my RadioTiki peeps at are siblings of my soul.)

I only did the mentions from 2009. So, if anyone “said” something to me on Twitter in 2008, I am sorry—I had to cut it off somewhere.
Additionally, I will “stem the tide” of my rudeness by being a bit better on the tweet-response time. I am not a celebrity in any way at all. However, quite a few Listeners to the show have honoured me by following my inanity. The least I can do is provide some inane content.

From Twitter, the evidence for your perusal:
Mentions of @_tomb

1.)wdonohue@_tomb Could be Twitter, could be BT network lag. At least you're not on Deutsche Telekom
tomb: Actually I am on Deutsche Telecom everytime I use my 3G card on the laptop. All the adds are in German--and they are Naughty!

2.)dltabor@_tomb Do you mean @thewholeworld? It has been on here for a while. ;-)about 16 hours ago
tomb: I was too busy following @life_the_universe_and_everything. It's a much better read. :)

3.)wdonohueyou should follow @EMSL, @_tomb, and @hjarche.
tomb: Very kind of you to recommend me, but as I have demonstrated, I am an idiot.

4.)javinchi@_tomb TMI?7:31 PM Mar 6th
tomb: Yes. But, then this has always been part of my problem and my charm. :)

5.)DLGroover@_tomb Ok, so I've heard awesome things about london style curry, but where can I pick some up in the states? Also, WTF is a kebab.5:28 PM Feb 27th
tomb: UK Kebab = Fully Loaded Gyro in the USA. I am NOT the person to ask about Curries over here. I do not understand the national obsession with what essentially amounts to "spicey stew" that you must have over rice or its a mess.

6.)SirBob@_tomb on behalf of Nottingham, we would like to welcome Tiki!12:28 PM Feb 5th
tomb: I LOVE Nottingham. I stay at the Hilton by the big shopping mall and I can walk to "ye olde Trippe" for dinner and many pints! Woo! (I have been temped by the "Robin Hood Experience." Should I?)

7.)DLGroover@_tomb Be sure to link to your morphine-fueled bloggings on your twitter! Also, glad the surgery went well.5:11 AM Jan 28th
tomb: Last round of surgery, the Morphine was a disappointing muse. I wasn't nearly as insipred as I was back in September. However, I was quite annoyed that it stops "other functions", temporarily.

8.)jesscapps@_tomb Glad it sounds like it went well. Freezing over here-literally. :)1:54 AM Jan 28th
tomb: Total success on the surgery. It's April 2nd and I can run, climb, hike, ride a bike. It's awesome. Only weird thing--I can't bend the one leg enough yet to put a sock on like normal person. Gotta stretch that tendon some more.

9.) wdonohue@_tomb Oh, you mean the *joint* resurfacing. Should still get a guarantee, though. They may say it's Teflon, but you can't see it, can you?10:05 PM Jan 26th
wdonohue@_tomb Hope you got a guarantee on that resurfacing - if they just threw some hot patch on there, it's gonna start peeling before spring.10:03 PM Jan 26th
tomb: Just like Chicago in the Winter--first warm day and a truck goes over my noew hip and it pops out, creating the mother-of-all-potholes!

10.)brandonmhorn@_tomb I think there's apps out there that allow you to update everything at once...just saying (I'll look into it for you :)
tomb: please do, but--send me a private email--I will give a a preview copy of my blog about social networks that I am co-writing with UK-Friend who lives in the states.

11.)mostlybob@_tomb Tom, Tommy, Tom! good to see you. :-)7:50 PM Jan 19th
tomb: Bawb, Bawbby, Bawb (phonetic spelling of the Boston Twang.) Brill to be back. Sorry it took 3 months to get back to ya.

12.)DLGroover@_tomb Holy shit, the first new RadioTiki since October! Tom, you need to get on top of these things, shamelessly plug it on twitter! YGFR!5:44 PM Jan 18th
tomb: We really are trying to do it more often, but...it seems that Saturdays work best for the International version. You'd be suprised how hard it is to schedule a Saturday. As it is, we can almost never count on Brad as he is sporting event-junkie.

13.)jesscapps@_tomb - Boo! You poor, poor soul. What ever shall you do. I shant bare(bear?) to think!3:44 PM Jan 16th
tomb: It gives me a warm-fuzzy feeling inside just to know that you were thinking about me. It goes miles toward changing my glum dispositon. :)

14.)brandonmhorn@_tomb are you sure its not your settings? Seems you should be able to get the feed at least.
tomb: Definitely was Vodaphone. Because--now I "should" be getting it.

15.)jeffedsell@_tomb Good to see you on Twitter! (R. Daneel here.)3:11 PM Jan 12th

16.)DLGroover@_tomb Looking forward to the new show, also twitter updates!6:28 AM Jan 12th

17.)brandonmhorn@_tomb nice! thanks for the update.11:03 PM Jan 11th
tomb: Answering 15-17--well, you can see how well I've screwed up this little experiement. :)

brandonmhorn@_tomb Listener bhorn appreciates the inane. That's why he tunes in to Radio Tiki every 1...well 2...no, actually 3(???) months. J/K.
tomb: 'Nuff said. Said well, too, I think! Cheers.


--tomb

A few of my favourite things...

Doing one of my favourite “Tommy-Things”, right now. These are things that are just for me, sort of special, certainly peaceful and provide me moments of introspection. I’ve hinted and/or explained a couple of these things in the past, such as in my blog-piece about happiness and riding trains through the English countryside.

This particular “Tommy-Thing” sounds a bit bourgeois, but I promise you it is not. It only happens when I have to travel for business. Biz-travel occurs more frequently than I’d like, but as it’s necessary I try to enjoy the bits that I can. While it is true that I have shouted the virtues of the English-pub in this very blog, and my love of Real Ales has been clear for years, I do have an…affinity for the perfectly-made-Vodka-Martini, a couple of olives, served frosty cold in a pleasant hotel-bar.

That’s what I am doing right now, writing my little blog, Kettle-One Martini inches from my laptop.

I will edit the piece I wrote last week on Social Network Sites (Facebook, Twitter, etc.) and perhaps post all these together. For now…Martini, and a little bowl of bar-peanuts, mixed with really spicy-cheeto-esque things.

UK "Snow Proud"

Recently I had some time off work for surgery and recovery. I wisely used this time to compose some sort of new entry for the ol’ blog. Got some good ones too. However, Monday February Second, 2009 came along and brought with it the biggest snowfall in the UK for 20 years.

6 inches in some places.

In any case, it shut the country down for the day, so…I have abandoned my original piece entitled “Tom’s Unified Field Theory of Facebook, Twitter, and Blogging—or Social Networking Site Commonality Needed, or I will Die Trying.” Look for this later in the week.

Instead I offer to you my report of the Great London Snowfall of 2009 and why I am proud of my adopted country.

First of all, many of you may know that I am from Chicago, born and raised. So, 6 inches of snow is not a problem for Mid-westerners. (Unless it happens in September or October.) We look at it, the kids play it in, I complain about all the idiot drivers and we get on with life. However, Chicago and other similar cities in America, are equipped to handle the snow. Chicago’s snow removal budget last year was $18.5 millon (£12.8 million, 14.2 million Euros.) Here in the UK, the snow stops everything. Admittedly, this snow came at the morning Rush-Hour. Even in the states, 6 inches would cause a big problem during the commute. But our problem here was based on the lack of tooling to deal with it. But—bless their hearts, they tried. Gritters (Salt-trucks) were sent out, councils reacted slowly (as they would in the states.) The media went crazy. They even sent reporters to the Motorway overpass for the gratuitous video shot. You know the one—a reporter, bundled up in the biggest NorthFace Parka possible, fur-lined around the head (it was perhaps 30 degrees F. but no matter) standing on the bridge/overpass showing the traffic down below, one lane jammed, one lane eerily empty. The coverage begins with “As you can see I am standing on the M 25 Motorway where traffic is backed-up for over 15 miles…”

They learned this from Chicago and New York. It’s good TV, it works.

The most impressive thing to me was the overall reaction of the English People. It started with those who tired to get into work. If you left early enough, you succeeded. However, upon arrival you found that nobody else really made it. One then became stranded in London or wherever else, as it were, because one certainly wasn’t going to go back on the train or motorway--that would be madness. So instead, one begins to wander about in the snow, in the city, in the very quiet peaceful city. The buses stopped running for they found that they could not go up even the smallest of hills. The trains also stopped because—who knew that the tracks would have to be plowed? Taxi’s were also a no-go. All 5 London Airports simply shut down. This type of silent awe that swept across the country would NOT have occurred in the states. This much is certain. We could learn from this part. Of course, we don’t get “quiet” cities with our snow. We get GIGANTOR Snowplows!

As mentioned above the media was in its glory—but in a good way. Still cliché, but good. The BBC was putting people on the air to read their on-the-spot-composed poetry about the glory of snow and “snowdays”! I supposed this is understandable, because it just doesn’t happen here. At my children’s school, they had never seen a “snow day” in their entire lives. Many of the teachers could not remember having one either—even as kids themselves. SkyNews provided instructions for building a snow man! At the houses of Parliament, there was a verified snowball fight. (caught on film.) There was sledging (sledding) in Hyde Park. A few intrepid souls even took out their cross-country skis and tooled around.

All in all, the Brits handled the disastrous snowfall like they do with most other disasters: A shrug, a sigh, and they get on with it. These are the same people that, when their subway was regularly bombed in the 70’s and 80’s—they simply climbed up the stairs and walked to the next station, and then got back on.

The USA has Snow Plows. The UK is doing just fine, thank you very much.

--tomb

A Brief Treatise on Happiness

Because they are often fleeting, I realize that moments of true happiness should be treasured. These times should be recognized and respected. We sometimes take happiness for granted and only remember it in it's absence. Yes, I know this is how we define it, and that's how the concept of "perspective" works. I know, I know, but...my point here is shout to everyone: appreciate happiness when you notice it. It may not be there in a few hours, days, or weeks.

Yesterday I noticed it.

I promised myself and the universe at large that I would jot it down for the record. I quickly made note of my happiness so that even in hindsight, it would not be affected by my mood (which is not that great today, I might add. But, I have successfully captured yesterday's moment for posterity.)

So, today I follow though on my promise.


Disclaimer: The happy thoughts and opinions expressed below occurred to me on 15 October 2008 09:17:34 on a train bound for Glasgow. They are my own and not intended to tell anyone else how to be happy. I just felt the need to share and preserve.





Enjoy. I hope that you find and save some happy-moments of your own. Remember them when you are not.

1. Autumn is arriving in the Northern Hemisphere. The smell and the particular angle of the sunlight at this time of year always inspires some good cheer in me.


2. Surgery on my leg not only went extremely well, but I am apparently healing from the event very quickly. The complete absence of pain in the joint is a bit spooky, but a true source of relief and pleasure.


3. Foggy misty Rail Journey from London to Glasgow. Flatlands slowly changing to green and rocky hills. English countryside fading to Scottish wilds. Wonderful.


4. Riding in First Class, too. (Which I sprung for personally, no miles, no promotional trickery. Just a little treat for recovering from above mentioned surgery. Feels good to do that for yourself, once in awhile. Sort of like chicks and “Spa-Days.” Ha!)


5. The Spinners doing “Rubber-band Man” on my MP3 player, the full 7 minute version. It is impossible for anyone who listens to this tune to not be completely happy, possibly even inspired to boogie, just a little bit. (And of course, want to giddily distribute office products. “Thanks, Crab-man.”) UPDATE: My random-play function followed this up with XTC’s “King for a Day.” I am truly living a charmed-hour.


6. Viki, Tuesday. Enough said.


7. Alexandra can do back-flips nearly at will and completely enjoys herself while doing so. I took her to the park near our UK home and she spent 90 minutes doing just that. Giggling and smiling the whole time.


8. Max has 3 plastic dinosaur models/puzzles. He not only can get these really, really, complex little puzzles put together, but then loves to take them apart again. After re-assembly for the umpteenth time, he pretends he is their Dad. He teaches these plastic dinosaurs to read, write letters and words. (He helps them hold the pencil, of course.)


9. Max has announced that the dinosaurs actually have TWO Dad’s. Himself and me. I am honoured.


10. Complicated one here: Alex is having trouble deciding whether she will be in the Olympics for Trampoline or Gymnastics. She thinks that perhaps she will do only floor exercise for Gymnastics and fully compete in Trampoline. She also thinks this is a good idea because the USA doesn’t have a good trampoline team, but she trains in the UK. Her foresight in this impresses me, despite it being a bit premature to plan for the Olympiad. While her enthusiasm buoys my happiness, but I am not holding my breath for her to make the national team...I mean, she goes once a week for two hours. She doesn't even like to practice. I am proud of her, just the same.
    

--tomb

These Boots are Made for...oh god no, forget it...too cliché. This is about Rubber Boots. There.

We walk through a cathedral of giant oaks, maples, ash, rowan. The air literally hued green from the canopy of trees high above. The ground squishing, oozing under each of our steps as we trudge along our chosen path. The recent rain has made everything wet, droplets fall around us soaking all...all but our wonderfully protected feet, that is!

Yes, I have discovered the joy of Wellies! Woo-hoo, for Wellies, people! My feet were warm, dry, and had that super-human-bouncy rubbery feel with every fall of my foot.

I felt quite the adventurer as my son and I rambled through the local woods near our house. We carried on, nary a care for where our feet happened to tread. For they were completely encased in Road Grade Dunlop Rubber and PVC! We could go anywhere, walk through anything. Mud. Streams. Gravel. Tall Grass. Exotic and exciting, it was akin to being a jungle explorer. I half-expected young Max to turn to me, a look of dread in his eye and say:

“Too bad the Hovitos don’t know you the way I do, Belloq!”

And of course my snide reply would be,

“Yes, too bad. You could have warned them about me…if only you spoke HOVITOS!” (and then I would laugh manically.)

(For the record, Max has not seen Raiders of the Lost Ark Yet, and is not Indiana Jones. Nor am I any sort of grandiose, deifically-inclined, French Archaeologist. This little scene is merely in my head.)

But, back to my Wellies.

These are knee high rubber boots that very popular here in the UK, but do honestly look a bit silly to wear at first. In a country that gets a fair bit of rain, the people here have devised all sort of means to “get on with it” despite the weather. Certainly you are familiar with the ubiquitous British Umbrella Fetish. They always have one. There are also quite a few people who manage to produce waterproof jackets seemingly from nowhere the moment it starts to drizzle.

So then, Wellies are for going about your business, whatever it may be, without care for the muck on your feet. You are completely sealed away from all moisture. They are quite warm too. One is supposed to tuck one’s trouser legs into the boot. This effectively seals off the inside and is part of the “insulation factor”. OK, not super warm but comfortable.

In some of my older posts, you have read my lauds of glory for the many Public Foot Paths here. Well, in order to more fully enjoy the experience, you got to have a pair of Wellies to do it.

Think about how often you have found your self out for a walk/stroll/high-speed chase and you spent a great deal of time looking down to make sure you did not get your shoes too dirty. With the Wellies it doesn’t matter. I walked carefree through a known sheep pasture. Normally, this would have been a minefield requiring deft reflexes and nerves of steel. But—I had my Wellies on! Sure I felt a “softer bit of turf” occasionally, but it wasn’t on me. I didn’t care where I stepped.

When we returned home, I put the boots in the backyard and turned on the hose. In moments I had a brand new looking pair of Wellies.

The bonus that I alluded to earlier is the ENTIRE boot is made of rubber, even the soul and the heel. So, as you walk on more solid ground, you get a little bounce-back feeling that is energizing. (There is a Cloth Liner magically affixed to the inside so as to avoid that Rubber-on-skin problem. Unless you are into to that sort of thing. You know who you are.)

Currently I am actively searching for Raw Sewage to trudge though with impunity!

So, you might be asking why Big Rubber Boots are called Wellies? Well, blah, blah, blah, something to do with the duke of Wellington, and a Victorian fashion craze, Beau Brummell dandies, fops, etc, etc... Look Here.

The come in thousands of colors and designs. Bears, flowers, sports logos, camo, punk chic...and of course olive green! You name it, and it's available as a rubber boot.

I am telling you now, Get yourself a pair of these things! The freedom is worth it. When I have them on, I am unsoilable.

Unless, of course, water somehow manages to get into the top of the boot. In which case I will be wearing two small bathtubs on my feet.

--tomb

Alexandra is Nine!

Nine years ago, the universe bestowed upon me that most pleasurable of life’s challenges—a daughter. I use my little space today to wish her happiness on this anniversary of her arrival on the planet.





Today she is nine.



Alex is beautiful and bright.
Fiery and funny. Complex and Cuddly.

Revels in attention,
Yet shy when she notices she’s been noticed.


Alex is activist and active.
Weird and wild. Interested and interesting.

Winces (whines) at injustice,
But occasionally incorrect about cause or intent.


She negotiates every judgement, and doggedly seeks answers to her questions.

All of them.

She loves music, she loves animals, she loves books, she loves us.
And we love her.

So, The Great Pontificator(?), Orator, Ego-Aggrandizer Returns

But, was what he’s got say worth the wait? Hardly. To what do I attribute my absence from the blog-o-sphere? Afterall, I have been peppered, reproached, and aye even stung by criticism for taking such a long hiatus (sounds so much more important that way, doesn’t it?) between missives. Folks were reading my feeble prose-droppings. For that I both apologize and thank you. While it was more than simple laziness on my part as I will explain in a moment, the truth-be-told, I let it go for too long.

In the past I have attributed this to my work here in England, and that still holds. However, I have had a lingering, now festering (figuratively, not literally) medical issue that has, for lack of a better word, depressed me. I usually find my own depression weak (although I am understanding of it in others) since, “it just isn’t Tom(B), you know?” It is nearly not possible in my own coding to be down for too long. Viki gets to see this (bless her) but not too many others.

But, a bit down I’ve been. Subsequent to this, I find the time that I might have spent writing my dribs & drabs with the vain hope of my own and others’ amusement--is instead spent throwing myself on the sofa (read: TV) or even to bed a bit earlier than normal to just read a book or listen to the baseball game. (A technological miracle allows me to listen the Chicago Radio Broadcast of the White Sox on AM 670 The Score via the internet. Of course due to the Sox games being played mostly at night [i.e. 1 AM or so for me in the UK] I must listen to the previous day’s game and make a heroic attempt to not look at the final score. I’ve done it, it works.)

It’s not the sort of “being down” that anyone need concern themselves with. It’s not that kind of depressed. The fact is, I have a joint/muscle problem in my legs/hips, and I am just exhausted at the end of the day. It’s the being tired and sore bit that frustrates me. So, no bloggy-tommy, for the last few (8) months.

Honestly, whenever I got the time to sit and think about it, something else would happen—then I’d end up going to sleep or something ridiculous like that.

But now, I'm gettin' all that "fixed" and find myself feeling...anticipatory.

Anyway…my blog is back up and to help the process out, I have new entry which you can see below.

Thanks for everyone who has been asking about it. It does one’s heart good.
--tomb

Be less like the Morlocks. Come up above ground!

(MORLOCKS, For those not in the know.)

Today, I realized that I did not have a map. I did not have a guide. I did not have any reference material whatsoever, beside that which was either in my head or quickly read on the wall as I passed by.

I had the London Underground memorized! The Tube network lay before me like vast plain of opportunities. No longer need I squint at little bit of folded paper, or stand at a poster for minute upon minute tracing my route. At the very least, I have developed enough confidence in the system to know that it will pretty much get me anywhere I need to go. I hop from station to station, line to line, and pop up of out the ground like an eager little mole (did you want me to say 'beaver?'). I even have the national rail system licked. Wanna go to Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow? Get to London Euston Station, take a Virgin Train. Wanna go to Nottingham, Newcastle, Yorkshire, etc.? Go to St. Pancras Station, take an East Anglia Train. (OK, I know there are “train-geeks” out there that will point out there are many, many other options for doing the above, and there are also many other stations to use, destinations, etc. I am just making point. Geezo!)

Recently, (let's say today…) I had to take a train up to Birmingham for business-stuff. It was on this trip that I made my realization. I simply bought a ticket and pretty much blindly (unconsciously) worked my way into London, got to Euston Station, and waited for my departure. I then woke up to the fact of how I actually got there. Basking in my new found euphoria at my London Underground skill and having spare time before departure, I stepped outside the station to get a coffee. (Yes, I could’ve had coffee inside the station but I knew there was better coffee outside. Nyah.) In my confidence-inspired bliss, I wandered outside to my coffee shop.

Then I looked around.

Then it all came crashing down upon me, like so much air explosively departing a popped balloon (read: my ego).

IS THIS ALL I REALLY KNOW?

I realized, much to my disappointment that I had no idea where anything really was ABOVE GROUND! I have no true understanding of where any of the tube stops or train stations really are—physically. I couldn’t walk from one to the other. I couldn’t wander two blocks from my coffee place and figure out where I was. (yes, I could walk backwards, duh.) Even as I travel in/out of the National rail stations on main line trains, I only see tracks. I don’t really know where Euston Station is in London, other than: “It’s a stop on the Northern Line. I can get there from Liverpool Street station, by taking the Circle or Hammersmith & City line west Moorgate, or just get of at Euston Square and walk down the street one block.” I only know that Kings Cross-St. Pancras Station is a bit south from Euston because I have to pass it on the Northern Line Underground.

I do not “know” London afterall. Oh sure, I have a few favourite haunts. The area immediately around London Bridge Tube Stop is home to approx. 6 of my 'best-pubs' (and one really good kebab-shop). Of course, I also am very familiar with the area around Liverpool Street Station as I take visitors on my “there-were-other-serial-murderers-besides-jack-the-ripper-walking-tour”. AND who isn’t familiar with the whole area around the Westminster Tube Stop? You’ve got Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the bridge, the Eye, etc. But that’s all I know, really. Everywhere else I go, I just crawl out of the ground at the Tube Station, emerge blinking into the light of the world of London-Above-Ground and look for the address of my intended destination. Usually, it’s pretty near whatever Tube Line I took. Convenient, yes, but not good for actually seeing the city around me.

I think need to spend more time above ground. I have got to walk around the city a bit more outside of the touristy areas and my favourite pub-crawls. London is a big city.

I am sure it is a wonderful place.

--tomb

National Hosiery Obsession

For those of you that know me personally, in the non-blog-world (Real World? Wow, I hesitate to use that moniker), you know that for the last few years I have going to the health club/gym and working out either at lunch time or mornings during the work week. Turns out, that this has been a real positive change in my life and I actually have become quite addicted to my workout. Never expected that, when I think about it. Mind you, this doesn’t necessarily mean I am any less of a fat-ass or significantly healthier, but the possibility is there at the very least. I do feel better overall when I work out…I guess that is all that matters.

So, being addicted to my new quasi-athletic hobby, as well as the prospect of having “big guns” and wearing tight T-Shirts for the Ladies— I sought out a Health Club near my office so I could continue my daily routine of self-abuse (a.k.a exercise) upon my move to the UK.

I found it, right on the far side of the Car Park from the office. Good location, nice staff, good equipment, free newspaper, all-in-all quite good. Fitness First. That is why I was so surprised when I noticed all the bits of black…crud…clumps…all over the floor of the men’s locker room and shower area. I couldn’t imagine what it was, perhaps mold or some sort of bizarre English fungus? Then I finally figured it out, only after I noticed on my own feet!! My gods, it’s on me…get it off!

It is lint. Yes. Lint.

The people in this country are so obsessed with BLACK SOCKS or, more accurately are so ANTI-WHITE-SOCK that the locker room is constantly covered in the lint sloughing off the feet of hundreds of black-stockinged-males. Some of them even wear dark coloured athletic socks to work out. They simply can not deal with white socks. I have no idea why.

I am an outsider here, I admit it. But, to constantly wear dark socks just seems too strange. Some will even go so far as to wear dark colours with white trainers. (Trainers = “athletic shoes” for those of you not from this small island.) It doesn’t get much goofier than that.

Next, I started to notice the black lint EVERYWHERE …in the shoe store, on the carpet at the office, drifts of it along the rails of my pub, even in my own house…next to my bed…little tumbleweeds of black sock lint. Aaaiiieee!!

I am starting a campaign. I am slowly going to introduce people here to white socks. Athletic socks, at first…but then over time, show them that they can be quite “tasteful” with converse all-star high tops (which are oddly very popular here), or very comfy on a cold winter night

The Brits don’t change too easily, though. I expect limited success. I will keep you posted.

--tomb

PS: for you long-time readers of my blog…I have an answer to the question that may have been plaguing some of you since the very birth of the blog.

It was a feather.

How it got there? I can only guess it came from my pillow. Likely, it would have been there all day too, if I had not looked in the mirror and noticed that my lower eyelashes seemed weirdly white. It didn’t hurt. Dug it out with a kleenex.

--t

Aye, a Pox be on Ye!

Before my kids were allowed in school back in the states, the school district asked if they had ever had the chicken pox. Since they had not, the school said, “Get them vaccinated.” So we did. The Doctor, who was a really nice guy, checked to see if the parents needed it too. Well—Mommy had them as a child, so did not need it…Daddy on the other hand, had never had them.

“BUT, no!” I said rather stupidly, now that I look at it in hindsight. “I will not need the vaccine! I must be immune! I must have some mysterious powers against it! I have been exposed many times as a child and as adult. Never got’em. My own parents took me to play with friends who had open sores. Never got’em. I was dating a girl in high school who had them at the time. Never got‘em. Goodness-me, if I get that vaccine, I may actually be putting myself at risk for something else! Away with you and your quackery! Be gone, and practice your craft upon another. “

So, of course, last week I got‘em. I had the chicken pox.

I was out of work for the week, quarantined from the office because I had the chicken pox. Whoa…back up, there…It was not really the mini-holiday that you might think it to be.

First, as I have mentioned previously, I actually work hard here. So being out of the office, unplanned, caused some issues. I made all possible attempts to work from home, using all the facilities that modern technology and 21st century living could provide. However, mobile phones and wireless networked laptop in my bedroom can only take one so far productivity-wise.

Second, I couldn’t really leave the house because I looked like a leper. Really. It’s not like I could pop down to the coffee shop, or bakery, etc. I had many spots my face and neck and was quite monstrous. Plus there was that “ethical voice” inside my head (OK, it was Viki) saying, “No, you can’t go to Starbucks, you’ll infect others, blah, blah, blah…”

Third, when one hears about chicken pox symptoms, calamine lotion, itching misery, etc. come immediately to mind. But none of that happened. Sure, I had lots of spots, that did indeed “scab-over” which was oh-so-very attractive. But, never itched, never scratched, was never uncomfortable…what they don’t tell you is: you get really, really sleepy. I was tired all the time. The first 2 days of my confinement, I slept something like 18 hours a day. Again, to some of you this may sound inviting even restful. To that I say, “Try it.” It gets annoying after awhile.

Fourth, the daytime is quite awful for watching anything on the TV, especially here in the UK. At any given moment I had my choice of shows about:

• buying a home
• selling a home
• fixing up a home to pawn off on someone else
• decorating a home
• gardening around the home
• cooking at home
• composting at home
• redecorating your soon-to-be-former-best-friend’s home while they redecorate your home
• finding junk to sell in your home
• buying other people’s junk for your home
• And...Star Trek. (All forms of Star Trek are on here several times during the day--OS, NG, DS9, Voyager, and even Enterprise.)

I should have taken the vaccine.

--tomb

Pub Culture. Something to Cherish.

It’s not a bar, or a club. Those exist here, true…but I am a talking about “the Pub”. The English Public House Tradition is one not to be taken lightly or for granted, even though it is quite easy to do so. After all, they’re fun, relaxing places to go have a drink and enjoy a bit of life.

Find one you feel comfortable in. I can’t define the process any further than that, except to say, when you have found your “local”, you will just feel it. I have such a place down the road from my house here. As an American living in the UK, I tried several of the local places before I felt at home. Down the road from me are FOUR pubs. All within stumbling distance from home. I did have some choice in the matter. I can now be found on a regular basis at Ye Olde Green Dragon. It is a clubhouse/Masonic Lodge/ locker room/and political forum all rolled into one 187-year-old building.

There are a variety of resources on the net about Pubs and pub-psychology and pub-culture. Try some of these:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_house

http://www.pubs.com/pub_history.cfm


http://www.sirc.org/publik/pub.html



But what I wanted to share with you was the importance of the pint and inspiration to converse that comes with sitting in the pub. The pint is the fundamental unit of the pub, but more importantly it is the vehicle of communication and bonding amongst the pub-goers. Ordering a pint is the start of talk with the barman. Discussing the attributes of various offerings on the draught can lead down endless roads of debate. The exact size of EVERY PINT SOLD is the subject of British Law. It is that important. NO foam, No fizziness. That is against the rules. Treat yourself to a pint of hand-pumped English Bitter. It will come to you filled completely to the top. It is incumbent upon you to take the first sip without spilling. Drippage is bad-form, old boy. If imbibed properly, the foam will appear actually as you drink down your pint. In fact, if done just right, you will see a seductive lace-garter of delicate ale-foam drift gently down the empty upper half of your glass…only to come to rest on the satin pillow-top of the remaining liquid.

Now I am thirsty.


Sitting in the pub, you can silently reflect on life if you like. But after about 10 minutes of that, somebody is going to talk you. It is a place of conversation. It happens spontaneously more so here, than anywhere else possible in British society. These are reserved people, mate. The tube is silent, the parks are quiet, the shopping malls civilized. But, on any given evening the pub is bursting with noise.

One other interesting fact I will leave you with…one that inspired me to write this entry in the first place. Pubs allow children in, if they are accompanied, don’t sit at the bar and behave themselves. I have taken my four-year-old son to the pub for a little “Daddy and Max” time. Max had never seen a pub before, but when he got inside, he sat right down, had a coke, some chips, and watched football with me. He was quiet and happy.

Then he turned to me and said, “Dad, people talk to each other here.” I said, “Yes, that’s one of the reasons they come here.”

Max asked, “Are you supposed to talk about important stuff when you come here?”

“You could. Some do.” I said.

“OK. Because this reminds me I have something important to tell you Dad.”

I am intrigued at this. “Sure go, ahead. What is it?”

Max thought for a moment and elaborated. “I saw on TV that putting butter on your food is bad and it makes you die. I saw you put butter on your toast yesterday, and I think you shouldn’t do that because you will die. Why would you do that if you die from it?”

“Did Mommy put you up to this?”

“No, I just wanted to tell you because you took me to the pub and this is where we talk.”

That day, I think Max became a bit more British than American. Partly because of his stance on dairy saturated fats, but mostly because he found his pub too.

(I still put butter on my toast, but not so much.)

--tomb

Mea Culpa. (Like you didn't know THAT was coming.)

Well, gentle readers…when last I submitted something minor for your approval, it came almost immediately after a previous submission. A mere four days had passed and BAM! –Two entries from Tommy. A veritable ROLL I was on, indeed. However, I then let a month slip by. Rested upon my figurative and literal laurels, I did. As a result of August’s blogging, I even received some wonderful contact from distant cousins of mine (on my mother’s father’s side of the family down in Tennessee, for those of you keeping score) that I have yet to respond to. I feel irresponsible and rude. Apologies are forthcoming, this I swear.

What to say that would explain my lapse?

Quite frankly, I work much harder here than I ever have before. Period, full-stop, end of sentence… I use to have quite a bit of F—ing around time of my own creation back in the states. The job was easy, I was good at it, and I was comfy--Perhaps too comfy. Here, the work is great, I love the job, but I am facing a great challenge. One that I will succeed at, mind you. I am quite good at what I do, but…my available time is no longer what it used to be.

(When I think of all the time I used to have back in Chicago to read the internet news and catch up with personal matters in the late afternoons and early evenings. Oh, the salad-days, my friends, salad-days indeed!)

I have had some great things happen here, with the ol’ career…but it sucks up vast amounts of my time and energy reserves. I give most of what’s left to Viki and the kids, who deserve it after being dragged around the world with me. (By the way, the family seems to be taking quite well to the UK. Viki has been out with other “Mums” four times this week. My kids have joined the local drama school and trampoline clubs, and have been to a variety of birthday parties since school has started. Don’t feel TOO bad for them. They are doing fine!)

Oh, and we went to Paris, as can be seen below. So that took up a bunch of time too.

I do (as usual) want to thank everyone who has been writing to me publicly and privately encouraging me to get back to work on the blog. I had no idea there were so many of you. (Even after the LAST time I took a big giant break from the blog.)

Successes at work have allowed me a certain rhythm. With that rhythm comes a bit more time to dedicate to my written pursuits.

Two entries this weekend, gang. It’s a promise I can make because I already have the second one written.

--tomb

No really, it's a street. Honestly.

I think the best advice I can give to anyone who is planning to visit the the towns and urban areas of the UK or even the rest of Europe in general is, "Go ahead. Be brave. Try walking through that hidden passage or tiny street that you run across. You know you want to. There's probably something fairly interesting back there."

In the last few months, I have been to London, Manchester, Munich, Dusseldorf, Amsterdam, and, Maastricht. Each of these cities has its own unique qualities and personalities, true. But they share a similar time-scale and historical footprint in the world. Basically, they're old. I have found old cities just tend to build on top of themselves creating a layered record of architecture and structures the deeper you go into them. We all know that these places existed before there were cars,buses or trains. This means the streets and layout of these cities were once scaled only to horse- or foot-traffic.

The cool part is: many of these old narrow streets, lanes, and passageways have remained in place and the city grew around them. Plus--because they were essentially forgotten by the planners and barons of the world, they have also tended to remain pretty much as they were for hundreds of years. However, the local residents and those-in-the-know still use them. You can simply pass though some as a short cut, or find yourself standing in front of a tiny pub or almost forgotten book-seller or rare collectibles dealer. I myself found a shop at the end of a 6-foot wide passageway near the east end of London that sells only shoes for dolls. Nothing else. Weird. (And it was open. I did not go in. I did not need doll's shoes.)

But, you have to be willing to give it a try. There is a tendency for many of us not to go down dark alleys. There's strong precedent for this, to be sure. Use your head, and you will be fine. Duh--a dark alley is NOT a quaint or historically significant passageway. Skip it. The ones to look for have small light sources of their own, or have some access to the daylight from above. Many have an inviting sign posted (just not too obviously) or show some indication of local foot traffic. Look for it.

You will not get lost. There is another thing I have learned about these old cities: If it's not a dead-end, then the path invariably leads to a main street, public gathering place, or source of transport. Period. End of story. Why? Because people tend to create roads that lead to somewhere eventually. Usually this is a convenient place that we want to go to often, which is why the path is there in the first place.

You won't suddenly find yourself in the middle of nowhere.

But you may suddenly find yourself looking at something rarely seen by the casual visitor: Like a pub built around a cherry tree stump that Queen Elizabeth danced around in the 1500's that is guarded by a 200-year-old stuffed cat, which is only accessible by entering a 32inch wide gate that blocks an alley-way that is too narrow for anything but single file walkers.

This place really does exist. I leave it to you to find it. The beer was good.
--tomb

So, How Does Once a Month Grab Ya?

Like the phases of the moon, or other things that occur every 28 days, its time again for my blog. (I am really, really, really sorry it's been this long.) Yes, my last blog update was July 4th. Well, as they say here in the UK, “It’s holidays time, mate. Nothing gets done, but at least the motorways are clear.”

For your entertainment and vindication, as well as my further vilification, I present here a short list of people who have admonished me publicly and privately for not updating my blog often enough:

• My Parents
• My Wife
• My Daughter (Fortunately my son does not care.)
• Brad (within his own blog!)
• Posters on my blog site.
• Listeners to our (now once-a-month) bi-weekly radio show
  http://www.radiotiki.com/ for those of you who didn’t know.
• Friends and neighbours back in the States

So—I do have the need and intention of update more often. But some things have gotten in the way since last I wrote:

• Spent a week in Scotland
• Spent a week in the Netherlands
• England was flooded (yes, the whole country. But we’re fine.)
• Harry Potter Movie
• Harry Potter Book
• The White Sox are in last place whilst the Cubs are in first

As you can tell it has been a fairly apocalyptic month, all things considered. Therefore I offer this nugget of an entry plus a photo, plus a promise of and entry next week too. (Probably Scotland or Potter related.)

Smoochies to you all.

--tomb

On the 4th of July, I had 3 meetings and did paperwork. You?

Yes, it is the 4th of July everywhere. Intellectually, I completely understood and thought I was prepared for the fact that nobody else in the world gives a damn about that day but us. Most Americans, even, don't really care. It's just our God-given right to that day off dedicated to eating outside and high explosives. I like that. Most Americans like that.

However, I was completely unprepared for how weird it was going to be today. I am not a big patriot by any means, but it is so strange to be here in the UK while everyone is celebrating back in the states. I get messages from friends who are cooking out today. We are going to be watching a webcast later this evening of our old neighborood's BBQ. It's on the news, etc. It's all just weird.

So, my family and I--we will celebrate. We are going to invite our new British neighbors over for Dogs and Burgers and make them enjoy this day dammit! AND I am going to spend the evening listening to the White Sox game on MLB.com!

But--I'll have to wait until Guy Fawkes day (Nov. 5th) for the fireworks to go on sale here!

Enjoy the day. Be Patriotic, but not the nationalistic/jingoistic/Fox news/Karl Rove version of it! (That's part of the reason I left in the first place!)

--tomb

They got me, Dammit!

Even after I swore I would not fall into the British Television trap that I see so many actual English people fall into—they got me. Oh yes, the magnificent bastards, I have read their book—and still, they got me.

You see, unlike American TV shows—which go on and on and on and on, year after year until it “jumps the shark” and begins its death throes (which could still take 3 seasons)—British television, as an industry sees itself like a cross between a drug dealer and B.F. Skinner.

“Here’s a neat show. Do you like it? Wow, everyone likes it! It’s hit. We are proud to bring it to you. Oh, yes it is wonderful. Now it’s off. Yes, it had its six-episode series. It’s done. Oh, I know it seems like you are in the middle of a storyline, but that is how the writers intended it! Yes, create your own conclusion. Did you know ‘Big Brother’ is back for the summer…”

I have seen this happen in the past. I swore I would not get into any domestically produced shows here because I knew…oh, I knew that this would happen.

Yet, in my earliest days here, on a quiet Sunday evening, I was offered this:

http://www.itv.com/page.asp?partid=7789

And it was filled with actors I like (Stephen Fry, Hermione from “Cold Feet”) set in Norfolk (charming countryside) and it wasn’t CSI, ER, or Law&Order. It was wonderful.

Now, it’s gone. 6 episodes. Done. Maybe there will be series 2. Maybe not.

I am going back to listening to the radio, and watching a few American series that won’t die anytime soon, but probably should.

--tomb

Born Identity...

So, I am trying to figure out just what exactly is the reputation of America. Or rather—what is it that people think when they encounter an American?

I have had some strange experiences in this regard. I think primarily it is because people are finding an American in their midst but not in the usual tourist-y places. They are finding an American in the grocery store, in the cinema, at the mall, or small pubs in small towns where foreigners don’t often travel.

Case in point. I was in Sainsbury’s, which is a large super market player like Albertsons/Jewel. In line at the register, the girl there asked if I needed help bagging my groceries. I replied, “No thanks, I got it.”

A woman behind me then taps me on the shoulder asking, “Excuse me, but are you an American?” Bracing myself for whatever could come next, I said yes. She said, “hey that’s really cool,” which was totally not what I was expecting. I said, “Really? Thanks, we don’t get much of that.” By this time I had bagged my stuff and she was waiting with her things, so there wasn’t much follow-up.

Another incident involved several drunken youths at a local pub. Whilst the event did something to bolster my ego, it is still perplexing. I went to have a couple of beers with a friend of mine. In the UK, the young studs like to go out en masse to the pubs, get fairly hammered, and then try to go out to clubs to meet women. So if you go out during the early-drinking-stage, you are likely to see one of these groups. I did. They were all drinking Bud, which I find ironic. Anyway, one of them drops a Bud on the floor. My friend says, “It’s a shame to see beer go to waste like that, even if it’s Bud.” I agreed, we chuckled and continued drinking our pints.

Well…one the boys comes over to me and says “Do you think we’re cheap, mate?”
I say, “what?”
“My friend says you think we’re cheap, because we drink Bud.”
“Nope.”
“Well, I think you did.”

At this point the reader should observe two things. First, my friend, who is English, is the only one of us they heard speak. Second, my replies have all been one word, hard to distinguish my origins. Here’s what happened next.

I stood up and said, “Well, I’m not sure what you heard, man. But we weren’t talking to you. Perhaps your friend shouldn’t listen in on other people. He misunderstood us, and now it’s causing a problem.”

The front boy says, “Wait. Are you from America?”
“Yeah.”


Pause.
“Listen, our friend is kind of drunk. Don’t worry about what he says. We were going anyway. Cheers.”

I am stunned by this. If I did not have a friend there with me to witness it all, I would have thought I imagined it. I have no idea why they left, or why my being an American had anything to do with it. But, somehow it did. Did they think I had a gun? Apparently we all do in the States, we are all gangsters and cowboys.

What must they all think of us?
--tomb

News, and Where's Waldo?

Well, just quick update now to be followed in the next day or so by the Tom-ish-ness that everyone has come to expect from the blahhgh.

I have Broadband access in my home now.

There are a few of you out there who know that this mean better things may be just around the corner. Soon. Testing to commence.

Also: In addition to odd things that I have found in my eye (which I have promised, and not yet revealed), and why blogging is like golf (which I may never divulge--make your own assumptions), I will now also preview a future topic called: Is the demand for "Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place" that great???

I am also including a pic this time. Tommy in UK. See if you can find me in this photo:

The stupidest things are different.

First off, thanks to all for the nice replies to my last post. I don't know how you may be alerted to when someone responds to your response, but I did try answer some of the questions.


Now for my thought dropping of the day: Look at you keyboard. Go ahead. Find the '@' symbol. You see where yours is? Above the '2'.

MINE is NOW where the " used to be. And my " is now above the '2'

WTF? Do you know how many emails I have tried to send this week that looked like this:

tomb"radiotiki.com

WHY? there is no good reason for the keyboards to be different. I actually expected other problems. Like the '£' would have to go somewhere. BUT they kept the '$' right where it normally goes. (for those morbidly curious, the '#' has been displaced.)

I can't type now. Fuck.

Also, they gave me a checkbook at my new bank. (HSBC) I am currently too embarassed to ask anyone how to make out a check, because it doesn't look like any I have EVER seen. I guess I will be late on my bills as I have to go the library to figure this one out.

--tomb