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