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Peering Back and Looking Ahead

12/30/2012

As 2012 draws to a close, I'm gazing out of the window at the Laguna coastline mulling on how much has changed in the last three months.

Taking a giant leap into the unknown without much of a safety net is probably not for everyone, but if you have a fierce belief in where you're heading and an unshakable sense of purpose, I'm here to say that you absolutely must do it. Not only that, but you must tell others you're doing it so that they can either urge you forward with eager prodding and well-wishes, or, tell you you're nuts and ask when you're going to get a "real" job again. The former set of people are inspiring and preferable, but the latter are equally useful during the journey, playing the role of devil's advocate and asking the difficult questions.

What you'll find along the way, as I have, is that when you articulate what you're doing and what you're planning and you dare to share your dreams and passions, is that others will talk about theirs, and that sometimes, maybe over a cup of coffee, someone will mention people you should meet and events you should attend, and your dreams actually have a chance of becoming reality.

I've spent the last three months writing, writing and writing: just getting stuff out of my head and down on paper and it's been a joy to do. Writing is a solitary profession but you can't do it alone.

I want to thank all of you who've been reading my blog, writing comments, sending encouraging emails and cheering me on from the sidelines. Thanks to those of you who've listened to me over coffee, lunch, on the phone or over glasses of champagne. In the past three months, exciting things have already happened:

I won a writing contest and had my essay published in Barefoot Writer magazine
I had an article published on Best Friends Animal Society's website
I wrote an essay on Christmas as part of a Holiday Digest, published by my local newspaper
I edited other essays about the holidays that were included in the Holiday Digest
My "Lost In Translation" blog posts are being read by more people than I could imagine
The non-fiction book I'm writing is growing daily, and will hopefully be published in 2013. More details to share on that soon
I'm embarking on a co-writing and co-editing position for a section of a local lifestyle magazine, commencing in January.

Happy New Year to everyone. May 2013 bring you all the joy, happiness and contentment you desire.

Cheers!

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Lost In Translation - Christmas

12/19/2012

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It’s late December and the holiday season is well and truly upon us. Christmas is actually one of the holidays where the US and Britain share common themes, but with different traditions. Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July obviously have no counterparts across the pond. Likewise, Guy Fawkes Day doesn’t mean anything here. (Don’t ask. Maybe I’ll cover that one later.) St. Patrick's Day, despite being Irish, is celebrated on both continents, although frankly that's only because it gives people a wonderful excuse to drink vast quantities of alcohol on a random day in March.

In Britain, Christmas is very clearly Christmas. It’s not that we don’t recognize other religious festivals, it’s just that most Brits were raised to celebrate the birth of a particularly famous baby to his virginal mother. In Britain, we also have Father Christmas, not Santa Claus. The first time I mentioned Father Christmas in the States, I was greeted with puzzled looks. It’s been Santa ever since.

Saying “Merry Christmas” in the US is a hazardous enterprise, accompanied by guilt that you’re offending some people. “Happy Holidays!” is the refrain of choice. But that doesn’t mean much to a Brit.

The best way to describe the significance of Christmas Day in Britain is to compare it to Thanksgiving. Christmas is family time. Family members come together from near and far, schools are out for two weeks or more, and the sense of celebration is palpable. In the US, because families traveled to be together for Thanksgiving, Christmas isn’t quite as big of a family deal, although obviously a huge gift deal, because of Santa Claus.

Christmas is traditionally when Brits eat turkey, although any other meat can be central to the table. In our family, my adventurous mother rotated between turkey, goose, duck, venison, pheasant, beef and lamb, so there was always something different and potentially exotic each year. However the sides were always the same: mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, carrots, green beans, peas, my mother’s signature onion sauce (which was to die for) and lashings and lashings of gravy.

Traditional desserts include mince pies and Christmas pudding, as well as fruitcake, if someone brings one and forces you to eat it. Not being a fan of mince pies or anything containing copious amounts of dried fruit (even doused in rum sauce), I never partake of those particular delicacies. While others eat gooey alcohol-sodden fruit, I happily refill my plate with meat, potatoes and gravy.

Then there are Christmas crackers: a very British custom that endures to this day. A cracker is basically a hollow tube wrapped in paper that you pull apart to hear the loud crack and eagerly await the contents to spill from the inside. In general you’ll get a paper hat, a joke and some kind of trinket, which may or may not fall apart the first time you pick it up. No matter, the point of crackers is really the hat. You must wear the paper hat throughout the meal.

Nothing is more of an equalizer than a brightly colored paper hat. No matter how young, how old, how elegantly dressed, how rich or how poor, everyone looks silly, and that’s the point. Yes, I realize this is British humor. Even the Queen and the rest of the royal family wear paper hats on Christmas Day, trust me.

Speaking of the Queen, there’s another tradition – the Queen’s speech. Every Christmas Day at three pm, the Queen appears on TV to speak to her loyal subjects. It’s a review of the year gone by, and one must turn the television on to watch, whether or not one has finished one’s Christmas dinner. Fifteen minutes later, basking in the glow of royal best wishes and toasting the monarch’s good health, one can return to all the food, while still wearing the paper hat of course.

Christmas Day is followed by Boxing Day. Boxing Day was traditionally when the rich rewarded their servants with money or gifts for their service throughout the year. In modern times, it’s still common in Britain for bin men (trash collectors), postmen, milkmen (if they still exist) and others who provide a service to your home throughout the year, to pop by and be given a tip.

Another theory points to the fact that the servants of the rich had to work on Christmas Day to prepare and serve their masters all that food and drink, therefore the day they were able to see their own families was December 26. As a gesture of thanks, upstairs would give downstairs boxes of gifts to take to their families. Think Downton Abbey and you’ll get the picture.

So, as a Brit, Christmas is special to me in the same way that Thanksgiving is special to Americans. I get to see my family, we eat copious amounts of food, drink copious amounts of wine, and, I always have crackers to hand, so that everyone around the table: British or American, looks equally silly.

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Lost In Translation - Guns

12/17/2012

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I thought a lot before writing this post. I thought about not writing it at all. I thought there were so many articles, comments, stories, interviews and opinions floating around on what happened last Friday in Connecticut, that one more was superfluous.

So, I'm not going to offer another opinion, just a few facts.

It is easier to buy a gun legally in the US than it is to adopt a dog. In many states there are no background checks, no licenses or permits required and no waiting periods.

When I adopted my dogs, in both instances there were lengthy adoption forms with questions about my house, where the dogs would sleep, how much exercise they would have, whether I had a fenced yard and what I would do if the dog got sick. There was also a clause that said a home inspection would be required. All of this I willingly accepted, to bring a living animal into my home. Imagine a system like this before someone is allowed to purchase a gun.

Unfortunately though, many shootings happen with guns that are not registered to the person firing them, rather someone in their immediate family, or close to them. So even if you do get past the first layer of being able to purchase the gun, purely by having it in the house and having family members know where it is and how to use it, a problem could arise.

Hunters don't go on killing sprees. People who keep shotguns to hunt deer and other animals are not the target (no pun intended) here. You don't need a semi-automatic weapon to kill a deer.

Shootings like the one in CT just don't happen very often in Britain, where gun laws are much tighter and gun ownership is minimal. The police in Britain don't even carry guns. And yes, I know horrible events like Dunblane in 1996, Hungerford in 1987 and more recently Cumbria in 2010, happen. Thankfully, they are so rare that in mentioning these three events, I think I've covered every mass shooting by individuals in the UK in literally 200 years.

Anyway, I think that at this moment, eight days before Christmas, we would do better to remember the immortal words of Hugh Grant as Prime Minister, at the beginning of Love Actually. Yes, I really just needed an excuse to quote one of my favorite holiday movies:

Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion... love actually is all around.

Peace.

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Lost In Translation: Lunch

12/13/2012

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Let's take a little break from sports to focus on the hazards of lunch.

"How can lunch be hazardous?" you ask. The answer is gender stereotypes.

Let me explain. I like to eat. Everyone who has ever been out to lunch or dinner with me knows that I really, really enjoy food of any ethnic origin and in large quantities. I'm well aware of the fact that I really should abstain from certain foods, or, at the very least monitor my portion sizes, but when faced with a mouth-watering menu, my willpower slinks back into its little cave waving a white flag.

Yesterday was 12/12/12 and I was lucky enough to be out celebrating the birthday of a good friend with around twenty five other people - mostly female. At 12:12pm we toasted with champagne, sang "Happy Birthday" and food started to arrive. Good food: appetizers wrapped in pastry and crunchy, cheesy pizza slices, most of which was passed around without being touched, in favor of salads, until those platters got to me, and I happily munched on the carb-laden delicacies. Thankfully there were a few other ladies who also partook of this feast, which made me feel better. Did I mention that I also really like other people who love to eat?

Last week, I had lunch with a male friend of mine at another one of Laguna's many fabulous dining venues. I eat there a lot, so I kind of know the menu by heart. After some mulling, I ordered the prime rib dip with red wine au jus, horseradish sauce and a side of warm potato salad. He ordered salad. So far, so good.

When our food arrived, the waiter proudly set the dishes in front of each of us and we stared at our plates.

"Um, I didn't order the salad," I muttered. Apologetically, the waiter quickly switched the dishes and my friend and I both started to laugh. "I guess it's somewhat unusual that the woman didn't order the salad," I said to the waiter. As well-trained as he was, the young man didn't rise to the bait, but smiled beatifically and left us to our repast.

So here's the question: is it un-lady-like for a female to eat anything in public that isn't a salad? And is it un-manly to actually order a salad if you're male?

I never really ate a lot of salads in England. Probably because when I was growing up, a "salad" was a couple of pieces of wilted lettuce with some soggy tomatoes, accompanied by a British condiment called salad cream. I know that all salads here are awesome, and yes, I do eat them, but when I feel like it, not just because I happen to be in a restaurant, worrying about appearances.

I'm having lunch out again today, with a couple more male colleagues. If you happen to be in the same restaurant, I'll be the one not eating salad.

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Lost In Translation - Sports Edition: Part 2

12/10/2012

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After pondering the niceties of football, soccer and rugby, it's time to turn our attention to a couple more sports which evoke deep emotions and opinions: basketball and baseball, with a little cricket thrown in for good measure.

Basketball is definitely now an international sport, and one could argue that it doesn't belong on a list of things that don't cross the pond with dignity. Speed, stamina, grace and accuracy are the hallmarks of the game, but the over-riding attribute for success is height. If you're a young male in the US who happens to be, say, around six foot two or taller, the first question people will inevitably ask is: "Do you play basketball?" It's almost as if there's a rule which says that if you're tall you must play basketball. Now, I'm not a young male and I'm definitely not tall, but I'm guessing that gets old for a lot of guys.

Then there's my own middle-aged British experience, which for me will always taint the game of basketball forever. Young girls at school in England, and many other parts of the world, play a sport called netball. Netball is similar to basketball in that there are two teams trying to place a ball into nets at each end of the court. Where netball differs, is that the ball cannot touch the ground. It has to be thrown from person to person. If you look up the history of basketball, you'll find that this is how the original game of basketball started, simply because the first balls used were soccer balls, which don't bounce all that easily. Dribbling wasn't introduced until the 1950's.

So, nothing really against basketball: it is an Olympic sport and therefore truly international, which is more than you can say for the "World Series" in this next sport.

Baseball. For many, this is the essence of America: the boys of summer. Full disclosure: I don't know the intricate rules, nor do I understand all those pesky statistics, but it makes me smile that such a simple game on the surface can get so complicated when you get into it. (Have you seen Moneyball?) Baseball seems to be one of those sports which exists to give people an excuse to sit in a stadium with friends, eating a lot of junk food and drinking a lot of beer, waiting for short bursts of action in the midst of a lot of standing around.

The misnomer of the "World Series" was made starkly clear when baseball was removed as an Olympic sport for the 2012 Olympics: the first time a sport has been dropped since 1936 when polo was eliminated. In the words of Jacques Rogge, head of the International Olympic Committee when discussing why baseball would no longer be an Olympic sport:

"To be on the Olympic program is an issue where you need universality as much as possible. You need to have a sport with a following, you need to have the best players and you need to be in strict compliance with WADA (World Anti-Doping Agency). And these are the qualifications that have to be met. When you have all that, you have to win hearts. You can win the mind, but you still must win hearts."

So, go ahead, enjoy baseball, just don't kid yourself that your team is a world champion if it wins the "World Series."

Oh, and one other thing, per my previous post. Rugby Union will be a sport in the 2016 Olympics.

To even the playing field, so to speak, I have to mention cricket. A game played mostly in Britain, Australasia and the Indian sub-continent, cricket is essentially Britain's answer to baseball: a game where there's a lot of standing around, punctuated by random moments of action, with the main excuse for spectating being the imbibing of lots of Pimms and beer. Cricket is beloved by many and befuddling to many more. Ask a Brit for an opinion about cricket and he'll give you one, either good or bad. Ask an American for an opinion and he'll answer: "What?"

Cricket was dropped from the Olympics over one hundred years ago, so there's your answer as to the "universality" of that game.

That's about it for team sports for now. Perhaps later I'll move on to sports involving motorized vehicles.

Now that's a whole new ballgame.

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Lost In Translation - Sports Edition: Part One

12/6/2012

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Full disclosure: this post is guaranteed to offend some people, and not because I wanted an excuse to post a picture of David Beckham.

OK, now that's out of the way, onto the discussion of sports and why some of them do or don't cross the pond well.

Let's start with football. I mean real football, played with your actual feet. The most watched and played game in the world, except in the US. In the US, football is called soccer, for the reason that football is something completely different. Don't worry, I'll get to that.

Soccer players throughout the world are revered as heroes and compensated as such. In the US, other than David Beckham, who is English, soccer players are virtually unknown. They play a sport that is seen as mostly for girls and has never gained momentum over here.

I think I know the reason why. Soccer is a game of two halves, each forty-five minutes long, played hard, by eleven men on each side, without a break. Scoring goals is difficult, the game is skillful and tactical and it's possible at the end of a full ninety minutes for the final score to be 0-0.

This is incredibly boring to Americans who want short chunks of fast-paced action with plenty of point scoring. If there's no break for TV commercials you may as well not put it on TV. No matter that these guys are literally running their hearts out the entire time (on average, professional players run six to seven miles per match), placing balls with the accuracy of tennis players using their feet and their heads. It's apparently just not interesting enough.

So, what is? The American version of football: played with your hands (go figure). Here's a game where there's not just one team: there's offense, defense and special teams, as well as people who actually use their feet: punters and kickers, and each one of these teams has separate coaches. The guys are decked out with enough padding and helmets to enable a safe journey into outer space, and the game is divided into four fifteen-minute quarters which can take three hours to complete on account of the TV commercials, time-outs and other stoppages. As for scoring, instead of a lowly one point for a goal, you get six points for a touchdown, with an extra one or two points for a conversion, and three points for a field goal. This means you can get very high-scoring games.

Is there skill involved? Absolutely. Quarterbacks can nail throws I marvel at. Running backs have lungs that never give up and can run like gazelles being hunted by cheetahs. Kickers can get a field goal from over fifty yards out. But this game has never really succeeded in crossing the pond because of one important fact. Rugby.

Ah rugby. If ever there was a more brutal team sport, I don't know what it is. Boxers and martial arts competitors duke it out one-to-one and even they have some padding. Rugby players enter the fray with just shorts and rugby shirts and maybe a mouth guard. Watching rugby is watching hand-to-hand combat. You can hear bones cracking and flesh ripping, and watch as noses are literally put out of joint. Most rugby players aren't pretty. They may start out that way, but time takes its toll. Take a look at the picture of Mike Tindall below, who just happens to be married to one of the Queen's grandchildren. He won't be on the cover of Vanity Fair any time soon.

To Brits and the rest of the world, rugby is the real deal, played by real men without helmets and padding. American football is never going to cut it in the manliness stakes, despite how big some of the guys are. The question will always be: take all that padding off, ignore the TV commercials then come play against one of our rugby teams and we'll see what happens.

Therein ends Part One of the Sports Edition. Next time I'll move onto baseball, basketball and motorsports. Ooh. Can't wait.

Mike Tindall

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How Do You Spell That?

12/1/2012

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There are words that just look wrong even when they're spelled right. And there are words that you still have no idea whether they're spelled right because there is no agreement on the correct way to spell them at all. In fact, there can be two, three or more different ways to spell them.

This became top of mind because I was contemplating the fact that it's now December and the start of the Holiday season is upon us. Yes, that politically correct time of year formerly known by other names, the "Holidays" are coming, but that's an entirely different post which I'll get to later this month.

What started this stream of thought is the word "Hanukkah." And yes, I had to look up how to spell it correctly. But there are also other words: "Chanukah" and "Chanukkah" among them, which are equally acceptable versions of the word, depending on the translation. There are more, in fact, as you can see in the thumbnail picture above.

When Iraq was in the news, we heard a lot about and read a lot about Colonel Muammar Gaddafi. In the US, "Gaddafi" was the generally acceptable spelling for the Colonel and as such, most news outlets used that. However, there was another version bandied about: "Qaddafi", and it seems that these two versions were interchangeable.

Then we come to "al Qaida", which can also be "al Qaeda" or "Al Qaeda". Again, it seems that each version is acceptable (well, none of them are really, but you know what I mean).

Maybe this is because in the English language, words that don't start out in English really do get lost in translation and therefore different versions exist to please everyone? There are probably more of them out there, but I find it fascinating that the words colour, flavour, favourite and aluminium are unacceptable but that there are eight acceptable ways to spell Hannukah.

Maybe I just think too much about this stuff!

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Peering Back and Looking Ahead

Lost In Translation - Christmas

Lost In Translation - Guns

Lost In Translation: Lunch

Lost In Translation - Sports Edition: Part 2

Lost In Translation - Sports Edition: Part One

How Do You Spell That?

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