I was at KU yesterday, where I'm helping teach a course in magazine journalism, and got chatting to a colleague whom I taught with last semester. While we were talking, a student came up to say hi and tell us how things were going with him. His face was shining with enthusiasm as he told us how much he was enjoying the course he's taking right now, and how it's really getting him excited for his future. He has a grand plan all in place, and is busy urging other students to sign up for the internship he took during the summer, he told us. "And maybe one day I can sign my name to a scholarship here," he finished.
It got me thinking about the differences between American and British students. You'd never get a student in Britain so enthusiastic about their studies - or at least you certainly wouldn't have done where I was at university. Forgive me if I'm making a sweeping generalisation here, but British students don't, on the whole, come up to thank their professors for what they have taught them, or express their desire to give a scholarship to the university so other students can enjoy a little financial aid. They're more likely to grumble about their workload (likely to be far less than what the average American student has to produce per term), and then go and spend their student loan in the pub.
The meeting made me simultaneously encouraged and depressed. Encouraged because it is great to work in an environment where students are genuinely excited about learning. Depressed because I come from a country where that's not the norm. It makes me want to send my children to a US university when the time comes. When, of course, a little financial aid in the form of a scholarship might come in very handy....
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Friday, 19 August 2011
On being American versus being a Brit
My cousin-in-law Adele (whose blog, Circus Queen, circusqueen.co.uk is really excellent btw), commented that it must be hard to leave the place where your child is born. The more I think about it, the more I think she is right. With the birth of our son, America really has become home, and leaving it will be hard.
I arrived here very definitely a Brit, with set ideas about what was good and bad (mostly, I have to confess, Britain=good, America=bad). I'm pleased to say I've chilled out a lot since then. Last night we watched a British film about a group of Muslims in Sheffield, called Four Lions. It was supposed to be a comedy (I think), but was a bit too close to the bone for comfort. The whole thing made me feel depressed, from the issues it was raising, to the gloomy weather and run-down streets in the background.
I used to laugh at American patriotism, with its gung-ho, we're-the-best-in-the-world enthusiasm. I still find it slightly uncomfortable, but at least here, the majority of citizens are genuinely enthusiastic about their country, no matter where they have come from. Even if they still identify as Greek or Italian or whatever, they are also Americans, and while they might hold on to many of the customs and traditions of their original homeland, they love America. I have a friend from Korea who recently became an American citizen and she was fervent in her gratefulness to America as a country - for what it offered her and for what it had, in effect, done for her. The film I was watching last night followed a group of Muslim Britons whose only desire seemed to be to blow up somewhere in Britain and cause havoc.
I found myself becoming more fervently British when I first got here, as I know many ex-pats do - suddenly you see Britain with rose-tinted glasses and fondly remember all its good points, while forgetting the bad. But now that we are actually going back, my enthusiasm for returning is waning. Perhaps it's the recent riots, perhaps it's the many tensions that seem to exist in the country at the moment, but I am almost dreading living there again. I'm sure that once I'm home I will slip back into my old life (with a few adjustments) fairly easily. But my attitude towards America has definitely changed, and I can see myself living here again. Not forever, I don't think - I am still too much of a Brit at heart (and couldn't cope with the healthcare system), but for a while, somewhere. Maybe when Baby A is 21 and we become eligible for a greencard we could all move out here for a stint. After all, I am the parent of an American citizen now!
I arrived here very definitely a Brit, with set ideas about what was good and bad (mostly, I have to confess, Britain=good, America=bad). I'm pleased to say I've chilled out a lot since then. Last night we watched a British film about a group of Muslims in Sheffield, called Four Lions. It was supposed to be a comedy (I think), but was a bit too close to the bone for comfort. The whole thing made me feel depressed, from the issues it was raising, to the gloomy weather and run-down streets in the background.
I used to laugh at American patriotism, with its gung-ho, we're-the-best-in-the-world enthusiasm. I still find it slightly uncomfortable, but at least here, the majority of citizens are genuinely enthusiastic about their country, no matter where they have come from. Even if they still identify as Greek or Italian or whatever, they are also Americans, and while they might hold on to many of the customs and traditions of their original homeland, they love America. I have a friend from Korea who recently became an American citizen and she was fervent in her gratefulness to America as a country - for what it offered her and for what it had, in effect, done for her. The film I was watching last night followed a group of Muslim Britons whose only desire seemed to be to blow up somewhere in Britain and cause havoc.
I found myself becoming more fervently British when I first got here, as I know many ex-pats do - suddenly you see Britain with rose-tinted glasses and fondly remember all its good points, while forgetting the bad. But now that we are actually going back, my enthusiasm for returning is waning. Perhaps it's the recent riots, perhaps it's the many tensions that seem to exist in the country at the moment, but I am almost dreading living there again. I'm sure that once I'm home I will slip back into my old life (with a few adjustments) fairly easily. But my attitude towards America has definitely changed, and I can see myself living here again. Not forever, I don't think - I am still too much of a Brit at heart (and couldn't cope with the healthcare system), but for a while, somewhere. Maybe when Baby A is 21 and we become eligible for a greencard we could all move out here for a stint. After all, I am the parent of an American citizen now!
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Some ponderings
I realise that my last post was all about feeling guilty for not having updated my blog for so long... and that was in March. It's now August and clearly, I have been remiss. A fact pointed out to me by my dear uncle who asked if we could have a few more blogs. So here I am again. Hopefully not having put anyone off by being silent for so long.
A lot has happened since my last post. I've had a baby for a start. And, in reply to Anonymous who seemed to think it was a bad idea to be having a baby out here, yes, my baby is American. Which I think is a fantastic thing! First of all, he actually gets dual citizenship (two passports: very useful), which means he's a Brit as well. He also automatically has a social security number and an official presence in this country, which means should he ever wish to study or work here, it will be very straightforward for him (it ain't easy being a foreigner in the States when it comes to official recognition). The Major and I both feel we've given him a great start in life by conferring Anglo-American status on him - who knows what sort of state America will be in in 20 years time, but if it's anything like it is now we would be entirely happy for him to head over here to university or to work afterwards. So hurrah to American citizenship!
The same blogger also suggested that American hospitals are very dirty. Well no, they're not actually. In fact, from what I've heard, they're more like five-star hotels than hospitals. And you get pretty good care.
That said, I actually chose not to have my baby in a hospital. They're pretty hands-on when it comes to birth out here, and quite hot on massive amounts of intervention, which I wasn't so keen on the idea of. I wanted my baby to arrive naturally, when he fancied, and preferably without large amounts of drugs in my system. So I sought out a midwife, and found an excellent lady, very practical and peaceful, who was fantastic. In fact Baby A turned out to be breech, which means had I chose to have him in the hospital system I almost certainly would have had to have a caesarean. Fortunately for me, my midwife has had a lot of experience with breech delivery, and was enormously encouraging and confident in my ability to do it naturally at home. He arrived on his due date, feet first, at home. I was standing up with my arms around the Major's neck, roaring like a lion (he said afterwards he thought he had probably been in more pain than I was at that point. Luckily he didn't say this at the time). By 10pm we were all three of us tucked up peacefully in bed together. It was lovely. And I don't think I would actually have had anything like as good a birth in England. I love the fact that you can get a home birth on the NHS, but because home birth here is so against the norm, the people practising it are really dedicated to what they are doing - determined that the mothers in their care should have a wonderful experience. And I did - it was an absolutely fantastic way to give birth and I'd do it again like a shot.
In reply to another commentator - Janet - yes, Kansas. My earlier posts explain that my husband has been posted here for his job, so it wasn't exactly that I chose Kansas. But we have had a fantastic time out here - the people are, as you rightly say, enormously kind and nice and we have loved our experience.
In fact, as I write, I am feeling a strange sort of sadness. Because our time here is actually drawing to a close, and earlier than expected. We were due to stay here until December, but the Major unfortunately has to go to Afghanistan when we leave here and they want him out at the end of November, which means we have to return in October. It is strange and sad to think of leaving our adopted homeland. I'm not entirely sure when my feelings about Kansas changed. I came out here prepared to hate it - and did find it all very strange for the first few months (even now). The slower pace of life, the sometimes amazing ignorance etc etc. But gradually, it has crept up on me that there are many things I enjoy: the space, the friendliness, even the slower pace of life. And of course, it is my son's new homeland....
A lot has happened since my last post. I've had a baby for a start. And, in reply to Anonymous who seemed to think it was a bad idea to be having a baby out here, yes, my baby is American. Which I think is a fantastic thing! First of all, he actually gets dual citizenship (two passports: very useful), which means he's a Brit as well. He also automatically has a social security number and an official presence in this country, which means should he ever wish to study or work here, it will be very straightforward for him (it ain't easy being a foreigner in the States when it comes to official recognition). The Major and I both feel we've given him a great start in life by conferring Anglo-American status on him - who knows what sort of state America will be in in 20 years time, but if it's anything like it is now we would be entirely happy for him to head over here to university or to work afterwards. So hurrah to American citizenship!
The same blogger also suggested that American hospitals are very dirty. Well no, they're not actually. In fact, from what I've heard, they're more like five-star hotels than hospitals. And you get pretty good care.
That said, I actually chose not to have my baby in a hospital. They're pretty hands-on when it comes to birth out here, and quite hot on massive amounts of intervention, which I wasn't so keen on the idea of. I wanted my baby to arrive naturally, when he fancied, and preferably without large amounts of drugs in my system. So I sought out a midwife, and found an excellent lady, very practical and peaceful, who was fantastic. In fact Baby A turned out to be breech, which means had I chose to have him in the hospital system I almost certainly would have had to have a caesarean. Fortunately for me, my midwife has had a lot of experience with breech delivery, and was enormously encouraging and confident in my ability to do it naturally at home. He arrived on his due date, feet first, at home. I was standing up with my arms around the Major's neck, roaring like a lion (he said afterwards he thought he had probably been in more pain than I was at that point. Luckily he didn't say this at the time). By 10pm we were all three of us tucked up peacefully in bed together. It was lovely. And I don't think I would actually have had anything like as good a birth in England. I love the fact that you can get a home birth on the NHS, but because home birth here is so against the norm, the people practising it are really dedicated to what they are doing - determined that the mothers in their care should have a wonderful experience. And I did - it was an absolutely fantastic way to give birth and I'd do it again like a shot.
In reply to another commentator - Janet - yes, Kansas. My earlier posts explain that my husband has been posted here for his job, so it wasn't exactly that I chose Kansas. But we have had a fantastic time out here - the people are, as you rightly say, enormously kind and nice and we have loved our experience.
In fact, as I write, I am feeling a strange sort of sadness. Because our time here is actually drawing to a close, and earlier than expected. We were due to stay here until December, but the Major unfortunately has to go to Afghanistan when we leave here and they want him out at the end of November, which means we have to return in October. It is strange and sad to think of leaving our adopted homeland. I'm not entirely sure when my feelings about Kansas changed. I came out here prepared to hate it - and did find it all very strange for the first few months (even now). The slower pace of life, the sometimes amazing ignorance etc etc. But gradually, it has crept up on me that there are many things I enjoy: the space, the friendliness, even the slower pace of life. And of course, it is my son's new homeland....
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
On neglect and unions
I am ashamed at how long it has been since my last post. And even more ashamed at the fact that I only realised I had neglected my blog for so long when an acquaintance emailed me with his thoughts on reading one of my posts. So apologies for those of you who are genuinely interested in what I have to say in this space.
It is March (just) and grey and rainy here in Kansas. Baby is due in four weeks time and I don't think I have got my head around the fact that I will shortly be responsible for a life in a way I have never been before. However, life is good. I recently took a flying visit back to the UK, for my goddaughter's christening, and was surprised at how eager I felt to get back to the midwest. Perhaps it was with the baby imminent that I realised that my place was here, with the Major, in the country where my baby will be born, but I felt genuinely relieved to be back. And since being back I have appreciated being out here in ways that I have never felt before. Suddenly the slow pace of life is relaxing, rather than frustrating. The Army Wife community no longer seems stifling, but supportive, and my teaching at KU genuinely fulfilling, rather than just filling a two-year gap on my CV. Perhaps I am softening at last, because despite the rain, Kansas feels like home - and those are words I never thought I would write.
I had meant to post a week or so ago, after listening to a story on the radio about the question of 'union-busting' in Wisconsin. Democratic leaders had 'gone into hiding' rather than vote on a bill which would have disabled unions further than they would have liked, and everyone was in uproar. But one comment really struck me. It was on the issue of whether unions should be allowed to deduct money directly from a person's wages, if that person had previously ok'd it. The person with an opinion was saying that he thought that public money - i.e. taxpayers money, which goes to pay the wages of public sector workers, should not go to unions in this way. But it got me thinking about the whole issue of public sector pay generally. At the moment, I am essentially living on taxpayers' money. My husband is paid by the British government. He is not a member of a union, because the Army doesn't have a union, but my mental question was, at what point does taxpayers' money stop being taxpayers' money and start becoming an individual's income, to dispose of as he or she pleases? I wouldn't dream of allowing any old random stranger to 'audit' our daily expenses, because as far as I'm concerned, that money is money my husband has earned and has every right to do as he pleases with. So if we agree that someone's salary becomes his own when it enters his bank account, is there then a problem with a deduction coming out to a union that person has decided to join? Or is the problem that the money comes out at the same time as the money comes in, so to speak?
It is a confusing issue, this question of accountability. I am in no doubt that the expenses which we are legally entitled to claim, such as help with utilities and rent, which the government allows us to claim as my husband is a public sector employee, should be open to scrutiny. But the rest - the sum which comes into our account as money well earned? I think at that point, it's our money, to do with as we will.
Perhaps the issue is whether you believe unions should be allowed within the public sector. Perhaps, as within the Army, they should not. I read or heard somewhere recently that the only employees who should be allowed unions should be private sector workers, to protect them from the greed of corporate employers. But I'm not sure I agree with this. Sure, if you sign up to work a government paid job, you know what you're signing on for, perhaps more so than with a big corporation. But I don't see why we shouldn't be protected from the excesses of government too, within a certain remit. Or, if not protected, at least allowed to have our say. After all, public sector workers are individuals too - just because you've signed on to work for the government means you automatically lose your voice.
It is March (just) and grey and rainy here in Kansas. Baby is due in four weeks time and I don't think I have got my head around the fact that I will shortly be responsible for a life in a way I have never been before. However, life is good. I recently took a flying visit back to the UK, for my goddaughter's christening, and was surprised at how eager I felt to get back to the midwest. Perhaps it was with the baby imminent that I realised that my place was here, with the Major, in the country where my baby will be born, but I felt genuinely relieved to be back. And since being back I have appreciated being out here in ways that I have never felt before. Suddenly the slow pace of life is relaxing, rather than frustrating. The Army Wife community no longer seems stifling, but supportive, and my teaching at KU genuinely fulfilling, rather than just filling a two-year gap on my CV. Perhaps I am softening at last, because despite the rain, Kansas feels like home - and those are words I never thought I would write.
I had meant to post a week or so ago, after listening to a story on the radio about the question of 'union-busting' in Wisconsin. Democratic leaders had 'gone into hiding' rather than vote on a bill which would have disabled unions further than they would have liked, and everyone was in uproar. But one comment really struck me. It was on the issue of whether unions should be allowed to deduct money directly from a person's wages, if that person had previously ok'd it. The person with an opinion was saying that he thought that public money - i.e. taxpayers money, which goes to pay the wages of public sector workers, should not go to unions in this way. But it got me thinking about the whole issue of public sector pay generally. At the moment, I am essentially living on taxpayers' money. My husband is paid by the British government. He is not a member of a union, because the Army doesn't have a union, but my mental question was, at what point does taxpayers' money stop being taxpayers' money and start becoming an individual's income, to dispose of as he or she pleases? I wouldn't dream of allowing any old random stranger to 'audit' our daily expenses, because as far as I'm concerned, that money is money my husband has earned and has every right to do as he pleases with. So if we agree that someone's salary becomes his own when it enters his bank account, is there then a problem with a deduction coming out to a union that person has decided to join? Or is the problem that the money comes out at the same time as the money comes in, so to speak?
It is a confusing issue, this question of accountability. I am in no doubt that the expenses which we are legally entitled to claim, such as help with utilities and rent, which the government allows us to claim as my husband is a public sector employee, should be open to scrutiny. But the rest - the sum which comes into our account as money well earned? I think at that point, it's our money, to do with as we will.
Perhaps the issue is whether you believe unions should be allowed within the public sector. Perhaps, as within the Army, they should not. I read or heard somewhere recently that the only employees who should be allowed unions should be private sector workers, to protect them from the greed of corporate employers. But I'm not sure I agree with this. Sure, if you sign up to work a government paid job, you know what you're signing on for, perhaps more so than with a big corporation. But I don't see why we shouldn't be protected from the excesses of government too, within a certain remit. Or, if not protected, at least allowed to have our say. After all, public sector workers are individuals too - just because you've signed on to work for the government means you automatically lose your voice.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
On guns and things
I have been pondering, over the past week, on the mass shooting in Arizona recently, when a man named Jared Loughner opened fire with a semi-automatic weapon outside a Safeways supermarket, hitting 19 people and killing six. Naturally there have been enormous outpourings of grief for the victims, who included a nine-year-old girl, as well as instant and vicious political sniping, mostly from the left, accusing the right of inciting violence through political rhetoric. The Major and I first heard the news in Detroit airport, where we landed after an 11-hour flight from Chicago. A marked contrast to the hustle and bustle of Sao Paulo international airport, our first thoughts were of how civilised a country America was, until we heard about Loughner's rampage, and Sarah Palin's crosshair targeting of key Democrats on her website, and instant political vitriol immediately spewing forth.
I still do not understand, however, how a country which is supposedly the world's leading superpower can still allow its states to licence guns so freely. The Second Amendment is one thing: I don't agree with it, but can understand the history behind it, and why people support the right to bear arms. What I cannot understand it why this right is not accompanied by the most stringent regulations. Guns are designed to kill: surely to own a gun, one should be subject to the most rigorous checks to ensure the maximum safety in doing so? Arizona passed a law last year which allowed people to carry concealed weapons without a permit - why, in heaven's name? Why does one need to carry a concealed weapon in the first place? And why should one be allowed to carry an automatic weapon capable of firing off multiple rounds in one go?
It reminded me of when I was in Arizona over the summer, as part of the Ford Fiesta world tour. My first tour activity took place at Scottsdale Gun Club, America's largest public indoor shooting range. I'd literally just got off the plane, it was about 7.30am, and I was being handed an array of lethal weapons to fire. They included a Smith & Wesson 500, a Heckler & Koch MP5, an old-school AK 47 and a full-on, military-style M249 SAW, which came with a belt of bullets and which you had to lie down on the ground to fire. I hated it. The adrenaline that surged through my body made me feel sick; I hated the smell and the kick of the gun against my shoulder and the fact that the targets we were shooting were shaped like people. Even more disturbing was, when we had all had a go, the way the gun club staff enthusiastically took up position to blast off the rounds that we hadn't finished. They took such pleasure in it.
But I could see how that could happen. I could see how the adrenaline could become addictive, how hitting the bullseye could be a thrill, how it could make you feel really hard, and cool. Which is what makes me even more worried: if we, as human beings, have the capacity to enjoy shooting things so much, surely we should be saved from ourselves when it comes to regulating our ability to do so? Perhaps I will be derided as a namby-pamby, nanny-state fan who could be accused of not taking ones' rights seriously, but it's not me I'm worried about - it's all those nutters out there who can, because of these so-called rights, get their hands on a gun and use it on real live people. What about those people's own rights to life? Oh dear, it all gets a bit complicated, but I guess Time magazine summed it up best: surely something is awry when we live in a place where you can't take a bottle of shampoo in your bag on a plane, but you can quite easily buy a gun and use it to go and kill someone.
I still do not understand, however, how a country which is supposedly the world's leading superpower can still allow its states to licence guns so freely. The Second Amendment is one thing: I don't agree with it, but can understand the history behind it, and why people support the right to bear arms. What I cannot understand it why this right is not accompanied by the most stringent regulations. Guns are designed to kill: surely to own a gun, one should be subject to the most rigorous checks to ensure the maximum safety in doing so? Arizona passed a law last year which allowed people to carry concealed weapons without a permit - why, in heaven's name? Why does one need to carry a concealed weapon in the first place? And why should one be allowed to carry an automatic weapon capable of firing off multiple rounds in one go?
It reminded me of when I was in Arizona over the summer, as part of the Ford Fiesta world tour. My first tour activity took place at Scottsdale Gun Club, America's largest public indoor shooting range. I'd literally just got off the plane, it was about 7.30am, and I was being handed an array of lethal weapons to fire. They included a Smith & Wesson 500, a Heckler & Koch MP5, an old-school AK 47 and a full-on, military-style M249 SAW, which came with a belt of bullets and which you had to lie down on the ground to fire. I hated it. The adrenaline that surged through my body made me feel sick; I hated the smell and the kick of the gun against my shoulder and the fact that the targets we were shooting were shaped like people. Even more disturbing was, when we had all had a go, the way the gun club staff enthusiastically took up position to blast off the rounds that we hadn't finished. They took such pleasure in it.
But I could see how that could happen. I could see how the adrenaline could become addictive, how hitting the bullseye could be a thrill, how it could make you feel really hard, and cool. Which is what makes me even more worried: if we, as human beings, have the capacity to enjoy shooting things so much, surely we should be saved from ourselves when it comes to regulating our ability to do so? Perhaps I will be derided as a namby-pamby, nanny-state fan who could be accused of not taking ones' rights seriously, but it's not me I'm worried about - it's all those nutters out there who can, because of these so-called rights, get their hands on a gun and use it on real live people. What about those people's own rights to life? Oh dear, it all gets a bit complicated, but I guess Time magazine summed it up best: surely something is awry when we live in a place where you can't take a bottle of shampoo in your bag on a plane, but you can quite easily buy a gun and use it to go and kill someone.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
Rich v Poor in Rio
Yesterday I met a man called Rambo who lives in a cave. Well, I said I met him, I really just said hello and shook his hand.
The Major and I were on a tour of a favela in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. These unplanned sprawls of habitation are greatly feared in big Brazilian cities, because they are controlled by drug lords, they are where the poor people live, and they have bad and scary reputations - go into a favela and you won't come out alive, etc.
Except it turns out they're not all like that. Certainly the one we were in wasn't. It is called Rochinha, and is home to the largest number of favela dwellers in Rio - 300,000 people packed into 54,000 houses, some little more than shacks, perched on a hillside overlooking (of course) one of the most expensive pieces of Rio real estate. We spent about three hours walking around it with our guide, a half Brazilian, half American man who was born and raised in the favela and loves it with all his heart, so much so that he has tattoos of it all over his body.
It was most enlightening. Like any good tourist, we had bought the Lonely Planet guide to South America before embarking on our month-long trip around Argentina and Brazil, and had been warned to keep our valuables closely about us while in Rio and to never ever venture unaccompanied into a favela. But actually, all the people we met were lovely - friendly individuals, all of whom loved living in this close-knit community where people look out for one another and know each other by name. To be sure, we spotted occasional shadowy figures patrolling balconies - the drug boys who were keeping lookout from their patch, but according to our guide, the live and let live mentality of Rochinha means that, as long as people don't steal, kill or abuse, everyone will be fine. And it seemed that this was the case. We met one man, a German, who has lived there for 12 years, and never locks his house or his car. And of course we met Rambo, a rugged hairy type who lives on the edge of the favela in his cave on the hillside, and prefers to keep it simple.
It's not all idyllic of course. By and large, people live in favelas because they can't afford to live anywhere else - they are the maids, the housekeepers, the cleaners for the rich, earning R700-ish a month - a fairly pitiful sum and certainly not enough to rent a house in a proper planned area of the city. As our guide pointed out, if you tore down the favelas, Rio would grind to a halt, because the people who live here are the ones who keep everything ticking. The educational prospects are poor there, the majority of children don't end up at university and sadly, many of them turn to the drugs trade because they can earn more that way - although, thanks to an informal agreement with the police, it means they can never then leave the favela, because once they do they will be arrested.
It made us both think. Of how lucky we are to have enough money to go on adventurous holidays, to live in a nice house, to drive a nice car, to be able to educate our children well. But also of, how in many ways, we are spiritually the poorer for it - we don't have the same relationship with our neighbours, we get hung up on our possessions and whether we have the latest clothes and whether our thighs are too fat. For a brief moment, the Major and I contemplated coming there to live for a while, to engage with the people around us, to learn the language, to see if we could get by. But then we returned to our cosy little guesthouse perched in pretty Santa Teresa with lovely houses all around and weakly, foolishly agreed that we might not be able to manage it after all. A shaming thought, especially after meeting Rambo.
The Major and I were on a tour of a favela in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. These unplanned sprawls of habitation are greatly feared in big Brazilian cities, because they are controlled by drug lords, they are where the poor people live, and they have bad and scary reputations - go into a favela and you won't come out alive, etc.
Except it turns out they're not all like that. Certainly the one we were in wasn't. It is called Rochinha, and is home to the largest number of favela dwellers in Rio - 300,000 people packed into 54,000 houses, some little more than shacks, perched on a hillside overlooking (of course) one of the most expensive pieces of Rio real estate. We spent about three hours walking around it with our guide, a half Brazilian, half American man who was born and raised in the favela and loves it with all his heart, so much so that he has tattoos of it all over his body.
It was most enlightening. Like any good tourist, we had bought the Lonely Planet guide to South America before embarking on our month-long trip around Argentina and Brazil, and had been warned to keep our valuables closely about us while in Rio and to never ever venture unaccompanied into a favela. But actually, all the people we met were lovely - friendly individuals, all of whom loved living in this close-knit community where people look out for one another and know each other by name. To be sure, we spotted occasional shadowy figures patrolling balconies - the drug boys who were keeping lookout from their patch, but according to our guide, the live and let live mentality of Rochinha means that, as long as people don't steal, kill or abuse, everyone will be fine. And it seemed that this was the case. We met one man, a German, who has lived there for 12 years, and never locks his house or his car. And of course we met Rambo, a rugged hairy type who lives on the edge of the favela in his cave on the hillside, and prefers to keep it simple.
It's not all idyllic of course. By and large, people live in favelas because they can't afford to live anywhere else - they are the maids, the housekeepers, the cleaners for the rich, earning R700-ish a month - a fairly pitiful sum and certainly not enough to rent a house in a proper planned area of the city. As our guide pointed out, if you tore down the favelas, Rio would grind to a halt, because the people who live here are the ones who keep everything ticking. The educational prospects are poor there, the majority of children don't end up at university and sadly, many of them turn to the drugs trade because they can earn more that way - although, thanks to an informal agreement with the police, it means they can never then leave the favela, because once they do they will be arrested.
It made us both think. Of how lucky we are to have enough money to go on adventurous holidays, to live in a nice house, to drive a nice car, to be able to educate our children well. But also of, how in many ways, we are spiritually the poorer for it - we don't have the same relationship with our neighbours, we get hung up on our possessions and whether we have the latest clothes and whether our thighs are too fat. For a brief moment, the Major and I contemplated coming there to live for a while, to engage with the people around us, to learn the language, to see if we could get by. But then we returned to our cosy little guesthouse perched in pretty Santa Teresa with lovely houses all around and weakly, foolishly agreed that we might not be able to manage it after all. A shaming thought, especially after meeting Rambo.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Mind the bump
Readers of my regular blog for the Lady magazine will know that I have prostrated myself upon the altar of the would-be family planners and am expecting a baby, due in April. Thus far, all has been well - no morning sickness, fatigue or any of the other discomforts that one is warned about. In fact, up until now I have pretty much been able to pretend I am not pregnant at all, as my 'bump' has just looked like the effects of eating a little too much. Now, however, it is starting to protrude - a fact that was made painfully obvious to me the other evening.
The Major and I were attending a Christmas extravaganza, and decided to fortify ourselves with caffeine beforehand. We bought our coffees, and were making polite conversation with the lady at the till, when she said, "so, you're expecting a baby."
We exchanged surprised glances and agreed that this was so.
It was most odd. I have grown so used to telling people I am pregnant and them expressing surprise and disbelief that this new evidence of my impending motherhood, despite being a natural process (pregnancy=bump after all) has come as a bit of a shock.
Now I am gearing myself up for yet more conversations centred around my stomach. I have been warned to expect random touching by strangers, comments as to the sex (we have decided not to find out) and unsolicited advice. Fine. But be warned, if anyone tries to stroke my belly without asking first, there will be hell to pay.
The Major and I were attending a Christmas extravaganza, and decided to fortify ourselves with caffeine beforehand. We bought our coffees, and were making polite conversation with the lady at the till, when she said, "so, you're expecting a baby."
We exchanged surprised glances and agreed that this was so.
It was most odd. I have grown so used to telling people I am pregnant and them expressing surprise and disbelief that this new evidence of my impending motherhood, despite being a natural process (pregnancy=bump after all) has come as a bit of a shock.
Now I am gearing myself up for yet more conversations centred around my stomach. I have been warned to expect random touching by strangers, comments as to the sex (we have decided not to find out) and unsolicited advice. Fine. But be warned, if anyone tries to stroke my belly without asking first, there will be hell to pay.
Monday, 15 November 2010
On parading
Last Thursday was Veteran's Day, aka Remembrance Day, and there was a parade in Leavenworth. Naturally we went along to see what was happening.
I think, retrospectively, the key word was probably involvement. I don't know how many people were watching the parade, but I'm pretty sure more people were in it than observing. There were the army types in their uniforms, followed by the ROTC (junior army, scarily young some of them), then the Brownies and the Scouts and the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and the Mayor and the State Representative, then more Scouts, then the high school Marching Band, complete with cheerleaders, then more Scouts, then more veterans, then a couple of random people driving old cars, then some more cars with fat people waving from inside, then some more veterans, on a truck this time, then a helicopter being towed along on a float, then a Masonic Lodge or two, then the Daughters of Job (junior masons), more veterans, some horses and finally the Fort Leavenworth Hunt. The whole thing went on for several hours, in the cold, with lots of people waving and occasional cheers.
What amused me most was the homespun-ness of it all and also the number of people who felt the need to parade in cars. Surely the point of a parade is to sally forth on foot? Or perhaps on a float or maybe a horse, but just to drive very slowly, waving? It didn't seem very parade-like behaviour.
I also missed the solemness of the British remembrance spectacle, with its people in mourning colours wearing poppies and serious expressions, and the last post and the two minutes silence. Veterans Day here is much more of a celebration, and a chance for everyone to get stuck in. Apparently Armed Forces Day is the more solemn occasion here.
Nevertheless, the whole thing provided an amusing spectacle, and then we were able to go and warm up with beers and fajitas in the High Noon Saloon, which is always fun. Do post further thoughts on the nature of parading...
I think, retrospectively, the key word was probably involvement. I don't know how many people were watching the parade, but I'm pretty sure more people were in it than observing. There were the army types in their uniforms, followed by the ROTC (junior army, scarily young some of them), then the Brownies and the Scouts and the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and the Mayor and the State Representative, then more Scouts, then the high school Marching Band, complete with cheerleaders, then more Scouts, then more veterans, then a couple of random people driving old cars, then some more cars with fat people waving from inside, then some more veterans, on a truck this time, then a helicopter being towed along on a float, then a Masonic Lodge or two, then the Daughters of Job (junior masons), more veterans, some horses and finally the Fort Leavenworth Hunt. The whole thing went on for several hours, in the cold, with lots of people waving and occasional cheers.
What amused me most was the homespun-ness of it all and also the number of people who felt the need to parade in cars. Surely the point of a parade is to sally forth on foot? Or perhaps on a float or maybe a horse, but just to drive very slowly, waving? It didn't seem very parade-like behaviour.
I also missed the solemness of the British remembrance spectacle, with its people in mourning colours wearing poppies and serious expressions, and the last post and the two minutes silence. Veterans Day here is much more of a celebration, and a chance for everyone to get stuck in. Apparently Armed Forces Day is the more solemn occasion here.
Nevertheless, the whole thing provided an amusing spectacle, and then we were able to go and warm up with beers and fajitas in the High Noon Saloon, which is always fun. Do post further thoughts on the nature of parading...
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Dyed in the Red
Today I woke up to a state that is completely controlled by the Republican party. GOP candidates have taken all the major seats in Kansas, from the US Senate seat to the various house districts.
When I got to the University this morning, most of my colleagues were sunk into deep gloom at the news. Although, as one of them pointed out, at least now nobody can blame the Democrats when things go wrong. And we all took comfort from the fact that, while Kansas might now be dyed deep red, at least Sharron Angle, the Tea Party candidate in Nevada who referred darkly to citizens making use of their Second Amendment rights, wa beaten by Harry Reid, the longstanding Democratic incumbent.
Nevertheless, it seems strange, in a state that is largely blue collar, working class or agricultural, that so many people vote to the right. After all, the Democrats are ostensibly the party of this demographic, and their policies reflect the desire to help those less well off, with healthcare reform, tax cuts and so on.
But Kansans also like to be left alone, and don't like the thought of their actions being controlled by Washington, hence their love of 'no more big government'. As Sam Brownback, the new Republican governor of Kansas put it, "no more Obama way; now to the Kansan way" - whatever that means.
I've basically realised I can't talk about politics any more, unless I am in the liberal oasis of the KU environs. This was perfectly illustrated by a conversation with a friend the other evening, who describes himself as a "libertarian" and says that if government backed off, we'd all be in a better place.
The irony is, he works for the US Army, perhaps the biggest government-controlled machine out there. The base budget for defence spending in America currently stands at $533.8 billion. Adding spending on "overseas contingency operations" brings the sum to $663.8 billion. That's 19% of the entire federal budget. In fact, it's one of the biggest single expenditures of the US government. Surely reducing government involvement would have to involve cutting defence spending somehow - and then where would all these libertarians be?
When I got to the University this morning, most of my colleagues were sunk into deep gloom at the news. Although, as one of them pointed out, at least now nobody can blame the Democrats when things go wrong. And we all took comfort from the fact that, while Kansas might now be dyed deep red, at least Sharron Angle, the Tea Party candidate in Nevada who referred darkly to citizens making use of their Second Amendment rights, wa beaten by Harry Reid, the longstanding Democratic incumbent.
Nevertheless, it seems strange, in a state that is largely blue collar, working class or agricultural, that so many people vote to the right. After all, the Democrats are ostensibly the party of this demographic, and their policies reflect the desire to help those less well off, with healthcare reform, tax cuts and so on.
But Kansans also like to be left alone, and don't like the thought of their actions being controlled by Washington, hence their love of 'no more big government'. As Sam Brownback, the new Republican governor of Kansas put it, "no more Obama way; now to the Kansan way" - whatever that means.
I've basically realised I can't talk about politics any more, unless I am in the liberal oasis of the KU environs. This was perfectly illustrated by a conversation with a friend the other evening, who describes himself as a "libertarian" and says that if government backed off, we'd all be in a better place.
The irony is, he works for the US Army, perhaps the biggest government-controlled machine out there. The base budget for defence spending in America currently stands at $533.8 billion. Adding spending on "overseas contingency operations" brings the sum to $663.8 billion. That's 19% of the entire federal budget. In fact, it's one of the biggest single expenditures of the US government. Surely reducing government involvement would have to involve cutting defence spending somehow - and then where would all these libertarians be?
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Leaves and things
I drove past a man today who was blowing leaves off his drive with one of those electric leaf-blowing things - the ones that look like vacuum cleaners but blow instead of suck. Anyway, he would patiently blow a pile of leaves off his driveway into a neat little pile - but the problem was, it was a windy day, and no sooner had he blown his pile into place than the wind would come and mess it all up. I never actually saw him do anything with the leaves, apart from push them around with his blowy thing. Meanwhile more leaves were coming down from the trees all the time because, as I said, it was a windy day. Apparently one of these leaf blower things emits as much energy in one year as 80 cars. Do these people have nothing better to do all day than blow leaves around and pollute the atmosphere while they're doing it? (and I know, I was driving a car when I saw him) Such is life in the suburbs of America.
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Psychotic American Politics
A colleague said to me this morning, "I wish our right-wingers were more like British Tories." He has a point. Whether you're a fan of Cameron and his government or not, we remain relatively liberal in our politics in England - we may be carrying out one of the biggest slash and burn exercises in public sector jobs for a long time but our government and its acolytes does not exhort people to turn to guns to protect themselves, or rail publicly against homosexuality, or denounce those of the Jewish faith as "the antichrist".
Sadly this is not the case in America. The papers and airwaves have been full, recently, of the crazy things that politicians do to get themselves elected, in the run-up to the American midterms, where election fever has once again swept the country. Most of the press has focused on those extreme right-wing individuals who do and say ever-crazier things in the name of politics.
Take for example Carl Paladino, who is gunning for New York governor. He's the one who circulated an email with a photo of an African tribal ritual captioned 'Obama Inauguration Rehearsal'and who has attacked gays for supposedly brainwashing children. Or how about Christine O'Donnell, the Tea Party favourite in Delaware, who doesn't appear to realise that church and state are separate in the US, or another Tea Partier, Sharron Angle, the Nevada candidate, proposing that citizens consider "Second Amendment remedies" to "protect themselves against a tyrannical government." And let's not even get started on Sarah Palin.
OK, so these are extreme examples, but these are ELECTED people, for goodness sake. I read something recently which pointed out that the British public, for all its ostensible stupidity at times, is not completely without savvy when choosing its politicans. Most know which candidate is going to best for their constituency, and elect people who, on the whole, do an OK job. Admittedly we're in one of the worst recessions for decades, thanks largely to the last government, but let's face it, we all like to borrow money cheaply and spend beyond our means - it wasn't just them doing it.
But that's enough defence of Gordon Brown et al, the point is, deluded though they may have been, they weren't (I think), actual psychos. In America, most politicans seem to have a dangerously psychotic streak. At least that's what it appears every time I switch on the radio or the TV, where I see would-be leaders denouncing their opponents strategy, character and moral standing with all the dignity of a bully in a playground. It disgusts me - but what disgusts me more is that people are taken in by it - indeed they lap it up. Frank Rich (from whom I confess I stole many of the examples in this article) has written a very interesting piece on the whole thing in the New York Times, which you can read here. He says it better than I, but one thing Rich and I appear to agree on wholeheartedly: America is on a dangerous path if it continues in this way. Goodness knows what will happen next.
Sadly this is not the case in America. The papers and airwaves have been full, recently, of the crazy things that politicians do to get themselves elected, in the run-up to the American midterms, where election fever has once again swept the country. Most of the press has focused on those extreme right-wing individuals who do and say ever-crazier things in the name of politics.
Take for example Carl Paladino, who is gunning for New York governor. He's the one who circulated an email with a photo of an African tribal ritual captioned 'Obama Inauguration Rehearsal'and who has attacked gays for supposedly brainwashing children. Or how about Christine O'Donnell, the Tea Party favourite in Delaware, who doesn't appear to realise that church and state are separate in the US, or another Tea Partier, Sharron Angle, the Nevada candidate, proposing that citizens consider "Second Amendment remedies" to "protect themselves against a tyrannical government." And let's not even get started on Sarah Palin.
OK, so these are extreme examples, but these are ELECTED people, for goodness sake. I read something recently which pointed out that the British public, for all its ostensible stupidity at times, is not completely without savvy when choosing its politicans. Most know which candidate is going to best for their constituency, and elect people who, on the whole, do an OK job. Admittedly we're in one of the worst recessions for decades, thanks largely to the last government, but let's face it, we all like to borrow money cheaply and spend beyond our means - it wasn't just them doing it.
But that's enough defence of Gordon Brown et al, the point is, deluded though they may have been, they weren't (I think), actual psychos. In America, most politicans seem to have a dangerously psychotic streak. At least that's what it appears every time I switch on the radio or the TV, where I see would-be leaders denouncing their opponents strategy, character and moral standing with all the dignity of a bully in a playground. It disgusts me - but what disgusts me more is that people are taken in by it - indeed they lap it up. Frank Rich (from whom I confess I stole many of the examples in this article) has written a very interesting piece on the whole thing in the New York Times, which you can read here. He says it better than I, but one thing Rich and I appear to agree on wholeheartedly: America is on a dangerous path if it continues in this way. Goodness knows what will happen next.
Monday, 18 October 2010
Miami Beach
I went to Miami this weekend. It was so blissful: hot sun, palm trees, sea...
Admittedly Kansas is rather beautiful at the moment. The leaves are turning, the air has that glorious crispness to it and everything feels invigorating. But there was something rather lovely about being able to see the ocean, and not feeling totally trapped by land all around.
Plus, Miami is a very cool city. I don't know if I'm automatically predisposed to think everywhere else in America is cooler than Kansas (although it probably is), but Miami is especially rocking. I spent my first night there with some cousins; we cruised town in his 1978 Cadillac Eldorado before hitting the rooftop bar at the Gansevoort Hotel. Perfect.
The next day I chilled out on Miami beach, before hitting the road and driving down to Islamurada, in the Keys. Again, almost postcard-perfect, if you discount the sight of me in a bikini.
Could I actually live there? Well, yes probably. Ok, so it gets pretty hot in the summer, but you're on the coast, it's easier to fly to the UK, you can pop up to New York pretty easily, you get a great tan... And the people just seem to be a bit more on it than Kansans. They may not be as friendly, but they're bitchy, cool, smart and fun. Although I can't resist signing off with one particular comment which proves that even Floridians can be stupid - the conversation went a little like this:
Floridian: "So where would be your ultimate favourite place in the world - that you've been to or haven't been to."
Me: "Well, I've always wanted to go to India."
Floridian: "Oh no, you want to stay away from India. I mean, that's where the Taliban is, right?"
Admittedly Kansas is rather beautiful at the moment. The leaves are turning, the air has that glorious crispness to it and everything feels invigorating. But there was something rather lovely about being able to see the ocean, and not feeling totally trapped by land all around.
Plus, Miami is a very cool city. I don't know if I'm automatically predisposed to think everywhere else in America is cooler than Kansas (although it probably is), but Miami is especially rocking. I spent my first night there with some cousins; we cruised town in his 1978 Cadillac Eldorado before hitting the rooftop bar at the Gansevoort Hotel. Perfect.
The next day I chilled out on Miami beach, before hitting the road and driving down to Islamurada, in the Keys. Again, almost postcard-perfect, if you discount the sight of me in a bikini.
Could I actually live there? Well, yes probably. Ok, so it gets pretty hot in the summer, but you're on the coast, it's easier to fly to the UK, you can pop up to New York pretty easily, you get a great tan... And the people just seem to be a bit more on it than Kansans. They may not be as friendly, but they're bitchy, cool, smart and fun. Although I can't resist signing off with one particular comment which proves that even Floridians can be stupid - the conversation went a little like this:
Floridian: "So where would be your ultimate favourite place in the world - that you've been to or haven't been to."
Me: "Well, I've always wanted to go to India."
Floridian: "Oh no, you want to stay away from India. I mean, that's where the Taliban is, right?"
Thursday, 7 October 2010
On freedom of speech - again...
I've been thinking a lot about freedom of speech lately. Yesterday, the US Supreme Court began to hear Snyder vs. Phelps, a case which has raised the issue pretty starkly over here. Briefly, Fred Phelps runs a church here in Kansas, and organises his followers to picket military funerals with signs like 'God hates fags', 'Thank God for dead soldiers', 'Thank God for 9/11' etc. Pretty gruesome.
Anyway, four years ago, Phelps and his gang staged a protest in Maryland at the funeral of a Marine named Matthew A. Snyder - not gay himself, but Phelps et al basically do things like this because they think America supports homosexuality, especially in the military (hmmm - not sure about that one, given that the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy is still firmly in place, but that's another issue). Understandably, Matthew's father was pretty aggrieved at this, and he has brought a case against Phelps, claiming that he invaded his privacy. It's more intricate than that, but they're the basics. You can read more detail here.
Part of the reason this has caused such a huge furore is because it brings into question the very nature of America's constitution. The First Amendment, which is oretty much sacred over here, states that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." There are those, in this case, who argue strongly in favour of Phelps and his right to freedom of speech - including many pretty major news organisations such as the New York Times, for example.
As I have said in this blog before, I'm not sure where one draws the line on this whole First Amendment thing. Then I was writing about Pastor Terry Jones and his proposed Koran burning on the anniversary of 9/11, now it's some psycho who thinks that picketing funerals is an acceptable thing to do. The attitude of both men disgusts me - that anyone, particularly someone calling himself a follower of Christ, thinks it is acceptable to behave in such a manner seems utterly unbelievable. But, freedom of speech - if you don't allow them to have their say, where do you draw the line?
I pondered the issue even more after reading a slightly out of date edition of the Spectator recently. This was the 'Thought Crime Special', which included various articles bemoaning the current state of affairs in Britain, where, at the other end of the spectrum, one can get the police turning up on your doorstep for merely asking whether they oould distribute Christian leaflets alongside a gay march. Which is better? I'm not sure. I, like many of the Spectator writers, despair of living in a country where so many things are now prosecutable, and agree with Matthew Parris, for example, that "without intensity or pasion, few great political or philosophical causes ever prevail." There is a place for righteous anger, I believe - as long as it does not descend into spittle-flecked, foaming-at-the-mouth, hatred-filled ranting.
But if you ban the latter, you come dangerously close to banning the former, and that is where the problem lies. Do I believe that people like Fred Phelps should be made to face up to the inestimable hurt and damage they have done to innocent people with their placarding? Yes. Do I, as Voltaire might have said, "defend to the death his right to say it"? Well, I'm not sure about defending to the death. And I'm not sure he should be allowed to say it in public. But, reluctantly, I have to agree that freedom of speech can't always be quantified. What the Supreme Court will decide remains to be seen.
Anyway, four years ago, Phelps and his gang staged a protest in Maryland at the funeral of a Marine named Matthew A. Snyder - not gay himself, but Phelps et al basically do things like this because they think America supports homosexuality, especially in the military (hmmm - not sure about that one, given that the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy is still firmly in place, but that's another issue). Understandably, Matthew's father was pretty aggrieved at this, and he has brought a case against Phelps, claiming that he invaded his privacy. It's more intricate than that, but they're the basics. You can read more detail here.
Part of the reason this has caused such a huge furore is because it brings into question the very nature of America's constitution. The First Amendment, which is oretty much sacred over here, states that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." There are those, in this case, who argue strongly in favour of Phelps and his right to freedom of speech - including many pretty major news organisations such as the New York Times, for example.
As I have said in this blog before, I'm not sure where one draws the line on this whole First Amendment thing. Then I was writing about Pastor Terry Jones and his proposed Koran burning on the anniversary of 9/11, now it's some psycho who thinks that picketing funerals is an acceptable thing to do. The attitude of both men disgusts me - that anyone, particularly someone calling himself a follower of Christ, thinks it is acceptable to behave in such a manner seems utterly unbelievable. But, freedom of speech - if you don't allow them to have their say, where do you draw the line?
I pondered the issue even more after reading a slightly out of date edition of the Spectator recently. This was the 'Thought Crime Special', which included various articles bemoaning the current state of affairs in Britain, where, at the other end of the spectrum, one can get the police turning up on your doorstep for merely asking whether they oould distribute Christian leaflets alongside a gay march. Which is better? I'm not sure. I, like many of the Spectator writers, despair of living in a country where so many things are now prosecutable, and agree with Matthew Parris, for example, that "without intensity or pasion, few great political or philosophical causes ever prevail." There is a place for righteous anger, I believe - as long as it does not descend into spittle-flecked, foaming-at-the-mouth, hatred-filled ranting.
But if you ban the latter, you come dangerously close to banning the former, and that is where the problem lies. Do I believe that people like Fred Phelps should be made to face up to the inestimable hurt and damage they have done to innocent people with their placarding? Yes. Do I, as Voltaire might have said, "defend to the death his right to say it"? Well, I'm not sure about defending to the death. And I'm not sure he should be allowed to say it in public. But, reluctantly, I have to agree that freedom of speech can't always be quantified. What the Supreme Court will decide remains to be seen.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Do you have kids?
While I'm in a ranting mood, I might as well rant about another thing that particularly annoys me about the American psyche. Actually, I think it's specifically a Midwestern thing, and that is the assumptions that are made about children.
I recently met a (rather irritating) woman for the first time, who, after asking me whether I was married immediately followed it up with asking whether I had any children. No, I replied, whereupon she said "Are you planning any? Or have you decided no kids?" It was all I could do to smile politely and mutter something vague about not being entirely sure yet.
The fact of the matter is that I do want to have children, and hopefully in the next few years, but I find the outright questioning on the matter from complete strangers the ultimate in rudeness. I know it's meant as just an interested form of conversation, but for all this woman knew I could have been trying to have children for years, or I could have recently found out that I can't have children, or I might have just suffered a miscarriage.
What's more, when I gave my vague answer she went off onto a spiel about how if I wanted them, I really shouldn't wait too long, fertility rates being what they are. Now this REALLY gets my goat - I am perfectly aware that fertility drops off after 35, but quite frankly I don't feel it necessary to discuss (or defend) my childbearing plans with people who merely epxress an interest. Family planning is exactly that - family only, which means me and the Major in my book, or perhaps a couple of close friends to whom I might confess certain hopes and dreams. Basically lady, it's none of your f-ing business.
I recently met a (rather irritating) woman for the first time, who, after asking me whether I was married immediately followed it up with asking whether I had any children. No, I replied, whereupon she said "Are you planning any? Or have you decided no kids?" It was all I could do to smile politely and mutter something vague about not being entirely sure yet.
The fact of the matter is that I do want to have children, and hopefully in the next few years, but I find the outright questioning on the matter from complete strangers the ultimate in rudeness. I know it's meant as just an interested form of conversation, but for all this woman knew I could have been trying to have children for years, or I could have recently found out that I can't have children, or I might have just suffered a miscarriage.
What's more, when I gave my vague answer she went off onto a spiel about how if I wanted them, I really shouldn't wait too long, fertility rates being what they are. Now this REALLY gets my goat - I am perfectly aware that fertility drops off after 35, but quite frankly I don't feel it necessary to discuss (or defend) my childbearing plans with people who merely epxress an interest. Family planning is exactly that - family only, which means me and the Major in my book, or perhaps a couple of close friends to whom I might confess certain hopes and dreams. Basically lady, it's none of your f-ing business.
Healthcare - OUTRAGEOUS!
Sometimes I think that actually, I quite like America and might even be able to make it my home; at other times I am utterly baffled by it and realise how far from thinking like an American I really am.
One of the subjects that perenially raises this reaction is the issue of healthcare. The majority of Americans where we live think that 'socialised medicine' is a bad thing: that if you work, you can afford to pay healthcare, but why should you pay for anyone else's care? I had a long debate on the subject with it today with an acquaintance (a friendly debate, I hasten to add).
And yet every time I come across another example of the utter ludicrousness of the US medical system, I am flummoxed as to why anyone thinks the existing system is a good idea. A colleague of mine recently received a quote for health insurance. Not only would the deal include a $1,500 deductible (meaning that she would have to pay the first $1,500 of any treatment she received), but the insurance itself would cost her $600 a month AND she would have to then pay 20% of the cost of any treatment that the insurance would deign to 'cover'. Plus the cost of any prescription fees, of course. There were cheaper options - she could have opted to pay $110 a month - but that would have meant she would be liable for the first TWENTY FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS of any treatment. I mean, what is the point of having health insurance in that instance?
As the Major pointed out, the problem with healthcare here is that the providers have a monopoly, which means prices go up and up and up. And the actual costs are by no means cheap. Recently, I had some pain and went to hospital where I received a scan, a blood test, a urine test and eventually two Tylenol (self-administered). The cost? TWO THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS!!! It's absolutely outrageous. Personally, I don't care if every Tom Dick and Harry who doesn't have a job gets free healthcare thanks to my taxes, as long as it means I myself can walk into a doctor's office and get seen and treated for free. After all, in this climate we could all lose our jobs tomorrow.
One of the subjects that perenially raises this reaction is the issue of healthcare. The majority of Americans where we live think that 'socialised medicine' is a bad thing: that if you work, you can afford to pay healthcare, but why should you pay for anyone else's care? I had a long debate on the subject with it today with an acquaintance (a friendly debate, I hasten to add).
And yet every time I come across another example of the utter ludicrousness of the US medical system, I am flummoxed as to why anyone thinks the existing system is a good idea. A colleague of mine recently received a quote for health insurance. Not only would the deal include a $1,500 deductible (meaning that she would have to pay the first $1,500 of any treatment she received), but the insurance itself would cost her $600 a month AND she would have to then pay 20% of the cost of any treatment that the insurance would deign to 'cover'. Plus the cost of any prescription fees, of course. There were cheaper options - she could have opted to pay $110 a month - but that would have meant she would be liable for the first TWENTY FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS of any treatment. I mean, what is the point of having health insurance in that instance?
As the Major pointed out, the problem with healthcare here is that the providers have a monopoly, which means prices go up and up and up. And the actual costs are by no means cheap. Recently, I had some pain and went to hospital where I received a scan, a blood test, a urine test and eventually two Tylenol (self-administered). The cost? TWO THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS!!! It's absolutely outrageous. Personally, I don't care if every Tom Dick and Harry who doesn't have a job gets free healthcare thanks to my taxes, as long as it means I myself can walk into a doctor's office and get seen and treated for free. After all, in this climate we could all lose our jobs tomorrow.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
Freedom of speech?
The papers today have been full of the story of a pastor in Gainesville, Florida, who is planning to hold a ceremonial burning of Korans on Saturday, the anniversary of 9/11. Ironically, his church is named the Dove Outreach Centre. Hmmm. I'm not sure about his dodgy handlebar mustache either, but that's an aside.
Thankfully, the majority of people out there seem to condemn Pastor Terry Jones' actions. Hilary Clinton has publicly spoken out about it, and some in Gainesville are trying to thwart him, refusing him a burn permit. Half of his church has deserted him.
Needless to say, however, there are some nutters out there who support Jones. Some have apparently suggested he barbecue the Koran with pork, a meat forbidden by Islam.
It made me reflect, this morning, on the nature of free speech. America's constitution firmly defends it - the freedom of citizens to speak and believe what they want is written into the First Amendment. On the one hand, this is admirable: this is not a nation that represses its citizens or denies them the ability to speak out. On the other, however, there is the issue of respect - at what point does exercising ones' freedom of speech become an impingement of someone else's rights? Recently, there was the most almighty furore when Dr Laura Schlessinger, a 'self-help' (white) radio talk show host repeatedly used the word 'nigger' several times on air while giving advice to an African-American caller (who was actually calling to talk about her problem with racist terms including the word 'nigger'). Not particularly sensitive.
Unbelievably, however, there are those who support Schlessinger's insensitive comments and say she did nothing wrong. Well perhaps not in absolute terms - those of the first amendment, but surely to offend an interviewee in the way that she did is not at all right? You can read the full transcript of her rant here and decide for yourself. She has now resigned from her position, by the way.
In Britain, meanwhile, we have laws on 'hate speech' which arguably go too far the other way - even the mildest Irish joke could be said to fall under such laws. But I think, on the whole, that we should be aware that what we say may hurt others. Whether we legislate against it I'm not sure, but to allow people like Terry Jones and Laura Schlessinger to get away with their actions is surely not right in a modern, thinking society? Freedom of speech it may be, but burning the Koran smacks suspiciously of the very thinking which presumably inspired Jones in the first place - an intolerant attitude which allows for no deviation from its tenets. So who is right?
Thankfully, the majority of people out there seem to condemn Pastor Terry Jones' actions. Hilary Clinton has publicly spoken out about it, and some in Gainesville are trying to thwart him, refusing him a burn permit. Half of his church has deserted him.
Needless to say, however, there are some nutters out there who support Jones. Some have apparently suggested he barbecue the Koran with pork, a meat forbidden by Islam.
It made me reflect, this morning, on the nature of free speech. America's constitution firmly defends it - the freedom of citizens to speak and believe what they want is written into the First Amendment. On the one hand, this is admirable: this is not a nation that represses its citizens or denies them the ability to speak out. On the other, however, there is the issue of respect - at what point does exercising ones' freedom of speech become an impingement of someone else's rights? Recently, there was the most almighty furore when Dr Laura Schlessinger, a 'self-help' (white) radio talk show host repeatedly used the word 'nigger' several times on air while giving advice to an African-American caller (who was actually calling to talk about her problem with racist terms including the word 'nigger'). Not particularly sensitive.
Unbelievably, however, there are those who support Schlessinger's insensitive comments and say she did nothing wrong. Well perhaps not in absolute terms - those of the first amendment, but surely to offend an interviewee in the way that she did is not at all right? You can read the full transcript of her rant here and decide for yourself. She has now resigned from her position, by the way.
In Britain, meanwhile, we have laws on 'hate speech' which arguably go too far the other way - even the mildest Irish joke could be said to fall under such laws. But I think, on the whole, that we should be aware that what we say may hurt others. Whether we legislate against it I'm not sure, but to allow people like Terry Jones and Laura Schlessinger to get away with their actions is surely not right in a modern, thinking society? Freedom of speech it may be, but burning the Koran smacks suspiciously of the very thinking which presumably inspired Jones in the first place - an intolerant attitude which allows for no deviation from its tenets. So who is right?
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
I can't believe I've neglected my blog so shamefully. This time last week I had just got back to Kansas, feeling strangely relieved after the hectic eight days that was my stint on the Ford Fiesta World Tour. I was full of good intentions to blog at length and in detail about some of the crazy things we had seen, and instead I unpacked, took a long shower and flopped into bed. And then got cracking with Kansas life again. Oh dear. Anyway, there were a few highlights, which I thought I'd share with you here:
Visiting the Heidelberg Project in downtown Detroit. This is basically a live-in art installation in one of the city's poorest areas, dreamed up 25 years ago by an artist called Tyree Guyton who wanted to make a statement. And so he applied himself, and his paintbrush, to a rundown empty house on his street, decorating it with everything from random paint swirly to stuffed toys. Now, the street is full of these decorated houses (one has polka dots all over it), as well as random piled of what looks like rubbish. Except it's not rubbish, it's 'found objects' that symbolise like, loss and stuff. Hmmm. I couldn't work out whether I loved it or hated it, to be honest. We met the absolutely lovely executive director of the project, who had given up her Sunday - which also happened to be her birthday - to meet us in the blazing sun. She was so gracious - but when she introduced us to the artist, who was sitting with his posse on a deckchair under a tree, he told her she wasn't being 'respectful' in doing so. Well sorry mate, but it's your art, why don't you explain it, rather than expecting someone else to give up their day? Honestly, it annoyed me, and made me feel that little bit less charitable towards the whol affair.
Anyway, after that I flew back home, which was lovely. This week has been about catching up with life again, and remembering random moments from the trip, such as when the taxi driver I got from the airport asked me about what Susan Boyle was up to. Who knew she was so big over here?
In the meantime, it turns out that my feature for essentialwriters.com has been posted. You can read it here. I will post more often after this, I promise!
Visiting the Heidelberg Project in downtown Detroit. This is basically a live-in art installation in one of the city's poorest areas, dreamed up 25 years ago by an artist called Tyree Guyton who wanted to make a statement. And so he applied himself, and his paintbrush, to a rundown empty house on his street, decorating it with everything from random paint swirly to stuffed toys. Now, the street is full of these decorated houses (one has polka dots all over it), as well as random piled of what looks like rubbish. Except it's not rubbish, it's 'found objects' that symbolise like, loss and stuff. Hmmm. I couldn't work out whether I loved it or hated it, to be honest. We met the absolutely lovely executive director of the project, who had given up her Sunday - which also happened to be her birthday - to meet us in the blazing sun. She was so gracious - but when she introduced us to the artist, who was sitting with his posse on a deckchair under a tree, he told her she wasn't being 'respectful' in doing so. Well sorry mate, but it's your art, why don't you explain it, rather than expecting someone else to give up their day? Honestly, it annoyed me, and made me feel that little bit less charitable towards the whol affair.
Anyway, after that I flew back home, which was lovely. This week has been about catching up with life again, and remembering random moments from the trip, such as when the taxi driver I got from the airport asked me about what Susan Boyle was up to. Who knew she was so big over here?
In the meantime, it turns out that my feature for essentialwriters.com has been posted. You can read it here. I will post more often after this, I promise!
Friday, 27 August 2010
The craziness continues
So since I last posted, we've done Dallas (so to speak - not in the 'Debbie does it' kind of way), met a cowboy poet, recorded a song in Studio B in Nashville where Elvis recorded all of his Grammy Award-winning hits (I'll be storming up the charts soon, no doubt), lost one photographer (not by accident, he was flying home), gained a new one and have now wound up in Indianapolis.
This morning, through, we met a complete nutter. He was called Tom, and was convinced that he was one day going to turn the rusting hulk of what was once a plane into a house. This despite the fact that he's had it since 2003 and nothing much has happened. "We live in our imaginations," his slightly creepy non-paid work buddy Tim told us, with a strange high-pitched giggle. Too right you do mate. Let's not forget that this guy is working on a lot right in the middle of a military base, where just down the road is a rehabilitation centre for mentally damaged soldiers. Bound to be a bit of paranoia flying round there. Sure enough, after about five minutes, he said, "so there are 82 Sharia law courts in the UK now?" "Er, don't think so," I replied. "But they want Sharia law, don't they?" "Well, possibly, but there's a big difference between wanting something and getting it." "That's good," he muttered. Argh! As I said, a bit of a nutter.
But I warmed to him and his crazy ideas, and I wish him luck on his venture. I'd love to see a plane that was a house, mounted on a weathervane like he wants to do. I fear I never will, but I won't tell him that.
Then we got to Indianapolis. Petrol head city. Full of crazy drivers. One of the first we saw was a bloke reading the Koran, while talking on his cell phone...while driving. One side of his car was completely bashed in, perhaps not suprisingly. Then we saw a pimped up SUV with a sound system so loud the whole vehicle was actually shaking. Can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.
This morning, through, we met a complete nutter. He was called Tom, and was convinced that he was one day going to turn the rusting hulk of what was once a plane into a house. This despite the fact that he's had it since 2003 and nothing much has happened. "We live in our imaginations," his slightly creepy non-paid work buddy Tim told us, with a strange high-pitched giggle. Too right you do mate. Let's not forget that this guy is working on a lot right in the middle of a military base, where just down the road is a rehabilitation centre for mentally damaged soldiers. Bound to be a bit of paranoia flying round there. Sure enough, after about five minutes, he said, "so there are 82 Sharia law courts in the UK now?" "Er, don't think so," I replied. "But they want Sharia law, don't they?" "Well, possibly, but there's a big difference between wanting something and getting it." "That's good," he muttered. Argh! As I said, a bit of a nutter.
But I warmed to him and his crazy ideas, and I wish him luck on his venture. I'd love to see a plane that was a house, mounted on a weathervane like he wants to do. I fear I never will, but I won't tell him that.
Then we got to Indianapolis. Petrol head city. Full of crazy drivers. One of the first we saw was a bloke reading the Koran, while talking on his cell phone...while driving. One side of his car was completely bashed in, perhaps not suprisingly. Then we saw a pimped up SUV with a sound system so loud the whole vehicle was actually shaking. Can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
The road trip, continued...
I've been on the the road with the Ford Fiesta World Tour for three days now, and already I've lost all sense of time. Ask me where I am and I probably couldn't tell you. Today when I was doing a video blog I had to retake it three times because I kept forgetting where I was filming from.
Nevertheless, it's actually quite fun. OK, so the 6am starts and midnight bedtimes aren't great, and driving for seven hours in a Ford Fiesta doesn't rank as one of the world's most orgasmic experiences, but I like the people I'm travelling with and we're forming a fun little team. As the only girl, I am like a little pet for the boys, and they indulge my slight tardiness in the morning, my need to pee frequently by the roadside and my constant requirement to eat with ease. I've also discovered that Anthony, the photographer shares my slightly dirty sense of humour which makes the long journeys rather more entertaining.
Plus, when we have a good story it's always good for a laugh. Today, for example, we were interviewing a guy who makes art on dirty cars. As in, he doesn't just write 'wash me' on the back, he actually spends time creating intricate artworks - which inevitably wash off moments later, which happened today. But before that happened, he had created the most beautiful drawing of two Texas longhorn cattle on the back windscreen of one of the Fiestas - I personally was gutted when it washed straight off when the storm broke. I'll post pictures later. Anyway, we all felt pretty jolly after we'd done the interview and there was a general high, which was nice.
Now we're on our way to Dallas, where tomorrow we're touring the Dallas Cowboys stadium. Two hours to go until we get there. Bring it on.
Nevertheless, it's actually quite fun. OK, so the 6am starts and midnight bedtimes aren't great, and driving for seven hours in a Ford Fiesta doesn't rank as one of the world's most orgasmic experiences, but I like the people I'm travelling with and we're forming a fun little team. As the only girl, I am like a little pet for the boys, and they indulge my slight tardiness in the morning, my need to pee frequently by the roadside and my constant requirement to eat with ease. I've also discovered that Anthony, the photographer shares my slightly dirty sense of humour which makes the long journeys rather more entertaining.
Plus, when we have a good story it's always good for a laugh. Today, for example, we were interviewing a guy who makes art on dirty cars. As in, he doesn't just write 'wash me' on the back, he actually spends time creating intricate artworks - which inevitably wash off moments later, which happened today. But before that happened, he had created the most beautiful drawing of two Texas longhorn cattle on the back windscreen of one of the Fiestas - I personally was gutted when it washed straight off when the storm broke. I'll post pictures later. Anyway, we all felt pretty jolly after we'd done the interview and there was a general high, which was nice.
Now we're on our way to Dallas, where tomorrow we're touring the Dallas Cowboys stadium. Two hours to go until we get there. Bring it on.
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Guns!
So, I totally abandoned my poor blog while I was in England, which was an absolute blast. Five days in Yorkshire, a lovely English summer wedding in Gloucestershire, five days in Cornwall and then three heady days in London, trying to pack in as many people as possible. I've come back to Kansas to relax - along with several commissions, which should help me pay the credit card bill I amassed.
Except unfortunately I can't relax, as I'm off on the next trip - a week's journey across Arizona, Texas, Tennessee, Indiana, Arkansas and Michigan as part of the Ford Fiesta World Tour. What? Well, basically Ford has just launched a new Fiesta, and I've been invited on part of an enormous global trek in one of them. A nes Fiesta is driving from LA to New York, another from Northern Ireland to Dubai, another across South East Asia and another across Australia. Along the way, meanwhile, there are many adventures to be had.
Mine started this morning when I got up at 4am to catch a 6.10 flight to Phoenix. By 7.30 I was cracking on with the first activity - learning to shoot a machine gun. Seriously. Arizona (although I had never realised it) is the gun state - one in 50 people carry one and they sure are trigger happy. We were introduced to Katie, the petite and perky marketing manager at Scottsdale Gun Club, who informed us that she carries her own weapon (a Glock 27 handgun) but that her favourite to shoot is an M249 SAW (semi-automatic weapon) - "it's a lot of bullets and a lot of fun." Argh. Five minutes later I am trying my own hand at it - shooting, variously, a Smith & Wesson handgun, an MP-5, an AK 47 and the aforementioned SAW, which is bloody terrifying - you have to lie on the floor to shoot it, it pings bits of hot metal all over you and hanging out of one side is a belt of bullets.
Having thought that perhaps, I felt more at home in America than I had previously thought (I now love country music, for example), I've realised that I'm never really going to fit in - I just don't love guns enough. In fact, they terrify me. I don't think they keep you safer, I don't know why anyone would willingly carry something that is designed to kill another person and the smell of cordite makes me feel sick. Ah well. It was an experience, to say the least....
Except unfortunately I can't relax, as I'm off on the next trip - a week's journey across Arizona, Texas, Tennessee, Indiana, Arkansas and Michigan as part of the Ford Fiesta World Tour. What? Well, basically Ford has just launched a new Fiesta, and I've been invited on part of an enormous global trek in one of them. A nes Fiesta is driving from LA to New York, another from Northern Ireland to Dubai, another across South East Asia and another across Australia. Along the way, meanwhile, there are many adventures to be had.
Mine started this morning when I got up at 4am to catch a 6.10 flight to Phoenix. By 7.30 I was cracking on with the first activity - learning to shoot a machine gun. Seriously. Arizona (although I had never realised it) is the gun state - one in 50 people carry one and they sure are trigger happy. We were introduced to Katie, the petite and perky marketing manager at Scottsdale Gun Club, who informed us that she carries her own weapon (a Glock 27 handgun) but that her favourite to shoot is an M249 SAW (semi-automatic weapon) - "it's a lot of bullets and a lot of fun." Argh. Five minutes later I am trying my own hand at it - shooting, variously, a Smith & Wesson handgun, an MP-5, an AK 47 and the aforementioned SAW, which is bloody terrifying - you have to lie on the floor to shoot it, it pings bits of hot metal all over you and hanging out of one side is a belt of bullets.
Having thought that perhaps, I felt more at home in America than I had previously thought (I now love country music, for example), I've realised that I'm never really going to fit in - I just don't love guns enough. In fact, they terrify me. I don't think they keep you safer, I don't know why anyone would willingly carry something that is designed to kill another person and the smell of cordite makes me feel sick. Ah well. It was an experience, to say the least....
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