Trick or Treat

It’s that time of the year again.  My morning walk no longer consists of a pleasant stroll around suburban streets but has become a hasty path through ghoulish graveyards and pet cemeteries.  Giant cobwebs adorn houses; corpses hang from lemon trees and skeletons sit on the front porch with welcoming toothy grins.

What is it about Halloween that fascinates America? I just don’t get it.  Back in the UK when I was small Halloween was a pretty low key affair; you dressed up in one or your mum’s old black skirts with a homemade witches hat and tried your luck at apple bobbing. Life was very simple way back then.

Several years came to pass and trick or treating reared its ugly head. When my own children were little they would head out into the street with their friends wearing whatever spooky makeshift costume came to hand, clutching an empty carrier bag in the hope of bringing home the odd kitkat or two.

We would decorate our own house with a simple Jack o’lantern – a sign that we would welcome other trick or treaters if they came to call. Most kids knew better than to knock at a door that didn’t have some sort of Halloween artifact on display.

Over here – every house has some sort of artifact on display. It’s a great way to lure children into your home.  As for trick or treating, it's totally out of all proportion. Mom and pop cruise the streets in their black SUV to ensure there is none of that tiresome "walking" around the neighbourhood, the stores are loaded with shelves and shelves of multi-bagged sweets - the American Dental Association must be rubbing their hands with glee.  And of course there are cards too - Happy Halloween - who an earth would you send one of those to?

Then of course there are the "pumpkin patches" that pop-up over night on a bit of waste ground, where you can buy yourself a pumpkin, loose your kids on the bouncy castle and admire the animals in the “petting zoo”.  I’m completely baffled by the concept of the petting zoo - a miserable collection of caged goats, rabbits and hens which travels around showgrounds and farmer’s markets purely for the pleasure of the paying public who can let their toddlers loose in the animal pen. It’s one of those bizarre archaic American traditions that really should have been banned by animal welfare activists many years ago.

Having been to the Pumpkin Patch, collected your pumpkin and let your pre-schooler manhandle a couple of newly hatched chicks, it’s then time to head to Party City to choose your outfit.  Party City, a shop the size of a small warehouse, is now dedicated almost entirely to Halloween paraphernalia.  Adorning an entire wall  are pictures of every costume imaginable and available for you to buy. Don’t forget to bring your pet dog so that they can choose one too.

Unfortunately we had to pay a visit to Party City because the teenager insisted she needed a new costume for the Halloween shinanigans she had been invited to. She couldn’t possibly wear an outfit from a previous year and nearly had kittens at the suggestion that we should perhaps make something instead.  Mermaid? Playboy Bunny? Nurse? What was it to be?  Most of the outfits looked as if they would be more at home in one of those top shelf  “Adults Only” catelogues.  In the end we purchased a relatively tasteful set of Natalie Portman style Black Swan feathered wings and a tutu. 

So how will I spend my Halloween? Well, it'll just be another typical Monday night for me - I'll be out on my broomstick somewhere....

The Land of Excess

After two years of living the American "dream" lifestyle I still find some of my old UK habits die quite hard. Especially when it comes to waste management.  I'm a little bastion of climate control and re-cycling; I just can't help myself; the frugality ingrained after a lifetime back in resource conscious Europe cannot be randomly dismissed even here in the land of plenty - or rather, the land of excess.

This truly is the land of wastefulness - over-sized food  portions in restaurants which must regularly result in plate loads of food being thrown away; over-zealous irrigation as garden sprinklers merrily water the pavement; over-cold air conditioning units which make you want to put your coat on to go into a building and take it off when you come out, and  giant sized household appliances that wantonly consume vast amounts of energy.

Despite living in a compact city center apartment I have a stove large enough to roast a complete medieval banquet.  Often I only switch it on to heat up a loaf of garlic bread. Whilst it does toast up the whole apartment quite nicely, I then have to put the air-con on to prevent the family expiring from heat exhaustion. I also have an industrial sized washing machine which spins with such gratuitous violence  it regularly destroys my clothes - it's so big that an entire week's worth of laundry only constitutes a half load. The same can be said for my tumble dryer, and of course, here in California  it rarely rains so it's ideal outdoor drying weather but there's not a clothes line in sight. It's all so unnecessary.  And what is so wrong with "small"?  It's almost a dirty word.

The vast majority of US politicians will have you believe that diminishing world resources and nasty rumours about global warming are pure mythology.  There's certainly no need for us to worry our pretty little heads about it.   There’s enough fuel left in the world to keep those gas guzzling SUV’s going for a good few years yet and enough by-products being created to enable check-out assistants at Ralphs to continue to pack one item of groceries per plastic bag guilt free.

Economise? Conservation? Don't even think about.  Just indulge.

This is a totally have-it-all and then throw it away, disposable society, and yet I still like to think I’m doing my bit to preserve the environment - regardless of unlimited resources. I don’t send all my trash down the convenient waste disposal chute at the end of my corridor.  Instead I separate my rubbish into what’s recyclable and what’s not, although this does mean I have to manually take half my trash down into the bowels of the parking garage to the one recycling bin that caters for all 230 apartments.

At my local Ralphs there is actually a "re-cycling" centre where I could take all my glass and plastic bottles and receive a 5 cent return for each, proving perhaps that Americans are willing to re-cycle given a financial incentive. However, there is a whole industry here for the poor of Pasadena, who regularly scavenge the bins.  I know if I put my bottles into the trash they will wend their way over to the recycling centre whatever, and some old tramp, far needier than me, will be a few dollars better off because of it.

The trouble with living here is that if you want to be "green" you have to go out of your way to do it.  I have to drive to an organic grocery store; it is an "inconvenience" to recycle my rubbish, and knowing how Americans love that word "convenient" it's hardly the encouragement they need to join in.  Time is precious over here and everyone is always in such a hurry - although I've yet to work out quite what for. The American lifestyle is not conducive to a social conscience.

I know I can't save the planet single-handedly, but at least I like to think I'm doing my best not to join the rush to totally ruin it.

A Good Indicator

Despite my chameleon like attempts to go unnoticed amongst LA society there are certain characteristics which will always mark me out as an alien species.

 Driving is one of them. 

Why? Because I know how to use my indicators.  It is very apparent cruising around the city streets that despite the vast sums of money the average American likes to spend on purchasing a flashy new car, they don’t spend an awful lot of time reading their owner handbooks.  If they did, they’d find out how to put their indicators on.

Considering they’ve all learned how to juggle the steering wheel whilst texting, balancing an i-pad and drinking a Starbucks you think sussing out how to let your fellow drivers know what direction you’re about to take would be pretty easy in comparison. 

Unfortunately co-operation is not part of the American psyche.  This is a culture where it’s very much ALL ABOUT ME.

A regular reader – and yes I do have some – very kindly sent me an article from the motoring press following a post I wrote about our trip to the East Coast where we re-discovered the joys of roundabouts.  American motorists are apparently very resistant to the idea of roundabouts because basically it means they all have to work together for the greater good in order to improve traffic flow.  Heaven forbid, they may even have to yield to another car.  This is an unfamiliar concept in American society.

It's very noticeable here that road users have very little regard for each other and are positively unco-operative.  You are never waved on ahead out of a car park or a side street into the main traffic flow even if the traffic is already at a complete standstill.  Nobody is ever going to give up their place in that line at the lights for you and why an earth should they? Remember - it's every man for themselves out here.

I'll admit I'm not a perfect driver - as the teenager is very quick to remind me now that she has passed her permit test and is the font of knowledge regarding the Californian Highway Code.  Although I personally think most Americans believe the right to drive at any speed, in any lane of the freeway is part of the American Constitution, I know for a fact that slower traffic is supposed to keep to the right and its pure urban myth that other cars can undertake, drive on the hard shoulder and even jump over the top of each other to get ahead.  I also know that a red traffic light means stop and a flashing white pedestrian sign means, unfortunately,  you do have to let them cross.

I also know that you are supposed to indicate before making a manoeuver which actually makes perfect sense. It's not just a question of good manners there is also the safety aspect. 

This is where I come unstuck with American mentality.  Here is a nation of people who take great pride in being gratuitously polite, yet give them a car and Dr Jekyll takes the back seat as Mr Hyde grabs the steering wheel.

The Hit List

There is an air of despondency in this quarter of the bubble household because daughter No 1 has now returned to England, leaving her dear old mum, if no-one else, feeling quite bereft.

The teenager seems happy enough at her sister’s departure, 12 weeks in close sibling confinement was probably stretching things a bit but they were still talking (just) when we forced the elder one protesting back onto the plane.  Unfortunately daughter No 1 had to go, not only because she has to complete her university education back in the UK, but also because she had a better suntan than me.  I can’t have that.

Of course I am sad. I’d got used to having a bit of company around during the day, but now I will just have to return to my rather mundane routine and continue to immerse myself in ex-pat wife life. 

As I tend to do every now and then I have written myself a mental list of things to do in order to keep myself occupied – there’s the usual POSTIVE THINKING, which regularly tops all of my lists, followed by  INSPIRED COOKING – which is a new one – YOGA  which also regularly appears together with WRITE NOVEL, another frequent visitor.  

It is highly unlikely that any of these activities will actually get completed – I’ll get the Wii Fit out and do a few yoga poses every day for the next couple of weeks, and I’ll scribble away at what I hope will be the next bestseller until I remember I’ve got ironing to do.  Inspired Cooking sounds wonderful, I’ve a shelf full of cookery books and I need to start using them; I’ve pledged to try a new recipe from each at least once a week.  Last Christmas my husband bought me Jamie’s America  - Jamie Oliver’s “easy twists on great American classics, and more”.  We have yet to try a single recipe – funnily enough I have been unable to tempt my family with the thought of Cowboy Scrapple, Cajun Alligator or Glazed Quail and Turnip Smash but now it’s officially on my list I’ll be off to Ralphs on a regular basis to hunt down the ingredients.

Of course another big item on my to do list is a not to do  – DON’T DRINK TOO MUCH.  This is another regular feature on any mental list that I prepare. On the other hand I recently read a magazine article that stated that medical research has now found that a glass or two, or even three, of wine a day has a very positive effect on the health of middle-aged women.  I need to cut this article out and frame it.

So I’ve plenty to do to keep myself occupied; my days will be full.  I’ve a list by my PC of all the things I need to research on the internet; I’ve a list on the fridge of things we’ve run out of that we need to buy and there’s a list by my bed of all the inspirational story lines or ideas for my blog that come to me in the middle of the night.  I am a woman of lists.

But the trouble with having too many lists is I end up having too much going on in my head. I have too many things to think about and when I’m balancing one legged in The Tree pose, instead of cleansing my soul by concentrating on gentle calming breaths, I’ll really be thinking I hope everyone’s going to appreciate that nice piece of crocodile we've got for dinner tonight..…

The Birthday Bubble

Life in the LA Bubble is now officially one year old.  That’s a whole year’s worth of psycho-therapy I’ve managed to avoid and a considerable fortune I’ve saved my husband in his co-pay contribution towards  our medical bills.  Personally I think he should be very grateful that I’ve found something to keep me occupied but his main comment whenever I attempt to discuss my blogging hobby is “who are you taking a knock at this week?”

However, those witty sarcasms no longer spring so readily from my keyboard. I worry I am developing immunity to the very things that first compelled me to write; I’m concerned my blog will just degenerate into another boring travelogue.

I have become more than acclimatized, I’m a pseudo American.  I no longer take daily treks to the supermarket, I now go to the store.  I don’t re-fill my car with petrol, I stock up with gas. It’s not a dollar note, it’s now a dollar bill. There is even a string of pumpkin fairy lights adorning my balcony and it’s several weeks off Halloween.

After a week in Canada and Alaska where we had access to that way too serious heavyweight BBC World News, it was such a relief to return to LA and watch the local evening news leading with a story about a Beverly Hills beauty salon which is revolutionizing hair removal with a new sugaring technique. It’s vitally important we get to know about these things – forget bankruptcy in Greece and unrest in the Middle East, if I can save five seconds every morning by not having to shave my armpits, I need to know about it. Definitely.

I’m not alarmed that the American media treats me like a complete bimbo.  I’ve got used to it – I’ve dumbed myself down.  I can no longer handle a crossword puzzle or a Suduko.  A word search is quite taxing enough for me. 

This week we were glued to the TV to the start of Fox’s new mega-series Terra Nova.  My husband was very excited and said we couldn’t miss it. Fox had been advertising it for weeks and apparently it cost millions of dollars to make.  The teenager who had been sat supposedly  homeworking but  probably facebooking in her room emerged half way through the evening and asked what we an earth we were watching. “It’s a new series”, my husband explained, “a sort of cross between Jurassic Park and……..” he faltered to find the right words.   “Absolute rubbish” I suggested helpfully.

But did we turn it off? No, of course not; we sat there positively embracing the drivel and watched it to the very end, commercial breaks and all. And talking of commercial breaks, such a welcome respite – you really don’t want to be bombarded with too much of the story in one go.  Five minutes snippets are perfectly adequate.

The fact that the teenager preferred to sit with her older sister watching a recording of the British drama series Inspector Lewis says it all. Inspector Lewis – where’s the fun in that? That’s way too intelligent and requires a high level of concentration skill that quite frankly I've learned to live without. Where’s the excitement? Where’s the action? Does the paying public really want those complicated plots and poker faced (albeit rather sexy) Sergeant Hathaway when they could be watching futuristic colonists with rippling muscles blasting off a dinosaur's head with a mega gun?

Speaking of dinosaurs, Ashton Kutcher has now replaced Charlie Sheen in Two and a Half Men.  When I first started Life in the LA Bubble I asked myself would I ever find this show funny; would that to be the ultimate test of my conversion to Americanism?

Well I may well have succumbed to an awful lot of America’s charms, but thankfully, there are still some parts of its culture I can resist.   I may have dumbed down, but I'm not totally stupid. There’s life in my bubble yet.