i wanna walk like you

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Last week I was in the bookshop talking to the guy behind the counter, to whom I was giving some dvd footage I had shot of the Harry Potter event in July (I’m a very slow editor), when a guy in a cyclist’s helmet, who had been struggling to write a cheque (in this day and age), looked up and interrupted. “Potter?” he rasped, accentuating the double t in what appeared I believe was an attempt at a British accent. Slightly off-ended (if not exactly offended), I shot him a quick look and carried on. He said it again in case I hadn’t heard him the first time, and I nearly responded “Malfoy?” but chose to ignore. He stayed quiet and went back to writing his cheque (they spell it ‘check’ here, you know). After a few minutes he approached me and apologized, he hadn’t meant to make fun of my accent, he was trying to compliment it. Oh, ok, I replied with as little rat’s arse as I could find. But this was not the first time, and it will not be the last, that I will be complimented in such a way. You see, it is apparently socially acceptable – even compulsory – for many Americans to affect a British accent whenever they meet someone from across the pond.
And they really don’t mean to offend – I think they find it charming, or quaint, or perhaps they think we will applaud their efforts – they are after all trying to be like me, I should be honoured. The thing is, if a Brit were to do the same, they would very likely be doing it to take the piss. An American however might not understand why it’s greeted with cold British sarcasm, such as recently in Sacramento when I congratulated the woman in the saltwater taffy shop for her incredible Australian accent (“I thought Bea Smith herself had walked in” ). But it wouldn’t be ok for them to, for example, imitate a Chinese accent, or respond to their German customers with Fawtlyesque attempts at humourous Teutonic mimicry.

I wouldn’t mind, but I feel like I’ve developed a British accent since living here. I would not have pronounced any of the t’s in ‘Potter’ before, they would all be washed away in a downpour of glottal stops. I’ve spoken to other CA-based Brits, and they too have been the victims of spontaneous imitation.

Apart from the hilarious faux-brits, there are the ones who make requests for certain words. Sometimes I happily oblige, especially when some Cockney rhyming slang or other comes to mind (although I was out with Tel once, and he kept asking girls about their thre’penny bits). Sometimes I feel like a tired actor, sick of repeating a catchphrase; one time, a shop-girl at a supermarket checkout asked me to say ‘bloody’. “Why?” I asked. “Oh I just love it when you guys say ‘bloody’! It’s so cool!” My first thought was to react with a tirade of classic Watling Avenue vocabulary – everything but ‘bloody’ – but I just politely refused, sorry, I just want my green beans and my milky way, thanks. I think I know how Harry Potter feels now.

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

did you feel the earth move? um, not really

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There was an earthquake this week. I never felt it – it was in the Bay Area – but apparently it was felt in Sacramento. It measured 5.6 on the Richter scale, which makes it the biggest since Loma Prieta in 1989, but there was little damage. Still, the news channels did their best to get as excited as possible, featuring interviews with people who recounted tales they’ll no doubt be telling to their grandchildren, “yeah the chandeliers started moving, we didn’t really feel much,” and “things were shaking a bit, and i had to ask someone afterwards if that was an earthquake, and it was,” that sort of stuff. You could tell the TV presenters, sat in Sac, were a little disappointed by some of the callers, the lack of drama. Close-up shots of some jars that had rolled lazily off of a supermarket shelf (“breaking news!” ), reports of library books that had fallen over, Mark Finan the kcra3 chief weather lord pouting because he doesn’t get to talk earthquake like everybody else. At least it wasn’t more serious. With southern CA suffering from those dreadful fires, the last thing we’d need is for the Bay to get the Big One they’ve expected for years.

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

the biometric man

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This summer I paid a ridiculous amount of money – more than double what it would have cost just a week earlier, too – to renew my permanent residency, so that I may stay stateside. The reason for the massively increased rate, I was told, was to cover the extra fees for the new biometric requirements, and that I was to go for a super-important biometric appointment when summoned. That was today, and boy do I feel ripped off.

Biometric, what a great word, it makes me think they’re doing to do all these super-accurate DNA tests, use high-tech state of the art equipment, iris scans, midichlorian tests, I don’t even know what I imagined. We were told to leave all cellphones outside the building, perhaps it interferes with their space-age scanning equipment, welcome to the future.

But what a let-down! All they did was take my fingerprints (which they already did before, both at the visa interview in London and at the airport on arrival), take my signature (again, they have that), and then take a photo of me at distance and in bad light with my glasses off (all the bags suddenly revealed under my spectacle-less eyes from having just woken up). I had to fill out a piece of paper with stuff like height and eye color on it – and they rounded down on the height, I was being as accurate as I could and they rounded down because their ancient DOS system computer required it) And that was it, see you later, you’ll hear from someone in the post.

They could at least have pretended! They could have just got some little red light and shone it in my ear and typed a few random numbers into a field I don’t understand, and I would have been happy, money probably well spent. But taking information they already have, and charging hundreds of extra dollars for it… I feel like Tottenham Hotspur did after spending sixteen million quid on Darren Bent when we already have perfectly good goalposts. Still, it’s gotta be done…

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

not another new dawn at white hart lane

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So, another new dawn at Spurs. I was sad to see Jol pushed out, I think the board undermined him early on in the season going behind his back, and that has a lot to do with the situation we’re in. Now Tottenham are spending squillions on this Ramos guy who speaks no English. And I notice his CV is loooong…he’s managed 10 clubs in 14 years! Blimey. But I suppose that makes him perfect for Spurs: we’ve had about that many managers in the past 14 years. He’ll fit right in.

On a funnier footy-related note, check out these youtube clips, the first of a Spurs ball-boy who became an instant hero of the Shelf during a UEFA cup match, and the second (my absolute favourite football-reated clip of all time, this week) of a cheeky six-year-old Chelsea mascot playing a joke on Liverpool’s Steven Gerrard before a match. As the England midfielder walked down the tunnel with his team, the kid, with an absolute deadpan earnest face, held out his hand as if to shake Gerrard’s, but pulled it away and cocked a snook at him instead. Check it out here. Hilarious stuff!

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

non-sports fans, turn away now (and sports fans too)

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I’m officially disappointed with sport. I blame Mystic Pete, naturally, for jinxing everything. Tottenham, what the hell is going on?? what the hell? And letting Arsenal go top? I apologize on behalf of Mystic Pete (who is unavailable to comment, of course).

And the Rugby…yes, they did remarkably well, but this week isn’t England’s. Mystic Pete to his credit said they’d probably lose, but was still disappointed. I bet there were a lot of four-year olds called Jonny who weren’t too happy, either.

Quite a time if your name’s McLaren, too. I’m sure the England footy manager was crucified, I’m in no doubt of that. Now they’re very unlikely to go to euro 2008, and play in Bern’s Wankdorf stadium (they’ll just be Pissdorf at home). And Scotland, conquerors of France, they go and lose to Georgia, or Alabama or whoever it was. Now they have to beat Italy, world champions. As for my two Irelands, well my beloved Republic were just awful, but the North, my granddad’s land, were amazing, and mathematically (i only in fantasy world) they can still qualify…

Lewis, you did bloody well for your first year in Formula 1, and at least your pouting team-mate didn’t pip it from you. but I knew that would happen, I’ve used those same tactics in the final race of Super Mario Kart against my brother, leave a green shell here, a banana skin there, win all the points at the end.

And Celtic, losing to 3-0 to Rangers, despite having beaten mighty Milan (whose goalkeeper Dida coincidentally studied his at DIDA, the Dirty Institute of Dramatic Art).

Grrr. One consolation to all of this – I live in America, which is blissfully unaware of any of these events. “Rugby World Cup? rugby has a world cup? Formula 1, that’s a type of toothpaste isn’t it? Steve McLaren? Oh yeah, that guy should not be in charge of the england soccer team…”

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

la mort d’un mime (i didn’t know he was still alive)

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When I heard that Marcel Marceau had died, my first thoughts were what his last words might have been ( “” ); my second thoughts were of his coffin, being an invisible box with him stuck inside. This made me giggle like a little girl, of course; I felt a bit bad about that, but y’know, I think Marcel would have wanted it that way.

I was surprised to learn that his real last name was Mangel. This made me think of Neighbours, at which point I really stopped laughing.

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

oh boy

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TV season has begun again. Well, i really mean New Show Season. It’s where I choose, against my better judgement, to watch a new show, having seen the previews all summer, and get utterly turned off of its absolute cheesiness and lament the failed opportunity of what might have been a good idea were it not in the hands of network tv producers. Last year it was Heroes, this year it is Journeyman.

The pilot aired last night, a show about an accidental-time-travelling-journalist, who (and I doubt the show’s producers meant this) is probably the least charismatic character ever invented. To be honest, it’s a good idea with some seriously bad writers, extremely bad execution, dire casting, and already no mysteries, due to its unbelievably predictable storyline. Perhaps they wanted it to be an updated Quantum Leap, but Journeyman has less heart than a group of tax-collectors and absolutely no humour whatsoever. It is set in San Francisco (i counted every major SF landmark except the pier 39 sealions cropping up somewhere in that first episode) though it is clear that the producers are not from san francisco, and know nothing about the place (my wife spotted historical discrepancies instantly), and don’t mind throwing in an insult, either. The first moment the protagonist steps goodnight-sweatheart back through time, we can tell it’s the past because the 49ers are celebrating some big victory or other; I’m sure all ‘9ers fans were gritting their teeth and thinking, yes thanks for reminding us we haven’t won anything for years). Worst of all, the soundtrack was absolutely dreadful. Bad reality show cheese.

I might watch it next week, to see if it improves. Or perhaps I too will be mysteriously sent back in time, maybe to when TV was good.

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

pavarotti

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Dio mio, this news is very sad, Luciano Pavarotti has died at 71. He always had such a wicked smile. And how can you hear him sing Nessun Dorma without thinking of Gazza’s tears, Roger Milla’s dance, Rudi Voeller’s hair filled with spit, and Waddle’s mission to send the first football to Mars? And I loved his work with the Three Tenors (or 30 Quid as they preferred to be known). Arrivederci, il nostro amico Pavarotti.

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

‘roads’? we don’t need ‘roads’

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So you thought Davis was just a bunch of trees, bikes, professors and cows did you? (Admittedly famous cows, with windows in their stomach) And liberal-leaning tofu-munching ex-hippies? Yes, yes, I’ll give you that, it is all of those things. But it’s also home to the flying car. Oh yes, Back to the Future II here we come, and it’s all starting in flat old Davis. I saw this news article on the BBC website and thought, great scott, this is really heavy. I like the idea of flying cars, but I hate the idea of flying drivers. No, I’m not sure this will work.

Hoverboards, on the other hand…

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully

a pinch of salt

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I’ve been reading Mark Kurlansky’s book “Salt”. I’m about halfway through, so I don’t know who the killer is yet; don’t spoil it for me. It’s basically a world history, through the medium of salt, or rather it’s a salt-coated world history. Or rather, it’s a history of the world, spattered with tenuous links to the importance of salt. It’s interesting, sure, but it could do with some pepper.

The rise of of the Celts? Salt. The cornerstone of Chinese civilization? Salt. Great Pyramids of Egypt? Salt. The paid armies of Imperial Rome? Salt. Etymology of half the words in English, and every other language for that matter? Salt. JFK? Salt. The Beatles? Salt. Bush’s election victory in 2000? Salt. The dodgy penalty decision in the Liverpool-Chelsea match last week? Salt. It’s incredible what you learn.

When I was about seven I stayed with my aunt and cousins in Norwich for a few weeks. One morning, before breakfast, my cousin Daniel thought it would be hilarious if he poured a load of salt into my orange squash. It tasted funny, and even though he confessed I still drank it all up, not knowing the consequences. Within ten minutes I was throwing up all over the breakfast table (and all over my cousin Debbie’s leather jacket), feeling rotten, and I learnt then and there that whatever else you may do with salt, you don’t put it in your morning drink. To be fair to my cousin, it probably was hilarious to watch. Well at least I have an interesting story about salt. Perhaps Kurlansky can put it in the second edition.

Originally posted at 20six.co.uk/petescully