You'd think we'd be saturated with enough US media output to understand them, but here's some things I've learned.
"Mono" is mononucleosis. As in glandular fever.
"Cooties" is "The Lurgy" (non-specific ailment, means you can't do something).
"Cukes" on a menu is cucumber.
Yams are what we call sweet potatoes.
Sweet potatoes look like what we call sweet potatoes, but they're white. And I don't know what they taste like, because the saucepan was full of yams.
Grounds are mince. As in Quorn grounds, soya grounds.
Americans don't know what a serviette is, you have to ask for a napkin.
Update: Oct 10th
A pram is a stroller. Even if you are on roller skates when you are pushing it.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Departure
The time has come to write about the trip. Actually, the time came a couple of days ago, but then when I was looking for a map of Heathrow airport, the computer crashed, and the stupid autosave didn't work, so I got bored. This, dear reader, is what I go through for you.
We had to get a certificate of health from the vet. This seemed to be the most feeble and unofficial looking piece of paper that I've ever seen, something I could have knocked up at home on a laser printer a few minutes (if my laser printer at home didn't put big black stripes on everything, but that's another story). The vet poked at the cat for a few minutes, I handed over 45 quid, and I got my piece of paper.
And off we went to London. I've already dealt with that, so let's jump ahead to Monday morning. The flight was at 1:30, and it was suggested we check in 4 hours early, so we set off at 8am, from Vauxhall. About an hour and a half later, (self, S, A, D, Grandma and cat) arrived at Heathrow. I drove the hire car back to the hire car place, while the others manouevred the two trolleys, piled high with stuff, into departures.
I returned, and we went to check in. You know how whenever you get on an aeroplane, you go to check in, chuck your bags on the conveyor belt, tell them you've got no bombs and are not being unwittingly employed as a drug mule, and get on your way a couple of minutes later, boarding card in hand? And while you're in the queue (I have to learn to say 'line' or Americans call me quaint) there's a family that seem to have been clogging up one of the check in desks for, like, an hour? Well, we were that family.
We had to put our 6 suitcases on, that wasn't too tricky. We had to partially dismantle the car seats and get the labels stuck on and take them to the funny shaped luggage place. Then we had to deal with the cat. We handed over our very unofficial looking piece of paper, then handed over our 70 quid. They seemed to doubt that the shoddy piece of paper really was all we needed - someone more senior was fetched, who fetched someone else more senior, and they eventually decided the piece of paper was OK.
They also decided that the box was IATA approved (I don't know what that means, but we spent 25 pounds (notice that I'm using a keyboard without a pound sign) on a box that had a label that said "IATA approved". They fetched a lot of stickers that said "Live Animal" and "This way up", and stuck them on. It was quite hard to stick them on without covering up the airholes, and the airholes (on all 4 sides) are one of the things that make it IATA approved.
Then I had to carry the cat into the bowels of Heathrow Airport somewhere, and man with a sniffer machine sniffed around the cat box - mainly focussing on the underneath, he didn't put it inside. Maybe he was convinced it was actually a cat. The sniffer was a bit like a hand held vacuum cleaner, with a bit of filter paper in the hose. The filter paper was removed, and it was taken away to be inspected.
Given the lack of hand luggage I was wearing almost all the clothes I had, so I hoped that the trickles of sweat running down my face didn't arouse suspicion.
The cat was declared explosives free, so I took it back to check-in, offered it food and water (I had to sign a declaration that it had been offered food and water - not that it felt at all like eating). The man at the check in gave us odious warnings of what would happen when we arrived - vets would be summoned, out of hours, and we'd have to pay, and all sorts of dreadful stuff.
The cat was taken away, and we went to join the queue for security screening.
Normally the queue for security is a bit long, but this was impressive. It went all the way through departures, up some steps, across a bridge, along a long corridor, and into the car park, where it wound up and down once. We found Grandma and she went to buy supplies of sandwiches.
People were wandering up and down the queue calling particular flights and pulling people out of the queue to take them to the front - I waited for ours, but it never came.
We got to the front of the queue, after what felt like forever, but was about 1 o'clock. I took off my belt, because sometimes that sets off the alarms, but left my mobile phone in my pocket.
We got through security to see the screen saying "last call" for our flight, when someone greeted us, and asked what flight we were on. I told him, expecting him to rush us in some way to the departure gate. He started to tell me what duty free stuff we could buy, so I punched him out of the way, and saw that sign that estimated a 20 minute walk to our gate.
We picked up A & D and ran, as much as we could, and walked directly onto the plane. (First time I've ever done that).
When the stewardess saw the boys, she asked if they wanted to see the flight deck, which was something I thought only happened in stories. The boys went into the cockpit, took over the plane, and demanded milk and ... no, not really. They sat in the co-pilot's seat, and the pilot asked if we had a camera. I didn't (obviously, I didn't even have a belt on), so he took a photo with his camera, and asked for my email address, so he could email it.
Which, about a week later, he did. Which I thought was incredibly nice of him. So, FLY UNITED AIRLINES, 'COS THEY"RE REALLY NICE.
Then we sat down and the plane took off.
We had to get a certificate of health from the vet. This seemed to be the most feeble and unofficial looking piece of paper that I've ever seen, something I could have knocked up at home on a laser printer a few minutes (if my laser printer at home didn't put big black stripes on everything, but that's another story). The vet poked at the cat for a few minutes, I handed over 45 quid, and I got my piece of paper.
And off we went to London. I've already dealt with that, so let's jump ahead to Monday morning. The flight was at 1:30, and it was suggested we check in 4 hours early, so we set off at 8am, from Vauxhall. About an hour and a half later, (self, S, A, D, Grandma and cat) arrived at Heathrow. I drove the hire car back to the hire car place, while the others manouevred the two trolleys, piled high with stuff, into departures.
I returned, and we went to check in. You know how whenever you get on an aeroplane, you go to check in, chuck your bags on the conveyor belt, tell them you've got no bombs and are not being unwittingly employed as a drug mule, and get on your way a couple of minutes later, boarding card in hand? And while you're in the queue (I have to learn to say 'line' or Americans call me quaint) there's a family that seem to have been clogging up one of the check in desks for, like, an hour? Well, we were that family.
We had to put our 6 suitcases on, that wasn't too tricky. We had to partially dismantle the car seats and get the labels stuck on and take them to the funny shaped luggage place. Then we had to deal with the cat. We handed over our very unofficial looking piece of paper, then handed over our 70 quid. They seemed to doubt that the shoddy piece of paper really was all we needed - someone more senior was fetched, who fetched someone else more senior, and they eventually decided the piece of paper was OK.
They also decided that the box was IATA approved (I don't know what that means, but we spent 25 pounds (notice that I'm using a keyboard without a pound sign) on a box that had a label that said "IATA approved". They fetched a lot of stickers that said "Live Animal" and "This way up", and stuck them on. It was quite hard to stick them on without covering up the airholes, and the airholes (on all 4 sides) are one of the things that make it IATA approved.
Then I had to carry the cat into the bowels of Heathrow Airport somewhere, and man with a sniffer machine sniffed around the cat box - mainly focussing on the underneath, he didn't put it inside. Maybe he was convinced it was actually a cat. The sniffer was a bit like a hand held vacuum cleaner, with a bit of filter paper in the hose. The filter paper was removed, and it was taken away to be inspected.
Given the lack of hand luggage I was wearing almost all the clothes I had, so I hoped that the trickles of sweat running down my face didn't arouse suspicion.
The cat was declared explosives free, so I took it back to check-in, offered it food and water (I had to sign a declaration that it had been offered food and water - not that it felt at all like eating). The man at the check in gave us odious warnings of what would happen when we arrived - vets would be summoned, out of hours, and we'd have to pay, and all sorts of dreadful stuff.
The cat was taken away, and we went to join the queue for security screening.
Normally the queue for security is a bit long, but this was impressive. It went all the way through departures, up some steps, across a bridge, along a long corridor, and into the car park, where it wound up and down once. We found Grandma and she went to buy supplies of sandwiches.
People were wandering up and down the queue calling particular flights and pulling people out of the queue to take them to the front - I waited for ours, but it never came.
We got to the front of the queue, after what felt like forever, but was about 1 o'clock. I took off my belt, because sometimes that sets off the alarms, but left my mobile phone in my pocket.
We got through security to see the screen saying "last call" for our flight, when someone greeted us, and asked what flight we were on. I told him, expecting him to rush us in some way to the departure gate. He started to tell me what duty free stuff we could buy, so I punched him out of the way, and saw that sign that estimated a 20 minute walk to our gate.
We picked up A & D and ran, as much as we could, and walked directly onto the plane. (First time I've ever done that).
When the stewardess saw the boys, she asked if they wanted to see the flight deck, which was something I thought only happened in stories. The boys went into the cockpit, took over the plane, and demanded milk and ... no, not really. They sat in the co-pilot's seat, and the pilot asked if we had a camera. I didn't (obviously, I didn't even have a belt on), so he took a photo with his camera, and asked for my email address, so he could email it.
Which, about a week later, he did. Which I thought was incredibly nice of him. So, FLY UNITED AIRLINES, 'COS THEY"RE REALLY NICE.
Then we sat down and the plane took off.
Petrol
Oh, the joy of trying to put petrol in the car.
I can't get the petrol to come out of the pump and into the car. So I walk into the shop bit, and he says "You paying?" and I say "No, the petrol won't come out." But he doesn't know what petrol is, so he says "Pay?", and I say "No, no petrol".
This continued for a while, until the chap behind me in the queue realised what was going on, and translated. Basically, you pay first, then put the petrol in. But as you've no idea how much space there is in the tank, you don't know how much to pay (gallons are smaller and cost a different amount - that's a calculation you can't do without advanced calculus). So 4 miles later, you've got to go through the whole procedure again.
I can't get the petrol to come out of the pump and into the car. So I walk into the shop bit, and he says "You paying?" and I say "No, the petrol won't come out." But he doesn't know what petrol is, so he says "Pay?", and I say "No, no petrol".
This continued for a while, until the chap behind me in the queue realised what was going on, and translated. Basically, you pay first, then put the petrol in. But as you've no idea how much space there is in the tank, you don't know how much to pay (gallons are smaller and cost a different amount - that's a calculation you can't do without advanced calculus). So 4 miles later, you've got to go through the whole procedure again.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Milk
In England, we had milk delivered, by the milkman. (It could have been a milk lady, for all I knew, I was never up early enough to see.) In America, where price trumps everything, we don't. Because you can save a small amount by using your time and petrol (oops, gas) to drive to the supermarket and buy milk on a regular basis.
Because we had it delivered, I never realised how much milk we got through. On Friday I went to the supermarket, and bought some milk. Being honorary Americans (this is like being an honorary lecturer - it means nothing) I buy milk in gallon containers (surprisingly, being American, these are smaller than proper gallons. 1 US gallon is about 1.2 UK gallons), and I bought 2 of these 1 gallon containers. This morning is Monday, and we are out of milk.
(We buy orange juice and apple juice in 1 gallon containers. Soya milk only comes in 4 pint containers. The supermarket had an offer for 10 fresh baguettes for $10. What can you do with 10 fresh baguettes?)
Because we had it delivered, I never realised how much milk we got through. On Friday I went to the supermarket, and bought some milk. Being honorary Americans (this is like being an honorary lecturer - it means nothing) I buy milk in gallon containers (surprisingly, being American, these are smaller than proper gallons. 1 US gallon is about 1.2 UK gallons), and I bought 2 of these 1 gallon containers. This morning is Monday, and we are out of milk.
(We buy orange juice and apple juice in 1 gallon containers. Soya milk only comes in 4 pint containers. The supermarket had an offer for 10 fresh baguettes for $10. What can you do with 10 fresh baguettes?)
Friday, September 08, 2006
I thought I saw a puddy tat
I went to the convenience store in our apartment block, at about 9 o'clock at night. On the way back, I saw a cat - I thought it was strange that someone had a cat that was out - the apartments are (AFAIK) for temporary accommodation, and although pets are OK (we've got one, after all), I wouldn't have thought that anyone was here long enough to get one.
Anyway, as I got closer, I noticed it was a really big cat. With a pointy nose, and a long bushy tail. With stripes. It was a raccoon. Which I thought was kind of cute, until I read about them on Wikipedia. Seems they are a bit prone to giving people stuff like rabies.
Anyway, as I got closer, I noticed it was a really big cat. With a pointy nose, and a long bushy tail. With stripes. It was a raccoon. Which I thought was kind of cute, until I read about them on Wikipedia. Seems they are a bit prone to giving people stuff like rabies.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
London bound
We had moved out of our house on the 25th (our original planned departure date) and so were staying with J & K, for a week. On Saturday morning, we sold our car, and rented another car. The nice people at Enterprise came and picked us up from J & K's house. ("What's your address?" I told them our address. "So why did we pick you up from somewhere else?" Errrr...).
On Sunday, we picked up the cat, and drove to my sister's house, in London. There was an enormous traffic jam on the M1, caused by an accident involving an SUV, which had been towing a caravan. The car was lying upside down in the fast lane, and the caravan was sort of sideways on the crash barrier. I thought bad thoughts about people who (a) drove SUVs, and (b) pulled caravans. But I put them out of my mind.
When we finally arrived in London, we were greeted by (wait for it) my sister, J, partner G, children, C, B, E, N, my mother, my other sister, S, partner, G (again - I've never noticed that before), and baby L. Uncle P came shortly afterwards. An enormous saucepan of spaghetti was cooked, and eaten. Then another. Then the remaining people ate toast.
A and D slept that night in two armchairs pushed together to make a bed - one at each end. They thought that was quite exciting.
In the morning, we headed to the airport.
On Sunday, we picked up the cat, and drove to my sister's house, in London. There was an enormous traffic jam on the M1, caused by an accident involving an SUV, which had been towing a caravan. The car was lying upside down in the fast lane, and the caravan was sort of sideways on the crash barrier. I thought bad thoughts about people who (a) drove SUVs, and (b) pulled caravans. But I put them out of my mind.
When we finally arrived in London, we were greeted by (wait for it) my sister, J, partner G, children, C, B, E, N, my mother, my other sister, S, partner, G (again - I've never noticed that before), and baby L. Uncle P came shortly afterwards. An enormous saucepan of spaghetti was cooked, and eaten. Then another. Then the remaining people ate toast.
A and D slept that night in two armchairs pushed together to make a bed - one at each end. They thought that was quite exciting.
In the morning, we headed to the airport.
Friday, September 01, 2006
The Embassy Trip (part 2)
We went back to waiting. This time the wait was uncertain - although the numbers were still being on the big TV screens, the number that the screen said was the next to be called wasn't the next to be called. The numbers were still correlated - but it wasn't perfect. I thought about recording the numbers and doing a limits of agreement calculation. But even I'm not that obsessed.
The screens showed which numbers were being interviewed at which windows. S timed them "number 232 has been at window 17 for 15 minutes", she would say. After a wholesome lunch of 2 bags of salt and vinegar crisps we sat and waited. Then we walked around, to stretch our legs. Then we stood and waited, because we didn't have seats any more.
S was trying to see if there were consistent differences between the different windows. That way we would know to hope not to get window 14 (say) because they took longer (or maybe dubious types got called to Window 14). I sat and read through the blurb which Corporation of Future Employment had sent to the US Immigration Service, including the Annual Report. I've never read even half of an Annual Report in my life, but this one wasn't bad, in places. One part of it was about an analysis of invading Iraq and Afghanistan. It said "It was a really fucking stupid idea, and if anyone had thought about it for more than 5 minutes, they would have realised this". Well, OK, it didn't say exactly that, but that was the gist of it. Right wing think tank? Pah!
The numbers got closer to our number (remember we were 296, for maximum drama) - it something like 289, 290, 293, 187, 195, ... 299 [!]. But our number did come up, and we made the long walk to our window (number 17). It turned out, as we walked past the lower numbers, that some windows really were windows, and some were little rooms.
Ours was a window. We went to the window, and had to be re-fingerprinted (this time to make sure that we were the same people that went to the other window). Our forms were checked, and our grilling began.
"How old is D?" (An easy starter). "He's 4, I replied with confidence."
I was expecting trouble at this stage. D's passport has a photo taken when he was 6 months old. His visa photo is obviously of a 4 year old. This could have been any random baby.
"How old is A?" (Aha, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.) "He's 4 too." A and D, for those that don't know are monozygotic (identical - although they aren't actually identical, but they are very, very similar) twins. When I got their passports the first time, I handed over the photos at the Post Office - "That's A and that's D" I told them, purposefully. "No, wait, that's D and that's A", which I thought was very funny, but they didn't. So I didn't try that this time.
"What's your job going to be?" she asked next. I explained, including a bit about teaching, that caused some confusion "Who are you going to be teaching at Corporation of Future Employment?" I explained that, despite not being a university, CFE thinks it's a university, and so has students.
"And are you a nice statistics professor?" Aha, the killer question. "Because I didn't like statistics when I was at college".
"Ooh, yes, I'm very nice."
"Well, my professor was nice, I just didn't like statistics."
That didn't seem like a question, so I stayed quiet.
She clicked a few things on the screen, scribbled on some forms, and said "We'll send your visas in the post."
We walked out, triumphant, but not yet complete. We had to deal with the couriers who actually do the business of sending your visa out. This cost £14.50. I had a slight concern that they would require cash, and another that it would cost that per visa - there being 4 of us, that mean we had to be sure of having enough cash. But they didn't, and it wasn't. They were very efficient - they sent a text message, as promised, the day before the visas were delivered, so that we were warned and could make appropriate arrangements, and they came on Thursday. (We went to the embassy on the Friday, and Monday was a bank holiday, so that was a reasonably impressive turnaround.)
And here, in all its glory, it is:
The screens showed which numbers were being interviewed at which windows. S timed them "number 232 has been at window 17 for 15 minutes", she would say. After a wholesome lunch of 2 bags of salt and vinegar crisps we sat and waited. Then we walked around, to stretch our legs. Then we stood and waited, because we didn't have seats any more.
S was trying to see if there were consistent differences between the different windows. That way we would know to hope not to get window 14 (say) because they took longer (or maybe dubious types got called to Window 14). I sat and read through the blurb which Corporation of Future Employment had sent to the US Immigration Service, including the Annual Report. I've never read even half of an Annual Report in my life, but this one wasn't bad, in places. One part of it was about an analysis of invading Iraq and Afghanistan. It said "It was a really fucking stupid idea, and if anyone had thought about it for more than 5 minutes, they would have realised this". Well, OK, it didn't say exactly that, but that was the gist of it. Right wing think tank? Pah!
The numbers got closer to our number (remember we were 296, for maximum drama) - it something like 289, 290, 293, 187, 195, ... 299 [!]. But our number did come up, and we made the long walk to our window (number 17). It turned out, as we walked past the lower numbers, that some windows really were windows, and some were little rooms.
Ours was a window. We went to the window, and had to be re-fingerprinted (this time to make sure that we were the same people that went to the other window). Our forms were checked, and our grilling began.
"How old is D?" (An easy starter). "He's 4, I replied with confidence."
I was expecting trouble at this stage. D's passport has a photo taken when he was 6 months old. His visa photo is obviously of a 4 year old. This could have been any random baby.
"How old is A?" (Aha, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.) "He's 4 too." A and D, for those that don't know are monozygotic (identical - although they aren't actually identical, but they are very, very similar) twins. When I got their passports the first time, I handed over the photos at the Post Office - "That's A and that's D" I told them, purposefully. "No, wait, that's D and that's A", which I thought was very funny, but they didn't. So I didn't try that this time.
"What's your job going to be?" she asked next. I explained, including a bit about teaching, that caused some confusion "Who are you going to be teaching at Corporation of Future Employment?" I explained that, despite not being a university, CFE thinks it's a university, and so has students.
"And are you a nice statistics professor?" Aha, the killer question. "Because I didn't like statistics when I was at college".
"Ooh, yes, I'm very nice."
"Well, my professor was nice, I just didn't like statistics."
That didn't seem like a question, so I stayed quiet.
She clicked a few things on the screen, scribbled on some forms, and said "We'll send your visas in the post."
We walked out, triumphant, but not yet complete. We had to deal with the couriers who actually do the business of sending your visa out. This cost £14.50. I had a slight concern that they would require cash, and another that it would cost that per visa - there being 4 of us, that mean we had to be sure of having enough cash. But they didn't, and it wasn't. They were very efficient - they sent a text message, as promised, the day before the visas were delivered, so that we were warned and could make appropriate arrangements, and they came on Thursday. (We went to the embassy on the Friday, and Monday was a bank holiday, so that was a reasonably impressive turnaround.)
And here, in all its glory, it is:
Thursday, August 31, 2006
US Embassy Trip (part 1)
We did our trip to the US Embassy on Friday, to get our visa. We had a 10am appointment, so we arrived nice and promptly at 9:15, to see two large queues. A friendly policeman with a big gun told us that one queue was the 9:00 quese and one was the 9:30 queue, so we should come back at 9:45. We went for coffee, and came back, to find two queues that seemed to have no order or reason to them. We joined a queue.
I thought that there might be a sort of "spirit of the blitz" people sharing jokes and biscuits and all mucking in together. But there wasn't. I had a brief conversation with a red haired chap. He said "Our appointment's at 10:15" I said "Our appointment's at 10:00". H said "I'm getting an E visa. Are you?" I said "No, I'm getting an H visa". (An H1b, if you want the details. I looked up an E visa, it turns out to be a treaty trader and investor visa. I don't know what that means. An H is a temporary work visa, which sounds much less glamorous, but at least you can guess what it means without looking it up.)
We stood in our queue, which moved very slowly. The red haired chap suddenly moved to the other queue, which moved more quickly, and he got in before us. Someone moved up the queue checking our appointment times, if you had the audacity to be near the front of the queue with an 11:00 appointment at 11:00 you were moved to the back. We were given clear plastic bags to place our belongings into.
At about 11:00 we got into the embassy. When we got in, we were given a ticket, so that we could wait our turn. The queuing system inside the embassy was quite specific - there were large TV screens which showed the people who were being served at which windows, and what numbers were about to be called. At the back of the room was a little snack shop, selling sandwiches which I'd guess were overpriced, had they not run out at 11:45, before I could check their prices, and crisps which were overpriced. 75p for a bag of salt and vinegar (and not one of those grab bags that they sell you nearly everywhere now. Hey! I know! Let's reduce the amount of fat in our crisps by 25% and make them healthier. And then let's put them into bags that are twice as big, so everyone eats 50% more fat than if we'd stuck with the unhealthy crisps.)
At 12:00 our number (296) came up, and we went to the first window. We handed over our forms, and were fingerprinted. S had a lot of trouble with the fingerprinting, because of hand lotion or something similar, and had to use a special alcohol wipe to get her fingers clean. It turned out that I didn't have one form, I'd filled it in and sent it off to the US immigration people, when I should have kept it. I was asked to fill it out again, which I did. It was the one that asked which countries you had visited in the last 10 years, and when. Given that I was feeling a little nervous (hey! it's only the rest of your life at stake) and that I was in a hurry, it ended up being a bit random, but we got away with it.
That's the end of part 1. Part 2 will follow after this announcement. (Maybe look at the ads on the side, and pretend it's a commercial break. For a few days.)
I thought that there might be a sort of "spirit of the blitz" people sharing jokes and biscuits and all mucking in together. But there wasn't. I had a brief conversation with a red haired chap. He said "Our appointment's at 10:15" I said "Our appointment's at 10:00". H said "I'm getting an E visa. Are you?" I said "No, I'm getting an H visa". (An H1b, if you want the details. I looked up an E visa, it turns out to be a treaty trader and investor visa. I don't know what that means. An H is a temporary work visa, which sounds much less glamorous, but at least you can guess what it means without looking it up.)
We stood in our queue, which moved very slowly. The red haired chap suddenly moved to the other queue, which moved more quickly, and he got in before us. Someone moved up the queue checking our appointment times, if you had the audacity to be near the front of the queue with an 11:00 appointment at 11:00 you were moved to the back. We were given clear plastic bags to place our belongings into.
At about 11:00 we got into the embassy. When we got in, we were given a ticket, so that we could wait our turn. The queuing system inside the embassy was quite specific - there were large TV screens which showed the people who were being served at which windows, and what numbers were about to be called. At the back of the room was a little snack shop, selling sandwiches which I'd guess were overpriced, had they not run out at 11:45, before I could check their prices, and crisps which were overpriced. 75p for a bag of salt and vinegar (and not one of those grab bags that they sell you nearly everywhere now. Hey! I know! Let's reduce the amount of fat in our crisps by 25% and make them healthier. And then let's put them into bags that are twice as big, so everyone eats 50% more fat than if we'd stuck with the unhealthy crisps.)
At 12:00 our number (296) came up, and we went to the first window. We handed over our forms, and were fingerprinted. S had a lot of trouble with the fingerprinting, because of hand lotion or something similar, and had to use a special alcohol wipe to get her fingers clean. It turned out that I didn't have one form, I'd filled it in and sent it off to the US immigration people, when I should have kept it. I was asked to fill it out again, which I did. It was the one that asked which countries you had visited in the last 10 years, and when. Given that I was feeling a little nervous (hey! it's only the rest of your life at stake) and that I was in a hurry, it ended up being a bit random, but we got away with it.
That's the end of part 1. Part 2 will follow after this announcement. (Maybe look at the ads on the side, and pretend it's a commercial break. For a few days.)
United (we are not)
It turns out that the cat can go on the plane with our luggage for about £70 - bargainacious, compared with the previous quotes.
Ah, the joy of United Airlines call centres. I was told that the cat had been booked on the flight, and given the dimensions of the container that it had to be in. It seems that the cat was to carry on baggage – which sounds like an awful lot of effort. And it also had to be in a container that would fit under a seat – which sounds like something of a squish.
So I rang United Airlines, and got through to their (Indian sounding) call centre. The first person I spoke to was very friendly, but didn’t seem to have the faintest idea what they were talking about. I asked to check the dimensions, and they said “Small is …., medium is …, large is …”. None of these sizes sounded like they fitted under a seat, so I thought I’d try again.
The second person I spoke to at United Airlines also seemed very friendly and nice. And what they said didn’t relate to what the first person said. I was given a new set of dimensions – 9 inches high, which sounds like it will fit under a seat, but doesn’t sound much fun for a cat for 12 hours or so. They also said that I had to know the size and weight of the container (with the cat in it) before I could confirm the cat on the flight. However, the first person I spoke to had already confirmed the cat on the flight – which I told them. The fact that what they had just told me was blatant nonsense, and that, therefore, I didn’t trust anything else they said.
The airline might be united, but their staff are not. (Hahaha.)
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Boxes and Bubble Wrap
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Inline skates
I bought some roller blades inline skates at the weekend. JJB are having a closing down sale, and they had some for £12.50, which fitted me. I haven't dared try to do anything with them, partly 'cos I've been a bit weary after the weekend of much jolliness, but mostly because I'm not sure where I could try where the entertainment value to the local teenaged population would be minimised.
I looked them up on wikipedia where, of course, I found out more than one could ever want to know. Including the fact that the word Rollerblade is a trademark name for one make, and therefore it shouldn't be used as a description - like Hoover or Aspirin or(or Heroin) or like Google is getting upset about ("So, I googled for it on Yahoo").
I read a bit of the inline skating FAQ - the gist of this is "learn to slow down, and stop". Once you can stop, you can try anything. Last time I tried, I had trouble starting though.
P.S. See Jo, I've not told you about any of this!
I looked them up on wikipedia where, of course, I found out more than one could ever want to know. Including the fact that the word Rollerblade is a trademark name for one make, and therefore it shouldn't be used as a description - like Hoover or Aspirin or(or Heroin) or like Google is getting upset about ("So, I googled for it on Yahoo").
I read a bit of the inline skating FAQ - the gist of this is "learn to slow down, and stop". Once you can stop, you can try anything. Last time I tried, I had trouble starting though.
P.S. See Jo, I've not told you about any of this!
Monday, August 14, 2006
First project!
I had some contact with someone (L) from Corporation of Future Employment asking if I wanted to get involved with a project. The deadline is October 1st, so we needed to talk about it beforehand. I said "Yes", 'cos I'm a bit prone to saying yes without thinking too much.
L sent me a proposal for a previous project, which turns out to be a whole lot heftier than anything I'm used to. Apparently section D is going to be my responsibility. It's 12,000 words long - which looks more like an MSc thesis than a proposal (or even a section of a proposal) to me.
One of the things one has to do at CfE is to justify one's existence by saying how long you have worked on different projects. I will, at some point, need to estimate how long it will take me to do this section D.
I spoke with K about this on Saturday, and she said it was normal that proposals are much more long and detailed - US reviewers have to be told that UK proposals aren't crap, they are just normal.
L sent me a proposal for a previous project, which turns out to be a whole lot heftier than anything I'm used to. Apparently section D is going to be my responsibility. It's 12,000 words long - which looks more like an MSc thesis than a proposal (or even a section of a proposal) to me.
One of the things one has to do at CfE is to justify one's existence by saying how long you have worked on different projects. I will, at some point, need to estimate how long it will take me to do this section D.
I spoke with K about this on Saturday, and she said it was normal that proposals are much more long and detailed - US reviewers have to be told that UK proposals aren't crap, they are just normal.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Recording CDs
I've decided it's more sensible to record all my PCs onto a hard disk, and then stick them in a box up the loft. So I've spent every spare second (well, it feels like it) removing and replacing CDs from the PC. (Which is what I'm doing now. Hence I'm sat at the computer doing nothing, hence I'm typing this blog for the first time in a while.)
I've been doing this since Wednesday (it's Sunday now) and I'm up to G. Which is the 8th letter of the alphabet, and so is almost 1/3 of the way through. However, it's better than that. If you look where G comes in the phone book, it's more than 1/3 of the way through.
Except it's worse than that, because I have a large number of Neil Young CDs, and have bought a lot of Frank Zappa CDs in my time. (And Frank Zappa made a lot of records. And a lot were doubles, and triples. I'm regretting "Guitar" (double CD) and "Shut up 'n play yer guitar" (triple CD) now.
Just changed the CD, and found I was only up to F (Foo Fighters). I've got 1368 tracks recorded, so far.
I've been doing this since Wednesday (it's Sunday now) and I'm up to G. Which is the 8th letter of the alphabet, and so is almost 1/3 of the way through. However, it's better than that. If you look where G comes in the phone book, it's more than 1/3 of the way through.
Except it's worse than that, because I have a large number of Neil Young CDs, and have bought a lot of Frank Zappa CDs in my time. (And Frank Zappa made a lot of records. And a lot were doubles, and triples. I'm regretting "Guitar" (double CD) and "Shut up 'n play yer guitar" (triple CD) now.
Just changed the CD, and found I was only up to F (Foo Fighters). I've got 1368 tracks recorded, so far.
Embassy and visas
So we got a moving and packing date. All we need is a visa.
To get a visa, you need to send off a bunch of forms, to Corporation of Future Employment, who give them to their lawyer, who gives them to the INS. They sit on them for X weeks (where X is an unknown value) and then give them back to your lawyer, with an additional magic form, who sends them to you.
When you have the forms you can go to the US embassy in London, have an interview (what are they going to ask? I've no idea) and then they post you a visa. Which all sounds, in principle, relatively straightforward. However, there's a 6 week wait for an appointment at the embassy. So you make an appointment, making some assumptions about the value of X.
If you wait until the date of the appointment, and then find you don't have your magic form back from the INS, you have to wait 6 weeks for a new appointment. So you estimate, and then (in my experience) you get it wrong.
Getting it wrong means you need to make a new appointment (which involves a £1.30 / minute phone call - "Thank you for calling the US embassy appointment line. For training purposes, your call may be recorded. If you would like to ..." AAAGGGGHHHH!!!
However, then the earliest appointment you can get is (again, in my experience) after all your stuff has been packed, and people are moving into your house. Which is slightly inconvenient. So we are moving out of the house on the 25th August, but not leaving until at least the 4th of September.
To get a visa, you need to send off a bunch of forms, to Corporation of Future Employment, who give them to their lawyer, who gives them to the INS. They sit on them for X weeks (where X is an unknown value) and then give them back to your lawyer, with an additional magic form, who sends them to you.
When you have the forms you can go to the US embassy in London, have an interview (what are they going to ask? I've no idea) and then they post you a visa. Which all sounds, in principle, relatively straightforward. However, there's a 6 week wait for an appointment at the embassy. So you make an appointment, making some assumptions about the value of X.
If you wait until the date of the appointment, and then find you don't have your magic form back from the INS, you have to wait 6 weeks for a new appointment. So you estimate, and then (in my experience) you get it wrong.
Getting it wrong means you need to make a new appointment (which involves a £1.30 / minute phone call - "Thank you for calling the US embassy appointment line. For training purposes, your call may be recorded. If you would like to ..." AAAGGGGHHHH!!!
However, then the earliest appointment you can get is (again, in my experience) after all your stuff has been packed, and people are moving into your house. Which is slightly inconvenient. So we are moving out of the house on the 25th August, but not leaving until at least the 4th of September.
Comment on Slashdot
I just saw the following on Slashdot, which made me feel (slightly) better about the ridiculous amount of rent we are going to pay:
And, finally, there's a reason rent and property are so expensive in some areas. Go to California and look out of the window. Rumor has it that other parts of the world have a condition called Seasonal Affective Disorder. Land is expensive in California because you never shovel snow, you rarely deal with crazy humidity, you rarely have the insane heat of Arizona, you rarely get mosquitoes the size of Volkswagens and you can sit on the beach on New Year's Day. In short, supply and demand means that when there's a crazy price, there's generally a great reason for it.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Bought a Car
After staring at websites until our eyes bled, and sending about 100 emails to the lovely people at International Autos we bought a car. Well, we said that we will buy a car, and paid a deposit.
There was only a limited number of cars we were allowed to buy (they have to be American made, and then you can get a discount, but only if you buy one before you arrive in America) which made it something of a challenge. We spent a while looking at Dodge Caravans, but then decided it would be a bit risky to buy a car we'd never even (knowingly) seen one of in the flesh.
So, in a rather dull fashion, we bought a Ford Focus. But to make it more interesting, it's yellow. Screaming yellow, to give it the precise colour.
There was only a limited number of cars we were allowed to buy (they have to be American made, and then you can get a discount, but only if you buy one before you arrive in America) which made it something of a challenge. We spent a while looking at Dodge Caravans, but then decided it would be a bit risky to buy a car we'd never even (knowingly) seen one of in the flesh.
So, in a rather dull fashion, we bought a Ford Focus. But to make it more interesting, it's yellow. Screaming yellow, to give it the precise colour.
LindenStrasse
I've been investigating how to get German TV channels in the US. It's a challenge to investigate, because things seem to have been in turmoil and flux, with companies going bankrupt, and other companies changing their channel lineups. I found Adventures with German TV in the US which gave enough information (just about), although a lot of the links are in German.
Nurseries / Preschools
I began to think about nursery (or preschool, as we are supposed to call it).
I asked someone at Corporation of Future Employment if they knew anything, and they pulled some stuff from the CFE Parent's club website - which was a 35 page PDF, full of various bits of advice.
I rang a couple of preschools, to ask them about how we might get D & A enrolled, but most of them didn't answer. (They have really cute answer machine messages that say "We're with the children right now"). The one that did answer said that we have to go on a tour first, and the next tour is the 26th of September. When we have been on a tour, we are allowed to pay $200, to join the waiting list. Which is of indeterminate length.
There was a lot of stuff about nannies, and how much they cost, and I trawled google and craigslist as well. The crucial question that comes first is - "Do you want an illegal one?" I'm not sure if this is illegal as in illegal immigrant, or illegal as in pay cash in hand, no tax, etc, or possibly both. But anyway, an illegal will cost about $10/hour upwards, and a legal about $15/hour upwards. With both of these, you get what you pay for.
The best, quick thing might be to try to find a person who wants to share a nanny in some way. But it's easiest to do that by thinking about when we get there.
I asked someone at Corporation of Future Employment if they knew anything, and they pulled some stuff from the CFE Parent's club website - which was a 35 page PDF, full of various bits of advice.
I rang a couple of preschools, to ask them about how we might get D & A enrolled, but most of them didn't answer. (They have really cute answer machine messages that say "We're with the children right now"). The one that did answer said that we have to go on a tour first, and the next tour is the 26th of September. When we have been on a tour, we are allowed to pay $200, to join the waiting list. Which is of indeterminate length.
There was a lot of stuff about nannies, and how much they cost, and I trawled google and craigslist as well. The crucial question that comes first is - "Do you want an illegal one?" I'm not sure if this is illegal as in illegal immigrant, or illegal as in pay cash in hand, no tax, etc, or possibly both. But anyway, an illegal will cost about $10/hour upwards, and a legal about $15/hour upwards. With both of these, you get what you pay for.
The best, quick thing might be to try to find a person who wants to share a nanny in some way. But it's easiest to do that by thinking about when we get there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)