London Calling…

‘The right to search for truth implies also a duty; one must not conceal any part of what one has recognized to be true.’

Albert Einstein (Washington DC, Einstein’s monument)

Every right implies a responsibility; every opportunity an obligation; every possession a duty‘

JD Rockefeller (Rockefeller Centre)

I don’t care about politics. Really. I don’t care about them at home because very few irish politicians seem to me to be any different from any other irish politicians, and I don’t care about them in other countries because there is nothing I can do about them. Most of all I don’t care about them because I don’t really understand them except on the most basic level, and I have never cared to try. I vote when it is in my power to do so, based upon the knowledge and understanding I have, because I believe one should exercise an opinion when called upon to do so. But I would never be involved in a campaign unless it was for a cause, not a politician, and the effort I would put into making my decision would be less then an hour’s background reading in the vast majority of circumstances

But if you live in a city in america it is almost impossible not to have an opinion on the election. If you don’t have one, you need to make one up, because you will be asked about it anyway. And for the first time, I find myself giving a shit. Not a massive stinky floater of a shit or anything, but certainly a medium sized turd. I actually think it might make a difference to the US and the world who gets elected this time.

So though it is entirely irrelevent, my non-existent vote goes to Barack Hussein Obama. May he somehow find a use for it.

Punk. Rock. Karoake.

Oh yes, this actually exists. I have not yet participated, but it is only a matter of time. And the fact that it does exist encompasses the essence of what I love about really big cities. When the number of inhabitants reaches a certain point, beautiful social anomalies start to appear, catering to niches so odd that only in densely populated areas could they possibly have the chance to flourish.

In London my favourite example of this was Bröderna Olsson, the swedish gothic metal pub that only served food containing garlic. Another classic was the Absolut Ice bar, where you could only go for 45 minutes, they kept the temperature at minus 5 celsius because everything was made of ice, and served only cocktails made from vodka in hollowed ice shot glasses.

So what have I learned since I got here? Well, americans are distinctly against centrally lit rooms, and most apartments no longer contain a light fixture, necessitating the purchase of multiple lamps. However they still have light-switches, which control the upper socket of an arbitrarily selected power outlet. As far as I can tell these can be found only through the process of trial and error, initially I found them somewhat perplexing.

For every financial transaction that takes place in the states, someone is waiting in the wings to leech off it. To get an apartment you pay a massive brokerage fee ($3k is not abnormal), to withdraw money from an atm not owned by your own bank is $3, and to transfer money to another person’s bank account is almost $19.

If you ask an american how much their government taxes earnings, the answer will seem very low. This is because they are talking about federal tax , and have neglected to mention state tax, local tax, social security tax, porcupine tax, and pretty much any other kind of tax you can imagine.

Every major department store has its own credit card, and every time you purchase something you will be asked to sign up for it. You will be asked for a postal address in shops with alarming frequency, and as a routine part of selling you something. This also goes for your phone number and email address. Actually giving these out will result in varying quantities of junk mail.

These and many other lessons have been gradually accumulating. In other news, I have decided to get a driving license. This should be interesting.

An excerpt from my conversation with Time Warner cable today:

General admin stuff……

Me: So I would like to switch the cable and internet over to my name

Cable Guy: this account only has high-speed internet

*mentally envisions the cable splitter supplying the tv with cable in my flat*

Me: oookaaay, forget cable. Just internet. Ahem.

CG: So you just need to bring the form in to change over, with proof or residence

Me: and how much will the internet cost?

CG We have a special package for $119 a month which gives you high-speed internet, 300 cable channels, and unlimited calling to anywhere in the states

Me: I don’t watch tv and I have no friends, just the internet please. How much was Mary paying?

CG: $44.99

Me: So is it the same charge?

CG: well, there is an offer on for $39.99

Me: so I could get that?

CG: Yeah

Me: Ok, and how much would a basic cable package be?

CG: $44.99, but you could get both together in a package for $101 per month

*Re-checks mental arithmetic in case of malfunction. clean*

Me: so it costs more to get the package? Seriously?

CG: What?

*Talk cable guy through the complex mathematics involved*

Me: and so you see, it actually costs 16 extra bucks per month to get your package than to get the two separate items.

CG: Gee, I guess you’re right

…… and so on

So I went to Ikea for the first time yesterday. Oh yes. You see, I had this marvellous theory on buying furniture. I thought that it would be, if not easy, then at least a relatively straightforward exercise. One goes to a furniture store, one looks at the furniture on display, measures it, debates a little with any accompanying parties, and then orders it to be delivered on a particular date to a particular address. Hah.

Like many huge and glaring misconceptions it all began with a single completely inaccurate assumption. This assumption was that Ikea was based on the same principle as for example Argos, just on a much larger scale, and would therefore work approximately the same way. Obtain catalogue number of item, order item for collection or delivery, pay, and receive item. To be entirely honest, I presumed I could have just done it all on the internet, the only reason I intended to go to the store at all was because with such a major purchase as a couch or bed I wanted to physically see the thing I was buying. Essentially I assumed I was being overly cautious by not just ordering online. Oh the slightly manic laughter as I look at this thought retrospectively.

The Ikea display store is like what a giant warehouse would look like if you converted it into a labyrinth whose walls and passageways were constructed entirely of household furnishings. Essentially that’s exactly what it is, in fact. In a way this is ingenious, it forces you to look at every piece of crap in the entire place before getting to the end. In another, more relevant way, it is frustrating, annoying, and engenders a passionate hatred of slow-walking people with giant carts that I find it hard to describe in words. When we finally reached the end of the labyrinth (which geographically is about 2 minutes from the start, we just didn’t figure that out until later) we were dehydrated, irritated, and generally just glad the experience was over. On our travels we had seen a couch, bed and mattress that I was happy to purchase. I queued for the information desk, thankful that the ordeal must be almost at an end.

Alas, it was not to be. Upon making some enquiries I discovered you cannot order online, because they do not deliver online orders. (What?!?) Which meant that I would have to order right then. Ok, not ideal, but acceptable, where can I find a catalogue to get the numbers from? There aren’t any. Because as we walked through the giant furniture maze we were supposed to have noted down the article numbers of the items in question so that we could pay for them at the checkout. Back to the labyrinth, where we spend about 10 minutes actually locating the article numbers of anything, as for some reason instead of being printed in a bold font and labelled “Article Number, pay attention to this!” they are printed on the reverse of the price tag, in a font small enough as to be almost unreadable, and without a descriptor of any kind.

We subsequently discovered that this is probably due to the following fact. What they _tell_ you to do is write down the numbers and then pay. What you are _actually_ supposed to do, is find one of the rare and elusive employees on the display floor, tell them what you want, confirm when they show you the image on-screen that yes, you are not a moron, that is the thing, then specify what colour, size etc you would like it in, because the all-important article number written on the display item merely signifies precisely that item, ie. colour and size also. So to order say, a full-size bed frame in black, when the display item is a queen size version in pine is impossible to do without the assistance of a furniture monkey, or as they prefer to be called, ikea employee.

One part of the exchange went thusly:

Me: …and I would like this couch.

FM: That item is self-serve

Me: Wait, I can’t get it delivered?

FM: Oh no, you can get it delivered, you just have to bring it down to the checkout.

Me: You mean physically bring it? But… it’s a couch…

FM: Yeah, you need to load it onto a cart and bring it down to the checkout, and pay for it, then they can deliver it.

Me: There is no other way of doing this? Can’t I pay someone to bring it down?

FM: No, sorry. So you don’t want the couch ma’am?

Me: Oh no, I want it. I’m just horrified.

FM: Oh, we’re actually pulling that item ourselves at the moment.

Me: So I don’t have to bring it down?

FM: No.

Me: Great.

The last part obviously rendering that entire minute of shock and awe entirely pointless, but on the plus side, I didn’t have to carry a couch. When I finally managed to get my official “already talked to a monkey” form, and queue and pay for all this, there was then an entirely separate queue for organising and paying for the delivery of all my crap. By the time we left I felt like Persephone escaping Hades, and was afraid to look behind me lest I somehow be sucked back in, black hole style.

I have never been so drained of life energy by a retail experience.

Muggings – 0

Meals actually finished – 1

Apartments found – 1

Longboards purchased – 1

Longboard related injuries sustained – 0

Subway cards mislaid – 2

Average number of minutes sitting alone without someone talking to me – 3

Number of times hit on by complete stranger – 4

Friends acquired – 3

Burgers eaten – at least 8

Shows seen – Regrettably 0

Offers to apply for credit card – 4

Adjoining states visited since I arrived – 1

Holiday plans made - 2

Days I can actually take off – 15

Impending visitors – 8

Impending family members – 4

Moments of small but significant culture shock – 762 (approx)

So titled not because the target audience is clueless about the subject matter, but because the author is. Because so far I have been here for a little over a week, but it is in my nature to have an opinion regardless. So please find below my observations so far, though they may vary vastly in terms of accuracy and relevance.

New York is different to anywhere in Europe. Ok, duh, of course it is. But this sort of fact still doesn’t really hit home at first, people still speak English, they have a culture we at least recognise and understand if not share. We’ve been seeing it on television our whole lives for a start. Nonetheless, things are distinctly different.

First off, men are polite to the point of inefficiency. I was standing in the back of a lift yesterday, and there were 5 guys in said conveyance, all of whom were closer to the door than I was. When the door opened, instead of exiting, they practically formed a tunnel so that I could leave before them. I was slightly taken aback by this, and then realised that even in the little time I have been here men have been allowing me to pass first on the street, opening doors for me, and even on one occasion which shocked me, offering me a seat on the subway.

The significance of the subway gesture may be lost on anyone who has not lived in London. On the tube, no-one gives up a seat. A hale and hearty young man will retain his seat, even if an 8-month gone pregnant woman is struggling to stay on her feet right beside him. In the entire time I was in London, someone offered me a seat once. I was horrified, because I assumed they thought I looked pregnant.

Of course there are the traditional American oddities, like tipping everyone for everything, saying sidewalk and trashcan instead of footpath and bin, remembering that nothing includes sales tax, and receiving a metric ton of food when you think you have ordered a snack. There are also specific New York oddities, like making sure you walk down the right entrance to the subway, not pointing and laughing at all the small dogs wearing coats, and the wonderful phenomenon of people yelling vaguely well-intentioned observations at you in the street. (the other day when it rained someone shouted “Hey lady, you getting’ wet there, you need a umbrella! That’s right girl, you get yo’self a umbrella”. Apparently he thought I wouldn’t have known how to deal with the situation if he had not informed me).

I have seen pizza for a dollar, and food sold by weight at $10/lb. I have had to fill in a form to buy a bagel with cream cheese across the street from our office. Despite my intention of brevity this entry is becoming ridiculously long-winded, so I will attempt to summarise what I learned this week:

• Subway entrances are frequently direction dependant. If you walk down the wrong one, you may find yourself on a train to Queens instead of Brooklyn
• New York real estate agents will carve out a hole in a building wall, call it a junior studio, and charge you a thousand dollars a month to sleep in it.
• Estate agents do not charge landlords a finders fee for tenants, they charge the tenant, so for a $2000 a month apartment, the fee to move in is usually in the region of $3500.
• While rent is through the roof, everything else is extremely cheap, even if you are earning dollars.
• The standard NYC pavement is about 15 feet wide, and so ideal for skateboarding
• The fact that the sign says you are allowed to cross the street does not mean that cars will not drive out in front of you if they are making a right turn.
• Times Square is quite frankly hideous
• Contrary to my previously held belief, it is in fact possible to be lost in Manhattan
• If anything comes with cheese, it is “American cheese”, ie. processed slices of orange goo.
• You can open a bank account with id, and a letter from your employer, but you cannot immediately get paid into that account, presumably in case you for some reason decided to invent an account and send your money into limbo. They need to prove it exists by having you cash a cheque into it first. Or something. Not entirely clear on this yet.
• You need a social security number for _everything_ and it takes up to 12 weeks to obtain one.
• Approximately 80% of US online booking/payment systems do not accept foreign credit cards.
• You even tip barmen here. Yes, just for opening a bottle.

I think I will have to stop now, as this has already become ludicrously long. I have decided to distil my apartment related rant into a separate entry, lest this one become so lengthy it spontaneously combusts.

At the risk of sounding self-contradictory, I do in fact love it here. It’s different, it’s fascinating, and I am looking forward to getting settled in and enjoying the hell out of it. It does make the title of this blog somewhat inappropriate, but then I have never really been a stickler for appropriate titles.

Odd as it might sound, so far New York has been pretty relaxing.

In my last post, I mentioned I had about a dozen things to wrap up. Oh, how I mock myself for this ludicrously optimistic statement. I have what seems like several thousand things to “wrap up”, all in a rather short space of time. In retrospect, it appears I have the organisational skills of a rather stupid fish. Despite having known about this move for several months, I seem to have left most of the actual arranging of things to the last available 3 days, thus making my life a logistical nightmare of spectacular proportion.

People keep asking me if I am excited. Interestingly, the answer is no. 3 months ago when the move was approved, I was excited. I suspect when I touch down in Newark (only airport in the world that is an anagram of “wanker”, as someone pointed out to me) I will be excited. But right now it has not sunk in and doesn’t feel real. What does feel real is the burgeoning pressure of meeting everyone I want to see before leaving, and the increasing urgency of terminating all contracts and ensuring that I have transportation for all my belongings.

I am not excited, nor am I worried. This is by far the easiest move psychologically which I have made since moving down the road to live in a student estate for the summer of 2001. I already know where I will stay for a whole month, I have already been to the city and done a lot of walking, not to mention getting the hang of public transportation. I already know how to get to my flat, my office, and how to actually do my work. In my head, this is by far less daunting than moving to London, aside from the fact that it is rather far away

What I am is merely incredibly, stressfully, busy.

As the move to New York looms closer it becomes difficult to keep various people informed of what is actually happening, what stage the visa is at, whether I will be homeless upon arrival etc. So this post is just for anyone who wants to know what is happening with the move, if you are seeking to be entertained, stop reading now.

Yesterday I went to the US embassy, which is a monument to beaurocracy.  Unfortunately I can’t really complain about it, because despite the fact that I waited for approximately 4 hours to be processed, I cannot say with any degree of certainty that it could have been done any faster. The sheer volume of people queuing for visas of all kinds was unbelievable, and there is potentially a 6 week wait to actually get to be in that queue. When I actually got as far as the interview I was asked 3 questions, only one of which I could really answer, and I was informed that my visa had been approved. Today I got a call to say it would be delivered to me tomorrow, well ahead of the advised processing time of 5 days.

I also now have a corporate apartment in manhattan booked for the first month, and I have managed to wrangle myself a business class flight over (purely through luck I assure you, my company are not generous with personal flights). Overall, things look very good, it’s all coming together. I know a couple of poeple through work, and some friends have been furnishing me with contact details of people they think I might like to hang out with. I already have several visitors scheduled as well, so its a relief to know I will actually be there to receive them :)

There are still about a dozen things for me to wrap up here, but overall it looks pretty good. America, here I come….

Yes, I did in fact go to a speed-dating event. To give a little background to this, sometime around last september my whirlwind but overall rather short-term romance with the yank ended on a somewhat disillusioned note. The disillusionment part was not so much because I thought I had actually found a relationship that worked, as because I had been starting to think I was a half-decent judge of character. In summary kids, I am often wrong. In any case, this did not improve my opinion of relationships in general, and probably makes it even less likely that I would get involved in one without a damn good reason. So why go to an event that is intended to start such?

Well for a start, the premise is hilarious. For anyone unfamiliar with this concept, the idea is that you go to a venue, are seated next to a complete stranger of the opposite gender, and given 3 minutes to converse. At the end of that time, a whistle blows, he stands up and moves to the next girl, and another one sits down with you, wash, rinse, repeat. This generally involves about 20 pairs, and so lasts an hour. At the end of each session, you make notes about the person you spoke to, so that later you can go to the website and enter “Yes”,”No” or “Friend” next to the name of each person. If you put down a Yes or Friend vote for anyone and they put the same for you, you get each other’s contact details.

Aside from the fact that the idea is bizarre, it also generates a unique and interesting social situation situation. 180 seconds in which to not only judge someone else but present yourself. No normal exchange can be crammed into that amount of time, even a short chat with a stranger in a bar would take ten minutes. You need to answer quickly, and ask questions that actually reveal something of the person next to you. In that very limited amount of time things like speed of response become important. If I ask someone what their favourite hobby is and they spend 2 minutes telling me why they are an Everton fan, it can be really frustrating listening to that and knowing that they might actually be an interesting person but that I will not get to find out.

Overall I found it interesting as a social experiment, but slightly dull as an experience. The dullness may be more to do with my complete lack of both nervousness and tolerance than anything else though. The people I met varied from deathly boring, to entertaining and chatty, right through to utter sleazy scum. I have no idea what anyone thought of me, suffice it to say that about 2 people into the process I got a little bored and started to inject a note of randomness into the conversation. I just about managed to refrain from making “So, what level do you play guitar hero on?” my opening line. My favourite moments from the event include:

Me: So, whats your favourite hobby?

Guy: Em…. (Pause of about 10 seconds, a long time in this game. Laughs a bit as if he is humouring a lunatic.) Hobby?

Me:Yes, hobby, pastime, extracurricular activity, personal method of entertainment of some kind?

Guy: Wow, no-one has ever asked me about that.

Me: Really? I would have thought it a fairly obvious question… Well, what _is_ your favourite hobby?

Guy: I just have so many….. (more laughing, and some beard-stroking.)

Me: Ok then, forget hobbies, Batman or Superman?

Guy: What?

Me: Batman or Superman? Like, in a fight, who would win?

Guy (looks amused in a dumb sort of way): Eh, I don’t know that one

Me: Ok, well who would you guess?

Guy: Spiderman.

Me: Oh really? Why is that?

Guy: He looks good, I like the outfit.

————

Or, definitely the highlight of my evening…

Me: So, who is your favourite superhero?

Guy: Em, what?

Me: Superhero, you know, comic books, cartoons, batman, spiderman, superman?

Guy: Eh, football I suppose. Yeah, football

I am rarely speechless but that one kinda floored me a bit.

——-

In summary, if you are reasonably shallow and also charming/attractive then this is definitely for you. If it takes you longer than 3 minutes to even contemplate liking someone, or you are after a partner who is particularly clever, then I would only recommend attending one of these out of sheer boredom or vague curiousity.

In the past I may or may not have ranted about the determined stupidity of my ISP, which incidentally if anyone wanted to know, is Bulldog. If I haven’t written anything down, it is probably because I have been seething too much with rage and frustration to actually commit to using words which might limit my emotions to merely “disgusted fury”.

The actual broadband and phone service itself is almost always satisfactory. It is merely absolutely everything around said service that is utterly and completely pants. For example, I had to set up a direct debit with these people 7 times, the first three of which resulted in one payment going out successfully and then all the details disappearing, two of which didn’t work at all, one of which had 3 months worth of successful payments before vanishing off the face of the earth, and the last of which finally, mercifully, has worked for the last year. Except of course, for the time when they randomly cut me off, presumably because paying 4 bills in a row is suspicious behaviour.

Alas it was pretty much obligatory to pay by direct debit, because when I tried to pay by credit card this was not possible approximately 95% of the time because their system was down. Their system only seemed to be up at random moments of celestial import, like when a full moon falls on the second tuesday of the month. or when a partial solar eclipse was in progress.

I wouldn’t mind so much except for the blatant, badly executed lying. For example, the below conversation:

Me: Hello, you appear to have cut off my phone and internet with no warning whatsoever.

Indian chick: We sent you out an email to inform you madam

Me: You sent me an email, to tell me you had cut off my internet access?

IC: Yes madam

Me: Do you see anything wrong with that statement? Like the fact that my receipt of the email might involve the internet in some way? Besides which, you haven’t sent me an email, because I was able to check it from work and I haven’t received anything.

IC: Well madam we have also sent you a letter

Me: Assuming that I have not received that either, which I haven’t, since you cut it off today, which is a sunday, can you tell me why that is?

IC: There is an overdue bill

Me: But I have a direct debit, its been working for months

IC: Well there is an overdue bill madam, would you like to pay it?

Me: Yes! I would! Please take my money.

—-Ensuing bill stuff and assurances that connection will be restored within 3 working days—-

…..

—-Ten working days and one trip to sweden later—-

Me: Hello, you appear to have either cut off my phone and internet again, or not restored it.

IC: Yes madam there is an unpaid bill on that account and it is blocked.

Me: no there isn’t, because despite your failure to take my direct debit, I paid you 2 weeks ago by credit card, and the money is gone from my account, so there is no outstanding bill.

IC: Yes madam I see you have paid that bill.

Me: Right, so why is it that I do not have an internet connection?

IC: It is a technical fault.

Me: What?

IC: It is a technical fault on the line madam

Me: Em, ok, what is the fault? What is the problem with my line?

IC: I dont know exactly madam that is for our IT team to deal with

Me: well when will they deal with it, I’ve had no connection for 2 weeks!

IC: It will be fixed within 24 hours

Me: But if you dont know what the fault is, how do you know it will be fixed in 24 hours?

IC: because I have removed the block from the account madam

Me: So the account was blocked?

IC: Oh no madam, there was a technical fault.

—-

Since I am moving countries, today I decided to find out what would be needed to transfer the account to a housemate. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello, I am moving to another country soon, and would like to transfer my account to another name, what do I need to go about that?

English Guy (???): We can’t actually do house moves at the moment I’m afraid, because of a system migration.

Me: Well I mean its not a house move, I just need to transfer the account

EG: we consider that a house move, because we can’t transfer a contract, we have to cancel it and start a new one.

Me: So you cannot cancel my contract either?

EG: Oh no, we can cancel it.

Me: But you cannot create a new one?

EG: No

Me: Can you create any contracts, or just not renewed ones?

EG: No, we can’t create any at all

Me: How long is this system migration going on for?

EG: We don’t currently know

Me: So for an indefinite period of time you can neither transfer accounts to a new house, transfer them to a new person, or set up any new customers whatsoever?

EG: Yes, thats correct.

——–

I think at this point I almost lost the will to live, and so felt compelled to terminate the conversation. What the fuck? Yes, lets allow our company to atrophy in the process of moving computer systems, despite the fact that the old one was slower and less reliable than writing things down in calligraphy, on papyrus, and sending them off via carrier pigeon

And now to try and convert my phone contract to pre-pay. Stay tuned….